Ode to Simplicity - Excerpt from Alphabet
Is it ok that I dream of worn out sweaters that lived memories with me rather than a Chanel, that I truly want to create, create and then create some more, careless about presenting my creations into the world, they have my approval to be so they can just be.
Is it ok that my joy comes from a Beatles song on repeat, familiar faces on repeat, familiar streets on repeat, because I want to be intimate with my world, to truly know the benches I sit on, to truly touch the food I make, to craft the art that makes my home and write the words I gift those I love like pieces of my soul sticking onto theirs.
Is it ok that I want to love the same people differently, and not necessarily different people similarly. That I want to grow old with my things, my friends, my art and my beach sunsets that know my feet well.
Is it ok that I want to be a nobody, wake up and know I am only here where I woke up and not in someone's laptop and now they think they know me.
Is it ok that I truly have no aspirations for greatness and every aspiration to make small things with great care and love and dedication.
I want to know children feel I am one of them when we meet and old people feel I am one of them when our fears and joys meet.
I want to wonder and wonder and never build an opinion, never finalize nor decide, nor pretend any knowledge is ever final.
Is it ok that I do not count the years I am given and I want to live them all as they come, hopeful and in love, unsure and in awe.
Is it ok that I want to love someone that is sure of me, and that my questioning of them is only ever about if now they see that I love them deeper than when I did not know enough, the day before.
Is it possible to continue to paint and play, learn a new language or two, cry yourself to sleep out of sincere pain of loving, laugh your heart to aching for that same pain, joggle between the years that come and go with the certainty that wonder will only grow, love will only flourish and that time will be peaceful because it sees itself no longer as an enemy, just another friend that holds space for all these happenings.
Is it ok that you and me, can be friends who love and lovers who befriend each other, to go through both states and never recover from each other's sincere mistakes as we figure out how to build this knowing in which all doubt dies and all intimacy is born.
Is it ok that heaven is here and nothing awaits when we die, and that the short time we are given here, we are spending here, together, as the universe figures itself out through us, yet we often we forget and try to do its job.
Is it ok that I only ask of you, to be, and to let me be, and for us to know every corner of each other, beyond the flesh, the knowledge of self, masks slipping from the faces, and we grow into a certitude of us that remains when places move around.
- Alphabet - Mani