I am entering the new year wrong.
Our mythic past is to hibernate when the beasts claim their rest
because nothing still grows in winter but dread, longing for the
rising sun only to find the daylight burns brighter than you remember.

We have become lost to timelessness,
de-synchronized from the patterns meant to guide us and yet
the instinct to reach for immortality remains. It amazes me
how in a time like this we never lost the value of creation.

Every now and again, the animal hibernating within us
will send up a gentle hum, a reminder
that in every swollen belly waits chaos
despite our best efforts of domestication.

And you know, I don’t think the warning is such a bad thing.
The ringing in our ears will quiet soon and when dark approaches,
the restlessness of the breeze will be too loud to ignore
and we will know the storm is coming.

I didn’t think I would hear it coming at first,
falling to the graces of being caught between too many words.
Impossible to be mistaken for anything else, this place becomes invigorating.  
An endless limbo without an audience to impress,

the waves don’t have to play nice here and god, do they crash angrier than ever.
I am not sure why we first back away from these moments,
backing away from what we think we are not meant to see,
all the while missing out on the grand tumultuous beauty

preceding the tranquility of spring.  
The wind, the rain, the hail, the hell, the waves, everything.
Go into it. Go into the storm, scream on the edge of the cliffs and
look out into the ocean to see nothing but towering crests!

Filled with such exhilaration they crash unto themselves
before even making it to the shore. Take that feverish energy
and hold it close, remember the storm is necessary.
We are buried deep within ourselves and will one day feed the earth beneath us.
We are but a mouthpiece for the storm.