Poppies on a Minefield

by HelluvaGirl

We were from the Beginning, if there was one. You and I.

We are everything, like everything else in the universe. Cells in the organism. Barely individual, just on the surface. Dive deeper – and there are no faces, genders, concepts, attributes, peculiarities. We are but particles of the force of life which I sometimes call God. Or Love.

We are like anyone else here, really. This I know.

But why does it feel like our souls met, took each other by the hand and never let go, ignoring the timing, circumstances and our own astonishment? If I am capable to perceive you are in fact just like any other, how come it took our encounter for me to see? Why only after us crossing paths did I find myself being the ocean of everything, but also just a grain on a sandy bottom at the same time? Why are you special to me?

I still challenge myself every now and then, asking whether it is my fascination with the unattainable; a primitive psychological mindset combined with the perfectly wrong situation, triggering creative upheaval (also merely humane) and fantasies of fusional intimacy (the well-known need for amalgamation with another, so characteristic to the damaged and insecure)? See, the #icylogic version develops…

In the moments of tranquility, I smile watching my mind determined to contend and my heart refusing to conspire.

Above and within, something beautiful silently blossoms. Like poppies on a minefield.