June 13 2019 — Lena Cole

Merging

Torching

Placing

Relating

Retracing

Observating

Ruminating

Aviator in training

Learning to fly with feet firmly engrained

In the roots of this system

The ecology this vibration

Of all the connections existing in my being

Of all the synthesis of what I’m seeing

All information

Bold and imperceptible

Pass through the looking glass

Only then to see past

Itself

Fraktaled and shown yet again

How little I understand what goes on in my head

This massively brilliant

Design

Following the consciousness

I allow and inquire

How soft are my musings,

My ponderings and perusings?

Yet how harsh are my judgements,

My self-imposted guild, doubt, flat out disgust with

My own interpretation of this body suit I’ve been put in

How devilish the murmurings that

Have been spat at my image

And even through all of the

Hatred I’ve spouted

I have loving compassion

And understanding of the burden I was carrying,

Of the weight of the world seemingly hanging on my shoulders

Every pore opening to more,

Every grain of sand, lending a hand,

Every spec of plastic

Littering the sea

Every species that goes extinct as fast as I can count to three

All of the blips, humanity is imprinting out the

Solitary foot prints of each and every

Unique and divine design,

Feeling as though it is my purpose alone

To stop this great extinction

The one the humans not only choose, but believe in

The one all the narratives we watch are about,

The one naming the apocolyptic reality and whatnot

Rather than a story of thrival,

Living in cooperative, co creative, centered proclamation

Of aligning my soul with the big huge great plan,

That goes far beyond only my tiny hands

It encompasses the whole acting as one

And only when I surrender my burden

Can that day truly come

Trusting, the process of grief and decay

To recycle is not an overnight process, they say.

Nothing goes anywhere on this enclosed ecosystem,

Just echoing the latent leftovers that’re churning

The dusty cogs that forgot they could turn

And adjusting the function of the whirling to burn away

Any lost tracks, to find the effortless way

Of serving my purpose and mission and all that…

All along, leaving in my tracks,

The songs

And symphonies of

All moments that have passed.