how to lay the mind to rest?

Another chilly night, and I feel restless, sleepless again: searching for an activity that satisfies my exhausted mind. Non-verbal ways to process (yet here I am, scribbling.)

Thia and I sat on the porch talking of how endlessly we return to this navigation of identities, the struggle of margins (blurry lines we barely fall across, and yet, are torn by still.) 

These words from the summer resound:

The coyote howls, mangy gray, on the horizon I sit and simmer, I simmer like steam leaving tea, simmer, like a low turned burner, like less heat rising, the emotions simmer, they do not cook up or boil, slowly they turn into something more steady, more concrete, steam leaves, exhaling, I breathe in the vision of a dawn I breathe in the vision of...

I feel the jagged edges of my soul, like these broken mountains. Befriended, I want to reach my hand out and press it into another's, amiably, comforted by the physicality.  To know how to feel my way into another's existence… in the cracks, to climb the crevice, pressing what can reach into a hole and pulling myself up, invitation, not invasion.

The wind is singing, slowly, a lullaby for waking, a lullaby for stirring, she calls forth from our hearts the tune of movement, the lust for touching (dancing) moving air around our forms, occupy this space, occupy this territory of myself so that others can move into it, the settlement of hospitality even while we emerge, this is the story, this is the tale she has to tell:   “I will be a human like a tree is a tree.”