Searching in the dead of night with no visual abboritions except that of shadows and spirit. My bones longing for a warm place to curl in wait for the morning.
My karmic phonograph record has been cracked since my brother’s passing many years ago causing it to repeat a lesson that whispers to me “ you are not happy, Nico. Find a new home and new people that love you. It hurts us to see you suffer.”
I prefer to cradle the dead like delicate newborns. Holding them close while seeking suitable burial sites. I am not startled by the spirits whom speak to me in those moments now. Every interaction with nature is a gift. Every breath I take and every interaction I have waiting for morning to arrive on winter nights in the desert reminded me that every drop of rain is absorbed by the ground. Every creature is called into action and every plant a chance to flower. Death greets us at every turn, to pay it’s respects on a harrowing journey that will one day culminate in my own transition of energy in this body back into the dirt. Life is a gift worthy of paying such cherishing attention to.
Thoughts to self over coffee, a cigarette and a sunrise.