...walking in gratitude, seeking only light, with an abundance of love pouring out of my pockets;
I find resonance in rock, water and roots and recognize myself in the reverberation of place.
Drawing images with words, I choose decoys over deflection, so, just in fair warning; I cannnot be trusted... yet.
You see, I've fooled even myself by keeping my hands so busy - shoved deeply in those bottomless pockets or extended, full of offering - never ready to receive.
Keeping my hands so busy - painting, building, sharing - to make you feel, without letting you feel me.
I've fooled even myself; into believing that giving love, sharing words, healing the world makes me open. But if my hands are always full when I extend them, then they are by definition not open and there is no room for you to put your hand in mine.
I do not yet know how to bare my palms.
So do not trust me yet; though I seem giving and whole, do not trust me until our shared laughter has bounced off of walls and back down our throats, into our hearts where I may let the idea of us rest for a moment.
This is the only circuitous route that I know of - and perhaps its from the inside-out, with inescapable laughter, that I may place my open hands upon my stomach and heart and let you love me.