I don’t want to raise my vibe, thanks.
I want my vibe to be low.
Make that lower than low.
So low that only bats can detect my presence,
Flicking their leathery wings on my approach.
Low as the movement of earthworms through soil,
As roots searching always deeper for home,
Like instinct, seeking purely by scent of damp fur and musk.
Low like the distant storm or earthquake you can feel only in your bones.
Low like magma, dense metallic & raw.
Low like imperfection, inconvenience,
trouble, mediocrity,
Like limitation.
A human life.
Like saying the wrong thing sometimes, wearing the wrong thing sometimes,
low like being a foolish, ugly, broken being sometimes.
Low like… let’s stop fucking pretending, shall we?
These masks are painful for us all, they make it hard to breathe.
Down here it is generous, there is always space on the low mossy rocks, on the dark earth.
In the low, the slow,
the nowhere to get to or go.
I want my vibe to be low.
Low like the hum of the unseen webs that live beneath the forest,
like the sound of grasses on the riverside moving in the evening wind,
like the songs of whales, full bellied, full bodied with longing and loss.