I had this dream,
A run away,
To Desi tropical coast,
Bundled in the tree tops,
While I immerse in yogic stance.
Bleached platinum hair hidden,
That would dissolve when it was time to go.
I liked the sound of eight weeks.
In this space,
I imagined a soul could be healed,
But I am here.
Where is here?
Here is lifeless.
I do not feel sad, at least in this moment.
I feel empty. Meaningless. Without merit.
I keep going back to this dream,
Salty air to replenish sodium lost in my tears.
I imagine finding a ghostly calm,
Wholeness only found there.
In the distance of 12, 000 km,
May I find the environment to unlevel.
I’ll lay upon the karmic history of my being,
And learn to let each layer dissolve.
All until nothing remained but a true nature,
One they speak of as being “joyful and peaceful”.
I tucked this dream away years ago,
But it resurfaces now wildly,
As I experience the death of my brother,
The desire to be in the tropical loft ignites.
Safety found within the breath and posture,
Finding solace in the impermanent sunsets.
Perhaps, my friend,
I will make it there.
And when I do,
I will be sure to tell you all about it.
photo credit: Oleksandr Pidvainyi, via pexels
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