Dear Writing, dear whispering, dear darling blissful skipping:
I love you! You, my girl, my faery muse, my juice, electricity, my jazzy fingers spineward–I am passion. I AM PASSION!! I am all fire reds and sexuality steaming! I am dancing on the sidewalk to your car stero playing Santana’s “Oye Como Va!” Oh Passion! Who would I be without you? What are valleys without mountains? Oh writing, my passion–my words bend around the curves of the strings of my dendrites and the twirl of pirouhetting images that play across my mindscape and the canvas gets plumped by the scents of the summertime and I just want to shout from my window the joy of this! To rain down little colorful streamers on the faces of my lilies and drizzle water over blistered, sunchapped faces and bring a resting to hearts that hurt. What is my passion? Passion is my passion! The texture of life that squishes between my toes and bleeds in my mouth and scratches at my elbows! Oh Captain, my Captain! Oh Passion, my Passion! The Passion of the Christ.
We are all the Christ.
All sacred beings. All too pretty for words.