a leaf in the snow

barren boughs sing,

and clouds echo in the skies,

teasing distant fires,

a celestial holi

and night’s eye


illuminate the stage,

the forest

wears a humble blanket,

a soft stillness,

a prayer in form,

a cold abode

with a warm heart,

a rest from the game,

a place above name,

a wooded island

on a snowy Serengeti

gives audience to an eternal performance

sculpted by the first dancer,

the wind herself –

a servant of grace,

a scholar of movement,

a friend of the air,

the leaf comes to life

on rolling hills of shifting snow,

between the legs of sleeping trees,

in the presence of breath,

in a moment

liberated from time,

in a moment,

the world is gifted

hope’s sweetest dream,

for in the desolation,

proof of beauty is found,

and oceanic roses celebrate

the origin of dance,

her student,

and the maddening elegance

of change

in the hands of life;

the play of a frozen leaf,

her touch,

her laugh,

her peace,

the joy

in history,

unites chaos to create,

the ballet of a dying artist

discovers an undying paradise,

the theatrical spectacle

of a fierce passion,

a contradictory totality,

the magnificent defiance of

a love that is true,

a love that is me,

a love that is you.



love at first sight

eyes meet

cannons are readied

a dance begins

in the clouds,

for this festival,

this notion that the motion


love at first sight

is but this,

but this simple encounter of supernovae,

this greeting of leaves on the breeze,

and nothing more;

more than one stream, though,

sings from the meadows of this moment

there is another that offers a different species of reality –

the sighting that is but a rebirth,

a reincarnation,

of love

is not one come of the eyes,

but rather,

of the spirits,

for ‘love at first sight’

implies not the infatuation that is the delight of the sensations,

but rather the humility of bearing witness

to the universe of another,

of seeing ‘you,’

of seeing that you are both everything,




and that both, together, are both and neither


there are spaces that call our names,

call our time

the burning forest that is felt history,

the exiled bliss that is the present eternity,

the spectacular voyage that is the seafaring future,

and it is near

the precipice we laugh,

for not even the shadows are immune to the warmth

of true love,

and so the company of worries is welcomed,

because togetherness is a home that has enough for everyone,



the water droplets that run down a window in the rain,

how much life they live,

how much they experience,

as they come together,

and come apart,


and over,


picking little bits up,

leaving little bits behind,

marching, steadily,

toward the end,

flying, carelessly,

toward the end,

embracing in the barren shelter of change,

a reaper of the child’s cry,

a cry that is nevertheless heard

by mother,


a glorious sunset on a field of mangled corpses,

the tale of the wind carrying the ashes,

we see each other,

and we see the end,




but we hold on to the window,

because purpose has been rendered



and as emptiness greets us,

we take hands,

we give smiles,

we rest,

for oblivion cannot challenge the metaphysical empire of truth,

of true love,

for they share it,

we share it



what it feels like

i was sitting for a bit and reflecting on what i wanted to see what i felt like writing, and all these things came to mind, but then i started listening to the music and letting myself see the things that i see, and i saw beautiful things, dancers of cosmic proportions, smilers eternal, and i saw that what i wanted to talk about, feel about, share about, is the feeling of love. this is a word that a lot of people have talked about, that’s kind of crazy to think about, isn’t it? how many words in the language that is human connection have been spoken so many times in so many ways and felt in so many ways in so many places so many times so as to be stitched into, subsumed under, necessarily covalence, to the human element? this fundamental resonance is arguably sufficient to establish the baseline that is the rhythm of the consciousness, and yet, and yet, i look around, and i wonder, where are you? so let’s talk about this blissful painting that is a movie that is a home that is a village that is a world that is a family, let’s talk about how it feels, so we can call it by its name when it gives us the privilege of a wave –

the clouds are waiting, you see them on the regular, looking comfortable up in the far off sky, pleasant and welcoming, soft and loving, holding you, smelling you, feeling you, remembering you and sending you to that place that you call home, the colors of the universe know where the cookie jar is, and they do not mind sticking their hands in, the tale of innocence, a poem that we compose everyday as we try to do something to this, with this, for this, this world, is written, is penned, and is hoped, sometimes desperately so, to be immortalized

this is so, and this we know, but we also know, should we be so undeservedly blessed in this wonderful accident that is life, what it feels like to escape the iron embrace of time, yes, those of us who may smile fondly, even if tiredly, upon fate for her humble beneficence, can say that we have felt love, that we have felt what it feels like to look at a face, to run the side of a hand down the only cheek in the universe to be sculpted as the gems of the diadems and crowns of the happiest guardians, to not want the meeting between lips of magnetic intrinsic unity to be met by the ungrateful backs of the eyes, to want to close one’s eyes and want to keep them open at the same time because the moment is both too momentous and unalterably cast into the putrid penumbra of time, but it is this kind of moment, this type of collision, this magnitude of supernova, that allows us to realize the beauty that is life that is death

