You know that instant when messages and intentions from deep within your unconscious make their way to the surface and rather than turning away or attempting to change their form, you look wholly at them? You allow their scent to fill up the passageways to your lungs and you recognize their voices as your own, that you are not separate from them? That they were never malevolent in their iconography or musicality, and that you were too proud and stubborn to consider you could change your mind about matters of which you’d held very specific stances for such a long time?
That instant of awareness is so liberating. And when you realize that your words are powerful, that if you got yourself into a narrative because you’d felt and focused on it so profoundly without fully understanding your abilities, that you can get yourself out of it.
And you call on the eagle spirit to carry these written words on the wind because your spoken words would fail you — originally posted at my LiveJournal.
Two dots sit on a line segment,
a line segment buddies up to two dots
time quips facetious inner dialogue.
Two cars stalled on the exit ramp,
an exit ramp stuck under two cars
clouds pit cirrus against cumulus.
A two-step dance, two partners circle around to soul-graying music,
two dancers face-to-face, one faster than the other,
one more tired than the other,
Rest, recess, a different kind of tune,
bottled up like a ship in a glass tomb.
This dancer craves an audience, not a pas-de-deux partner 24/7,
this dancer thrives under a divergent moonlight
that can perch silently, track diligently,
without expectation or delegation.
Dot A asks of Dot B to unbind that line segment,
Car 1 urges Car 2 to trade in this automatic for a stick shift.
This dancer is not suited for a tango.
Laisse-moi, let me love all who would decode my frequency,
and not pin me down to the musical genre of your vitality.
— yiqi Christmas Day 2014 1:13 pm