Flower of Life by Martrell Stevens Life just happens. When I tell her this I don’t really think she gets it because she is sure she gets it. Sureness is a weird characteristic because this area between confidence and ignorance blurs and creates new worlds for a few, but a prison for most. I can tell that her certainty is purely superficial—after all, it’s how we’ve been conditioned; we must know all of the answers and if we don’t we go looking for them. My perception has faded, but I can tell that beneath her beating heart there is a place I would want to live until the end of days. This one knows, but she isn’t sure and the only reason she isn’t sure is because she doesn’t know. I can sense the eeriness within her vibe, but her anchor shouldn’t be our attachment. I now realize that is where I’ve gone wrong in the past, so instead I’m picking a different root. The power of knowing will cost each individual their sanity because they try to figure it out with the same brain that knows 2 + 2 equals 4. The first time I found out I spent midnight hours in a state in which my brain pulsated trying to establish a truth. The key word is hours; what I needed was infinite time, what I needed was sleep. Every individual has their own experiences, but it all starts with one, just one, and then down you go. In my opinion to feel whole is to have grabbed I am me but it is truly impossible in this physical world, it is the weight we drag. She has her whole life to figure out whatever she pleases, but as I am here present with her cosmic glow, I can be sure that in a few years time we will be having very different conversations. She compliments my energy in a way that doesn't bind us together. I figure in a thousand years we will be able to pick up right where we left off, but let’s first hope that we leave together.
8 Still Waters Vol. IV, Issue IV
