She Said:
There are ties that do not restrain or cut off the circulation to a beating heart. Rather, they grow stronger, stretch and bend to accommodate growth. These ties unfurl across continents, circumstances, and time to defy the logic of the mind, not the yearning of the heart.
At times, the groans of protestation decry the moon, “please don’t go.” No reply is heard, not in the howling wind, not in the rustling trees, not in the ocean tides and not in the cleansing rain. Nature will not intercede.
This deep ache is growth-apart.
And so, the tears remain on standby, after the curtain call. And it happens so fast, the click-clack of her boots on the cold marble floor. The frenzied search for the departure gate and the wheels of the suitcase spinning round and round.
This embrace, this goodbye breaks the levy. The frog in my throat escapes only words have turned to sobs.
Reluctantly I let go-my heart-my sister.
He Said:
Why does it seem everyone is losing their mind? Is it this never-ending summer fever?
There appears to be a palpable fervor in the air. It is riddled with hypocrisy and promoted with flagrance. It is cancerous and has already metastasized past our subconscious and savagely spread to our lucidity. It is dangerously close to boiling over…
“Your days are numbered.”
The danger we never discuss in the age of awakening is giving someone a voice who needs to be silenced.
We need to reevaluate why freedom exists.
It is not free.
Neither are you.
It has repercussions.
It bleeds.
It dies.
And …
She Said:
Our cheeks red and our skin glistening with sweat, we scream victory as we cross the finish line, accomplish a monumental goal. Hugs, kisses and congratulations are exchanged amongst family and friends-signaling a job well done.
All of the planning, practice and sacrifice endured in order to win is celebrated.
A sigh of relief is breathed, jaws unclench and heart rates normalize. Aches and pains gone, drowned out by adrenaline.
Bittersweet, the chase for the win is over, the applause ceases and you stand alone.
Now what? The task of the ordinary begins.
He Said:
Whispers even cease as the exhaustion of loss has eaten its way through the longing, leaving only the reflection of calmness.
She Said:
A slither of sunlight creeps in through the floorboards in a vain attempt to bring clarity. There are hints, fragments and particles of a complete idea scrambling to come together, preventing sleep from embracing me. I toss and turn half expecting to find the embodiment of what perturbs me laying right next to me, but it is not.
He Said:
“Mon-chichi, Monchichi, oh so soft and cud-dle-ly, with his thumb in his mouth he’s really neat, fun to fiddle with his little feet, yah yah yah, yah yah yah…”
Did You Know? The Pear Tree Project, (TPTP), is prepping for the Fall. Our new newsletter design will be ready in the upcoming weeks, as well as our Resources Page, later during Autumn. We also will be attending tradeshows in September and November, in N.J. AND will be recording our second podcast in October.