the transience of love, when sharing the blood, the material, the soul, of the infinity of love, allows to be seen, allows to come into being, the sweetest breaths to join the ranks of the wind, it allows for the joy of flying to be grounded in the pain of oblivion, it allows for two dynamic universes to come together, cosmocean, form out of the vast nothingness, it allows for the ongoing eternal internal expansion that is the life’s journey of getting to know someone, for the sweetest, most melodious fruit is the endeavor that is to want to continually explore the contents of but one person, a person that is so vast, so oceanic, so gracious, so giving, that to fall into the fluid architecture that is the project of togetherness is but a series of laughs and tears, of friends and partners, a hug that never ends,

the now,

the forever,

the one


Ascension [4]

“What is it about? And what is it really about?”

I took an Advanced Fiction Writing class during my last semester at UIC as an undergraduate. I had a professor who asked a pair of brilliant questions that I now find myself asking in cases (relatively) unrelated to the analysis of a string of two-dimensional symbols represented visually.

For example, I think about the kinds of lives many of us (perhaps the more fortunate) lead. About the kinds of worries we stomach. About the kinds of goals we etch and sketch. About the kinds of people we sometimes are, and the kinds of people we usually want to be. So I ask.

“What is this life about?” – Me.
And, “What is this life really about?” – Others

For another example, recently my musings wandered to the cartographer’s favorite challenge, love. I think about what people feel. And how these feelings influence who we have become, who we are. I think about that idea that our language, our mind, is so desperate to breathe. I think about the kind of thing it might be, if its being can even be likened to that of a ‘thing.’ And I think about how we go about loving, about loving someone, a romantic partner, let’s say. And how I want to go about doing it. So I ask.

“What is this love about?” – The things that pull us apart.
“What is this love really about?” The things that pull us together.

I think of the rolling storms that often climate the atmosphere of a loving relationship. I wonder where they come from. How to best deal with them. How to prevent them. How to eliminate them, or at least move towards doing so. I think of the storms that come too strong. They stay too long. They feed too much; they don’t let up. And I think of two people, once closer, moving apart. To the point of rupture. Separation. Annihilation. This happens so often, too often. We struggle so mightily to stay with someone, to nurture love, to make our soul a sanctuary for it. And I think we have done that to ourselves. We exacerbate conflict. We fan the flames of the differences that agitate, bother, thoughts of irreconcilability. We dwell on the things between us, instead of dwelling in the between.

There are many reasons why we might not wish to commit to metaphysical union. But, there are really only a few reasons why we would. And I think that is no accident. The things that pull us together are infinitely more valuable. They are fixed, in a way. They are rooted to the roots of our being, expressions manifestly human. Whoever I reciprocally commit to, should I be so fortunate to have the opportunity to do so, I hope to remember to love with this in mind. I hope to defend our union by taking care of its structure, of what it is made of. One might, instead, seek to achieve protection by producing sufficiently large quantities of specifically defensive mechanisms, (metaphorically speaking, of course) like armies, navies, etc. I think to take the latter route is to make a mistake. A people should be its own defense. A Sparta, in a way, that is not a military state, but rather merely contains citizens that collectively regard as a good the ability to look after themselves and each other. When one’s union is defended as such, ‘fighting against’ fades against the magnificence of ‘fighting with.’ The shocks, the disturbances, the storms that come no longer destabilize the metaphysical solidarity. Responses to maladies are unified. The ‘struggle’ dissipates as the devotion to togetherness makes any outcome whatsoever seem trivial by comparison.

– JiNiT

Conversation [2]

“Love comes and goes. Be sure to accept it when it comes, and to go with it when it goes.” – A friend

Intuitively, the above appeals to me. Such an approach to ‘love’ accounts for both the types of relationships we often experience in youth (less stable, less enduring) and those we often hope to experience later in life (more stable, more enduring). But, I think there’s a critical shortcoming – it oversimplifies the heart’s will. To approach ‘love’ in such a manner doesn’t say anything about transitions. It doesn’t say anything about the love that stays. Sometimes you don’t where where your love is going, if it’s going at all. What do you do, then? You stay, with it. Or do you take the lead? Do you go first, trusting that your love will follow? I don’t know. Those probably aren’t even the only options. Love just doesn’t strike me as a follower.

– JiNiT