Where Am I Going To Put It?

Realizations from Dreaming on self importance and person history and how they hold me back from the totality of self. 

Where am I going to put it?

I remember...

I remember the nightmare.

At the end, surrounded by monsters, I could smell my own body rotting.

I couldn't get out of bed. My teeth ached unbearably.

They cut the power in my house because we had no money to pay for electricity.

My son died.

Awareness into the wind.

I took it back, as only I can use it for freedom, because it was pure.

I remember the nightmare. I fought demons, and furious beasts, and monsters.

I fought them because my pockets were filled with my own stupidity, with the currency of hell, with the keys to ignorance.

I had my pockets filled with judgments, with rush, with sorrow and worries. With hysteria and schizophrenia.

My pockets were full of ME.

But I would give my life to see your eyes glow with this infinite joy.

Don't you just see them? Standing there in line, all the way back to times still to come. Their eyes glow with fierce, unending joy.

Warriors...

Thousands of them.

Out there.

Where are you?

What do you call hell?

Home?

What's life? Life, it's one flapping of a butterfly's wings. It's this here and this now.

Who's going to live forever?

I've seen a room full of tigers moving in perfect synchronicity. Silent tiger’s with butterfly wings.

I've seen them roar their way out of hell and tear its sordid walls down with the powerful silence of this roar.

They roar in unison, as one.

And they fly as one.

THE Warrior.

Those eyes... those eyes. Those smiles, those claws ripping the wind.

The stars are in a war for freedom.

Where am I going to put all this joy?

Not even my tears will hold it.

I'm going to put it in my pockets, because they are empty now.

Enrique