The Longing

There is a place that I long for. Somewhere beyond the flows of survival. A place without a name where I can call upon myself without fear of retribution. The air cools the soul. The sun warms the spirit and tells me stories of my creation and my journey to home. Home. That is the place. Where the rivers, the winds, the fields of forgiveness know my name. I don’t fear my nakedness here–and neither do you. Our selves are not cherished for simple individuality but are elated for the flawlessness of our interconnected power(s). There is no male, no female, no trans. There is no queer, no str8, no SGL. HIV is simply another useless acronym of the past. We wash our feet daily in the fountains of healing. Faces glow with understanding of the journeys last travelled. There are no scars, no stigmas, no shames–we relish in the still movement. Our lips are sealed–only parting to smile–while our souls speak with ancestors and descendants. We speak of the wondrous power of creation–we speak of us, here, then, now and tomorrow. There is no space, no time, no work–we are living. Hearts do not count the moments toward demise but simply beat to remind us of our essence. Our vulnerabilities are badges of honor, marking our ability to connect with the worlds and compounded realities among, around, between and within us. A place where love is the state of being. Let us travel together.

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