Something Smiles

Creativity. The root of existence.
Existence. An idea within, a breath coming out.
Spark. Electricity.
Syncopated oxygen.
Smothered in the fluid motion of air
spirit
soul.
Relaxation. A tune. In tune.
A one with one. Being just in the moment.
Just so.
So?
Trying to force the air out at first. Force the juices of inspiration.
Like one held in a cave too long. A willing captive of one's own denial of what the moment may bring.
Still.
It is worth the gasping, searing pain of being forced into that moment.
Going through the canal of birth.
Rebirth.
Painful and messy. The first breath painful, but the harbinger of life.
A breath we have taken for granted.
No second thought.
A primal instinct.
A life we live unconsciously from morning waking to evening ritual.
But.
Stop.
Breathe in the moment. Precious breath.
Breeding sparks of truth.
Nurtures the soil of the soul. The soul of the soil.
Spurts forth.
Lush and ripe to be
picked up.
Dusted off.
Starting all over again.
From the dust, something flowers.
From the pain, something smiles.
Empty of expectation.
Not seeking approval
or validation.
Like a parking ticket.
It is here
and here is wonderful.