The Idea.

Now that the idea is in me, it cannot die.
Unless I do.
And I don’t.
I live.

An idea is not a newborn babe, weak and helpless and needing me
An idea is an entity
Fully formed
I do not form it
I reveal it
I revel in it

Sometimes piece by piece
Wanton seducer
Disrupter of days
Haunting dreams
Slowly unraveling my best laid plans at the seams
Touching hot desire in places I’d forgot.

Yes, sometimes piece by piece
Sometimes not.

Sometimes ideas are like tropical storms that arrive without warning
Sometimes I am wet, soaked through
Before I’ve even remembered to breathe
Softened at the seams, I expand.
Softened at the seams, I expand.

No idea has ever left me with less.
I am always more.
More willing
More forgiving
More in awe of the space between my ears, this Aladdin’s cave behind my eyes
Space filled when it arrives
Space expanded when it arrives
When it arrives, I am always more
More open, more empty
More full
There is always more space
Idea, you’re welcome here.
You’re welcome.


One thought on “The Idea.

  1. Wonderful. Ideas are like that. They come from the cosmos, way beyond the prison knowledge used to be as taught in the bad old days.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *