new boots

a stable love is peace

not a runners high

or an artists low

it is peace

a piece of balance

a slice of life

that loves you and looks you right in the eye

it isn't afraid of what it finds

behind closed doors

a stable love is present

imperfect

changing

ever penetrating

to your deepest wounds

it seeks to excavate them

bring them to the surface

to make more room

for the good stuff

a stable love is not boring

but sometimes boring

maybe a better word is poised

it is not afraid of the mundane

it doesnt see the menial as torture

it understands that steadiness is a pinnacle of peace

western culture has an obsession with the highs

with the lows

with the extremes

and with trying to find a “perfect balance” of it all

western culture is obsessed with moving quickly

fervently

so high its hard to catch a breath

addicted to the chase

addicted to death

its not a problem to be familiar with death

for me, a discordant tune arises when my life feels like a never ending quest to find a sort of runners high

and feel free to disagree, please, i welcome it.

i use the runners high as mere allegory for the literality of chasing a high

exercise and movement is a blessing, a gift

i just find it interesting how one can literally run, can chase, to get high

now off of my tangent and back to the story.

for so long, i was drawn to a fervent nature, intensity

short bursts that lit my fire up

hoping the fire would sustain me

and while fire can be a life giving force, it can also be destructive

eventually, a fire goes out

now, i am drawn to slowness, to balance

long songs and stories that remind me of the weeping willows and the streams they ponder in

knowing that life is a myriad of things, both beautiful and difficult

there is no more chase for a fire to fuel me

there is an acceptance that slow and steady water is life giving

that moving with the tides makes sense

and don’t get me wrong, the fire is needed.

volcanic bursts that allude to revolutionary sparks of change and insistence

but when it comes to romance? i’ll take the water.

the cooling of the warm meadow spring.

the bubbling of the babbling brooks that make my eyes sing

and i start to cry

for the water shows me its okay to be alive

that i dont have to try

so hard

that i can just be

i can walk the winding roads, and make a myriad of mistakes, and take accountability for the sting

and know that i am human