Colour Me
Colour me New-born, a mewling, puking babe.
Fresh delivered, scented, loving.
Welcomed, and embraced.
Fragile, small, spun delicacy.
Hope.
Eternity clutched fast, held close, held tight, in tiny, tiny hands.
Paint me a Dreamer, child, maiden, woman.
Unfurling, blooming, changing.
Awkward graces, seen and hidden.
Blushing fiery, loving, pained.
Feelings, experiences, abundance. A riotous glory. Mystery unveiled.
The seven ages writ large, writ clear, in moving drifts, in shifting sand.
Clothe me with Maturity. The Master's Autumn Palate.
Ambers. Golds. Sepia memories.
Touched, tinted, brushed ruby. A flickering, burning glow.
The rich, deep, turbulence of living, gently ebbing.
In the blessed, silent, solitude, of night.
In the eventide, stillness, life flows.
Shroud me in indigo, in shades of midnight hues,
The warm, sacred, enfolding spirit.
Beckons. Whispers, come, come now.
Move on.
A single drop. That was, is, will be.
Hope.
Eternity, clutched fast, held close, held tight, in tiny, tiny hands.
You really want to know?
Death. Dying. Dead. No more. You want to ask. Question. To help, heal, succour or just plain know. It's one of those subjects people will avoid. The words difficult. Painful and scary. To speak the haunting dreaded names, makes it too, too, real. So instead of being a part of life, something lived with, endings known, discussed, even casually hugged away. It's stuff to put off until the decision is already taken, no choices left to be made. And so the journey ends, with precious things kept silent, left unsaid. With bruised sadness left adrift, still seeking, searching, for that firmly, closed, locked door.
The Art of Dying.
But, it's not that hard. Not so difficult. There is a way of doing this, if you take it easy, if you take it slow. Just take my hand. Hold it fast. I know you find it hard. But you can still listen, still hear, and understand, these are simple words. Until that final breath, I'll breathe. Breathe in, breathe out, repeat, repeat, repeat. And repeat again. No thoughts required, no plans to tend. For until that last long exhale, that lingering sigh good-bye, I live life in joy's transcendent, ethereal, light. Breathing in, breathing out. This simple breath of life, it humbles, and sustains.
Colour me New-born, a mewling, puking babe.
Fresh delivered, scented, loving.
Welcomed, and embraced.
Fragile, small, spun delicacy.
Hope.
Eternity clutched fast, held close, held tight, in tiny, tiny hands.
Paint me a Dreamer, child, maiden, woman.
Unfurling, blooming, changing.
Awkward graces, seen and hidden.
Blushing fiery, loving, pained.
Feelings, experiences, abundance. A riotous glory. Mystery unveiled.
The seven ages writ large, writ clear, in moving drifts, in shifting sand.
Clothe me with Maturity. The Master's Autumn Palate.
Ambers. Golds. Sepia memories.
Touched, tinted, brushed ruby. A flickering, burning glow.
The rich, deep, turbulence of living, gently ebbing.
In the blessed, silent, solitude, of night.
In the eventide, stillness, life flows.
Shroud me in indigo, in shades of midnight hues,
The warm, sacred, enfolding spirit.
Beckons. Whispers, come, come now.
Move on.
A single drop. That was, is, will be.
Hope.
Eternity, clutched fast, held close, held tight, in tiny, tiny hands.
You really want to know?
Death. Dying. Dead. No more. You want to ask. Question. To help, heal, succour or just plain know. It's one of those subjects people will avoid. The words difficult. Painful and scary. To speak the haunting dreaded names, makes it too, too, real. So instead of being a part of life, something lived with, endings known, discussed, even casually hugged away. It's stuff to put off until the decision is already taken, no choices left to be made. And so the journey ends, with precious things kept silent, left unsaid. With bruised sadness left adrift, still seeking, searching, for that firmly, closed, locked door.
The Art of Dying.
But, it's not that hard. Not so difficult. There is a way of doing this, if you take it easy, if you take it slow. Just take my hand. Hold it fast. I know you find it hard. But you can still listen, still hear, and understand, these are simple words. Until that final breath, I'll breathe. Breathe in, breathe out, repeat, repeat, repeat. And repeat again. No thoughts required, no plans to tend. For until that last long exhale, that lingering sigh good-bye, I live life in joy's transcendent, ethereal, light. Breathing in, breathing out. This simple breath of life, it humbles, and sustains.
Colour the ignorance of fear my friend, chase away regrets. Just learn to live, breathe life, laugh, sing and dance again. This subtle scent of waking hours. The life, today, you own. This moment. This space. Right here. Right now.
Breathe.
Live.
Just Be.
Being Jiwan…x
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