#309 Blurry
Blurry is a beauty, squinting occasionally for a brief focus that relaxes back into the blurry rather than the other way around.
The more focused we are, the less open our gaze is. The more precise our predicament, the worse our acceptance. The more the more lies the lies of the cruelty of more.
The bully encroaches on their decisiveness and clarity, believing no other could be or is. Where the shy, the timid instead relax in the ease of a moment lacking, but respectfully probably way more than it merits.
Conviction is such a dangerous dream in the silence of a scream of the agony of clarity dancing in a haze, oblivious of the beauty of the blurry shadow that follows its every move.
Listening dies in the eyes of the all-seeing and knowing, for it has no room to breathe, and in the cacophony of sounds played to muse and command, the sound that carries or moves denies itself the gift of seeing.
For in the blurry of being, the whole of who we are melds in the blurry of the one. Withholding the seeking of clarity amid the haze of every day’s uncertainty continues to relish the moment where the blurry calls you and, in its essence, molds you.
Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~
