(no subject)
Some time ago, in a former life. Well, at least in the formative stages of my current state of existance. I was told that I was a "good stick." The conviction and emotion in his voice (hand on shoulder, shouting over nightclub drone) made the background fade to black. Him and I sharing something beautiful. I didn't quite understand what he meant at the time, simply that it seemed to have some special significance to him. That I felt honoured.
It was later explained to me that we are all wandering though a forest. Lost in the woods. There are sticks all around, littering the ground. Fallen from the canopy. It is our job to collect these sticks as we walk through life. Though, of course, there are only so many stcks that we can hold in our hands at the one time. So it is important that we collect the good ones and keep them with us.
Looking at my life. I know that I am doing my best to find the very best sticks and not let them slip from my grip.
In particular... I am sure that some sticks, bundled together, have the power to create a very special faggot. A faggot that may burn brighter than any individual stick could manage. It is a love that binds them, or something quite like it.
I feel so blessed to have met the boys that have become so special to me of late. Each is a uniquely amazing individual with depth and sensitivity. Courage and love. Yet together they shine so brightly that I have to look away for fear of being blinded. Never in my life have I witnessed anything so beautiful. The world fades to black and the flames illuminate truth. If there is such thing as seeing God, Knowing beauty, truth and love then surely this is it. This flaming faggot of the very best sticks.
It scares me that I am able to be part of such a beautiful thing. It scares me that this may be the best that life can get and that if these sticks are to burn out then there'd never be any as good to replace them. Perhaps such things must be prevented from burning too brightly so that their embers may last a lifetime. And hope that their ashes may grow a tree from which only the very best sticks will fall for future lost wanderers.
It was later explained to me that we are all wandering though a forest. Lost in the woods. There are sticks all around, littering the ground. Fallen from the canopy. It is our job to collect these sticks as we walk through life. Though, of course, there are only so many stcks that we can hold in our hands at the one time. So it is important that we collect the good ones and keep them with us.
Looking at my life. I know that I am doing my best to find the very best sticks and not let them slip from my grip.
In particular... I am sure that some sticks, bundled together, have the power to create a very special faggot. A faggot that may burn brighter than any individual stick could manage. It is a love that binds them, or something quite like it.
I feel so blessed to have met the boys that have become so special to me of late. Each is a uniquely amazing individual with depth and sensitivity. Courage and love. Yet together they shine so brightly that I have to look away for fear of being blinded. Never in my life have I witnessed anything so beautiful. The world fades to black and the flames illuminate truth. If there is such thing as seeing God, Knowing beauty, truth and love then surely this is it. This flaming faggot of the very best sticks.
It scares me that I am able to be part of such a beautiful thing. It scares me that this may be the best that life can get and that if these sticks are to burn out then there'd never be any as good to replace them. Perhaps such things must be prevented from burning too brightly so that their embers may last a lifetime. And hope that their ashes may grow a tree from which only the very best sticks will fall for future lost wanderers.