purple

Historically, I have disliked purple, and I think I know why.

I love red for its life force and flush of power.

I love blue mostly because of the sky.

But purple is in between and uncertain,

somewhere between two things that know what they are.

I like to understand the clear architecture of what is and what is to come.

But I am getting older and noticing my interest in the in between.

The maybes and places of give underneath my feet.

Surprise me with an idea that was born from a mistake you made.

Please take me somewhere besides where I already know.

These days are only limited by what we can imagine,

And I can see something I do not have words for yet.

I like the swinging between stars more than standing on the actual star herself.

The goopy middle is achingly rich, and more fertile than I initially thought.

And it turns out, it is purple.

I am getting to know this space with age and more life stories in my folder.

I like the silence between sentences of two people deep in conversation.

The space before the kiss.

I listen for the solution to gurgle up from the middle, making itself known with sound and sight. I think it is mostly about trust, but there is another ingredient. It is the willingness to hang out in liminal space.

My prayer is for more purple.

More mess.

More unfinished sentences, unraveling and spilling onto the floor.

My prayer is for more tugs on our heavy hearts,

things that turn our heads for no reason except the undercurrent of intuition.

We love to hold our understanding of the world so tightly.

If it loosens, we worry we will fall too far away and disappear.

I would argue that loosening brightens our reflections.

It makes way for more truth telling and breathless realizations.

My prayer is for us to get spun around more,

Ending up in a land we do not know but are curious about.

When is the last time you imagined what the inside of your body looked like?

A landscape made of purple and holy connections working towards the whole.

Creativity thrives in purple. It does not like to be a closed system but open at the neck a little. Women are not closed systems either, and we are better in the quiet spaces, too, reveling in the nectar of the back body.

I want us to be okay without knowing or saluting something expected.

What if we used breath as a rhythm instead of the patriarchy?

What if purple was a place to commune, and gather sacred ideas and conversation?

Nothing solved, nothing certain.

Bodies present, eyes open and muscles relaxed, ears wide, bellies soft, no parts of anyone clenched. The current of the circle and the seat of the teacher changing from breath to breath, whichever way we need to lean.

Purple.

Still with a sense of place and inner home but subscribing to the tides, our milky intuition, and the pull of the moon.