It is the soul of our reasons why and the breath of purpose. It drips from our thoughts and can be smelled through the pores in our actions. Intention is the unseen fabric of the heart; the thing that either manifests dreams or turns them into nightmares. What will be is dependent upon its reason for creation. Intention is foresight. It marches ahead of now and reveals the future of an action. Are we cold hearts or warm ones? Bloody hands or clean ones washed in genuine? Intention is genuine and does not lie. Invisible though it may be it floats alongside us still and like a shadow reveals what is real versus what is being portrayed. A helpmate and a companion, intention is rib. Intention is Eve. Intention is by the side of action, the soul of our reasons why and the breath of purpose. The question is not what you will do. The question is, what’s your intention for doing it?
How do we trace the outlines of the invisible?
where despair won’t touch you gentle
and secret won’t fingerprint its way out of chest
and won’t poetry its way out of fear
the darkened cave of mankind’s deepest secrets
and treasured desires
the place he enters through the mind
tucking away all inner thought
that real self
hiding in thought
a storage place for his hopes
dreams and guilt
a peeled off echo of coming and going and knowing better
this is his resort
his vacation away from himself
his place of residence
he lives here
inside the cave made of chest
the place he thinks no one will ever find
can we write the heart?
take it beating
and dripping with genuine
soaking with regret,
and nerves all tender like
hanging suspended in the air
or on the closet hooks of his thoughts
under the bed spread of memory
flowing back and forth like waves
we stand knee deep in his tears
our clothing soaked with his love
and his hatred too
can we contextualize the heart?
influence its shape so that it fits on these lines
can I drink your thoughts?
so that you relate to lyric
and your heart fits the silhouette of this pen
and puts a dent in white paper
Pay attention to your dreams, for they say the subconscious never sleeps. That eyelids bow the soul’s curtsy, a closed curtain for the eyeballs that awaken when the body shuts down. Bodies that die so that the mind may live. Your eyes move freely in the darkness. The random eye movement of fluttering skin in the heart of dreams. The spirit waits for the exhaustion of the soul so that it may move about amid visions we tell when we wake up. The subconscious self that stutters while we sleep, taking notes and collecting memories from the storage space of the mind. Peeling back the deception of the beautifully crafted language we birth when the spirit’s not present. Showing them for the nightmares they are when masks fall, and demons manifest our truths in the depths of our minds and in the visions that awaken when eyelids bow in the heart of dreams.
They say the eye is the window to the soul. A camera if you will, into the heart of man. The defining moment of his realness, or the fabrication of his persona. What does a photographic heart look like? Can I stare into your eyes and take with me an image of your intention? I marvel at the eye’s genuine and the revelation of the tongue. A man ponders in his mind the person he is and speaks his heart into existence. A dark person cannot hide behind his eyes, and a good soul cannot produce a contradicting reflection. The bond between the mind and the heart gives way to sight, and gives birth to the eyes to see. We can discern the shape of thought just by the color of words. We can lift the eyelid of speech and stare down the throat of truth. It is a discernment not everyone will possess; the ability to see beyond what you could see.
Even a deaf man can learn to listen. Though we hear with our ears understanding comes from the heart and from the mind. So many problems in the world and in our own individual lives could be solved just by listening. It is not so much that the most intelligent of the world are any smarter than the least educated. The difference is just by way of how one listens over the other. If I tell a child to wash the dishes I do not need that child to respond that there are only few dishes in the sink. This is an example of poor listening skills. I did not ask the child if the sink was half empty or if it was half full, I asked the child to wash the dishes that were there. It seems simple enough, but this cycle is repeated throughout our lives in so many ways and we are often like this child. Learn to listen, not with the intent to reply but with the intent to understand. You see I cannot give you a proper response on a good meal until after I have digested it. I have to take the food in first, taste it, swallow it and then digest it. Now, in these stages I have choices. I can talk with my mouth full so that you do not understand what I speak. I can taste the food and declare it right even though I have not swallowed it. And I can assume it has a healthy effect on my body though my body has not yet digested it. Too often we do this with information in our lives. We reply to situations or to people even though we have not fully digested the information. The funny thing is that most people you talk to are never really listening to what you’re saying because they already have a response waiting on the tongue. They are just waiting for you to stop talking. They do not listen. They do not hear. You have to understand, as you navigate your life, that you cannot have a healthy relationship with people who do not listen. It won’t work. Some of you are in relationships with people and its not working. The reason its not working is because your in relationships with people who do not listen. For many of us the result is that we learn to do likewise. We do not stop to hear what is heard. We do not stop to listen.
“Speech is basic. If you can’t control your words, you can’t control anything.” – Yecheilyah
We’ve all been here. The orgasmic rush of an undisciplined tongue trying to figure out if it should spill the beans this morning. The aching necessity to feel our very own thoughts in our own mouths, and the satisfaction of these words sweet against the palate. It starts with the mind. A single thought gives birth to language, and a single scent of emotion strives to find its way on top our lips. Pay no heed to logic or common sense says this voice. Just the flavor of desire hanging on the edges of our hearts and waiting to fall like children from our mouths. Speech. There is no refund policy. Words cannot be taken back or traded or made invisible. Cannot be sucked like air back on top our lips, into our mouths and inside our chest. Cannot send its signal to the brain again and ask him to take them back. Speech can only be controlled. So dissect your mind and determine which thoughts are worthy to make it into the air or onto the page. Choose them like you chose your wedding dress. Carefully. Choose them like you chose your school. Wisely. Treat your words as if they are die hard criminals and you must release some of them for early parole. Which will you choose? Cradle your thoughts in your arms like an infant for words are just as fragile and vulnerable. Once spoken, like eggs once broken, they can never be repaired. The tweet I posted some time ago meant that the person, who cannot control the words of his own mouth, won’t have the strength to control anything else in his life. For his words are his. They come from his mind and from his heart. And we, why we cannot dig into his chest and choose them for him.