Homeless, Wild, and Free
... a work in progress ... a very very rough draft ... something special for my friends on SF ... I hope you enjoy it.
------------------------ scraping on the surface with man made metal honed sharpened unnecessary tools i push away the earth leaves sticks and wet garbage need to go new sprouts are showing new growth is coming i want to see what's happening last year i did a lot of planting not much cultivating not much composing too much caregiving not enough listening i am listening now scraping on the surface pushing earth and moving soil listening to my heart beat and nothing else What am I cultivating? Who am I helping? Where am I going? Is this my home? my eyelids open lashes up my roots go down swirl around slowing pushing against the ground the ground pushes back in gratitude |
life in the city
surrounded by concrete a false world that maybe will someday slip away i like to walk head bowed and listening eyes wide unfocused on periphery if it's on my back or in my heart a song a memory a tiny spark motivation inspriation pacifism a cycle's terminiation i like to walk away from the lights the city's creatures crowded tight and find my place in the trees among the moss away from these and find some snow before it melts away |
Emotional story given thank you for sharing
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I hope you don't mind but I have found inspiration and resonance in your words and wanted to say so.
I've been thinking an awful lot about what home means lately and writing stories a lot in my own personal green coloured journal about it. Finding ones internal home in whatever landscape of one's transient life is an interesting idea to me... I guess the nature of impermanence is a good motivating factor to being at home with oneself... Anyway... I'm trying to leave a useful response haha but think I might be failing. Lol. Thanks. |
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I always feel more at home outside. Sometimes it's hard for me living in the city. But it's nice having a garden. On my spiritual journey, I am feeling torn between polarities: returning home vs. making progress; cultivating vs. wildness; freedom vs. restraint. The concept of the poem is that all three things: being Homeless, being Wild, and being Free can be both constructive or destructive for me. Being homeless seems intuitively negative, but it also contributes to being natural, wild, and free. Being wild can be a bad thing, but I generally think of it in the positive. Being free always feels good to me, but too much freedom encourages a lack of restraint. And again, for me, all three develop and influence the others. I hope to continue to explore these feelings in this thread. Thanks again, |
Homeless and Free, yes, I relate.
Wild?, maybe. If living this life while forgetting how vulnerable and fragile this physical life actually is wild, then yes. I never found my home. It does not exist in this physical realm. Freedom is an illusion As I am trapped in this physical life Being wild has been knocked down each time. After all, I am reminded of destinies and fate |
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Thank you for your reply. Wild for me, in this set of poems, means uncultivated and natural. I like the small poem you wrote above. I will look for more of your writing. Thanks again, |
The air was thick when I got there
Emily opened the door but didn't welcome me in straining to speak my words were like strangers distant, unfriendly, unapproachable her voice was clear soft and flat her face expressionless we stared at each other for a while "we're supposed to be friends" I finally said "i don't know what happened" "you're a fool, if you think that" she said white as a ghost behind dark hair and thick frames I didn't know what to do the rain was ready so I left and that was the last time I spoke with my friend on the way to waking up from a very strange dream |
Waking from a dream is like coming home
unpacking and remembering where I've been slipping into my old skin finding myself again sometimes it's like I've never left sometimes i can't shake it off it feels so real or it feels so false so rarely in between someone told me that dreams are real that we can control them and drive them like a car i haven't figured that out yet everytime I try to do it it gets jumbled up in my jaw in my dreams i wander homeless never knowing who I'll meet or what to say my emotions sink like butterflies carrying an impossible weight when I was a kid I had flying dreams but now, those are gone and now the only way I know for sure I'm dreaming is in the dreams I never sleep |
Waking from a dream is like being homeless
Time moves so slowly nothing makes sense I fight for the little things open doors are like fences symbols and memories patterns and games not wanting to miss out holding tightly to sand putting on faces and being a good dad trying not to feel lonely irritated or sad surrounded by people who love me my monologue is too long to hear i notice things patterns behaviors hard to ignore i can slow it down mow it down it grows right back up random stacks books brought random concrete blocks my brain gets so crowded with memories that won't fade away most people call it gifted but to me it's more like crazy it feels homeless without a place to call home it feels homeless not hopeless unsettled bones where i will land here I stand here I go homeless inside outside homeless wandering moments homeless from moments to photographs homeless but not alone my heart feels all mushy hazy of uncertainty I told him I'm sorry For the stupid things I sometimes say it's not easy noticing who people are on the inside I'm cursed with this blessing to be homeless wherever you are waking and walking through life waking and walking though fields of this life waking and walking through dreams and streams I'm homeless yet intensely aware wild and free |
I think that's it.
It turned out a little dark. I'm not actually that dark. I don't know why it turned out that way. But My itention was to explore the different counter intuitive aspects of feeling homeless, wild and free. I'm not sure I accomplished it. it is definitely a very very rough draft. It's special... this won't be posted anywhere else. Thank you for reading it. Your Friend, Daniel |
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Yes - I have experienced much of what you speak of. I always used to fight for freedom often as though it was more important than food and water :icon_eek: I think where the wild things are... Is some place of internal trust and alignment. I don't see being wild as chaotic and purposeless. I see it as alignment and refinement of one's soul and instincts. To be wild and free to me personally means that I am in tune with my entire being and everything which surrounds it and not restricted to act in alignment with it all. Strangely enough you mention the uncultivated soul... It has taken a lot of cultivation or maybe just dedication to my soul to create enough space to be wild and free... |
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I often think that my work is quite dark as well... That is because of some perceptions I have of this forum where I fool myself into thinking its all meant to be love and light and rainbows lol... A lot of the journey ain't all rainbows and it's just as valid. Personally I did not find your last piece of writing to be all that dark. The most useful writing is often an organic process - it is good at times to just let it unfold as its meant to. |
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This was beautiful... |
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Thank you for this exploratory journey... I really enjoyed it, hope you will share more of your poetry. /mi |
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