I stoled this from Morgan's blog.

Please, go wash.

Tonight when I was driving back from Waylon's I was stopped by a red light. Being the good driver I am, I waited for the red light to turn green by looking at the stoplights on my left and right to see if they were turning yellow and then red themselves. As I was looking to my right I noticed a women who was pulled up over the white line and who was rubbing her eyes.

So, naturally I pulled up just a little and I noticed her cheeks were wet. We both drove on, through three more lights and every stop she pulled up past the white line and rubbed the tears away.

Who knows what she was crying about. Maybe a lost life, maybe a lost marriage, maybe a lost child, maybe a lost job.

A broken promise?

That is what I cry over in the car. I cry over broken promises. Whether they be promises I actually made or were actually made to me, or whether they were unspoken promises. Promises that were just expected to be met.

This world is full of broken promises. It takes a million men to find an honest one. Someone who will keep their promise in the deepest, darkest situations.

Maybe the broken promises pull us into the clean spring of the kept promise. But, we need to know how to swim in the spring to even understand the promise of life kept in it. If we don't understand the promise of life, we will surely drown because of the dirt and mud of those broken promises that pull us down the the bottom.

We will drown because of the broken promises. We will drown ourselves with our own tears from our broken hearts.

But someone has drowned for us. Someone has taken all of the broken promises that are suffocating us and has been dragged down to the the bottom of the earth. Someone has drowned in the tears and the pain of humanity.

Through this someones drowning we have the life of the spring. We know longer have to swim to survive our broken promises, but are allowed to enjoy in the spring through it's living water. It's not deep enough to swim in. It is just deep enough to wash in.

If we do not go wash in the spring of life we will still be suffocated with the broken promises of this earth. The mud will dry, caked into our lungs, if we do not run to the spring and wash.

Please, go wash.

Stop.

My heartbeat has slowed, it hasn't stopped completely, but there are moments in my life where I can feel my lungs grasping for air. I first thought the reason I felt my heart in my throat was because my heart was beating rapidly and I just now realized that my heart seems to be slowing down. It doesn't want to fight the battle of trying to survive this life anymore. My heartbeat is becoming the reflection of the death that the rest of my existence is slowly feeling.

Stop.

That's what I long for. I would like to stop in this moment, in many moments and capture these passing memories that seem to create my understanding of life. I don't just want to stop and smell the roses I want to stop and touch them, and see them, and hear the breeze blowing through the trees.

Stop.

I would like to stop living the facade of life.

I would like to sit, watch, listen, smell and know that I am not just a creature that has been woven together by random scramble. What a futile life that is! To just be nothing more than a passerby. To be nothing more than the passing breeze along a shore front. To just be a leaf that falls off a tree and dies without any regard of the tree itself.

What a silly existence! What an offending state!

So many of the same words trying to prove every movement in our being and all these words do is land us into nothing.

The common thread of our life, the final pull of that thread is death itself. We all die. What are the details of life, what are the facts, if we all die?

Stop.

Stop wanting, trying, breathing, living, dying, knowing, fighting.

Stop.

Stop finding, loosing, keeping, shitting, fleeing, sitting, standing, lying, laying.

Stop.

Stop and see, listen, hear, smell and know.

Know that you are more than random. Know that you are more than nothing.

Because if you are not more than that, you are dead.

Kelly wrote it.

Element v. elements [Chicago Dawn]

Pad down grey through fragile clear
an elemental strong
A step, a day, a month, one year,
through rectangle hills

The sky does lift, his gentle grasp
soft around her waist
Chin up, pink nose, she breathes a sigh
Dark lashes beat the haste

The fire leaves drink up cool breeze
They shudder, move in tight
Eternal boats, the seven seas
Fresh dewdrops melt the night

Grid blocks to spaghetti streets
Cement becomes the air
The light before, the dark behind
Caught in a blessed snare

She grasps a bar and lets it go
(i.e. her awe turns into laughter)
A dance with Elemental Flow
There's nothing else for her to know
There's nothing else for her to know