The feel of earth between my fingers. The wholeness of being that comes with it. I can’t imagine something different, something unclean as earth is. The sweat, grime, semen and blood that becomes one; isn’t there something in this? Can’t you imagine the clenched fist, proclaiming love? What if this is all there is? What if this is all there is? What if this is all there is?
Look across this bloody sky, take it, make it yours. Proclaim this soil “mine;” not for some utopian ideal, not for some moneymaking play. Greed comes from sight, from what’s in front of us. It comes when we have nothing else, and all we see consumes us.
Pretend what you feel means something. Look to your blood; clench your fist high, feel the flow and flutter of muscle beneath your flesh, rippling beneath skin. Imagine you think I had no idea what I was talking about.
Consider that I suppose.
What we need is in front of us, what we need is there for taking, for controlling. What we need is to take control of what’s in front of us, rein it in, bring it into our being. A shallow man, grasping for some semblance of control? A shallow water running, slipping away. Please come save me from this, look at this and tell me I need saving.
Whatever you do, do not come.
Do not read this with intention, for with intention means with thought, with planning, with the idea that this means something. Read this as a man feels, as a man feeling, plunging his heart into another, pounding through.
Look at this skepticism, look at this is all I ask, look at this and take nothing. Take nothing to your next day. Take nothing to your next day. The slippery feelings fall away.