I don’t want the half-life
teeth clenched to another day
the prison march to mundane.
I don’t want the half-assed life
wearing the necktie noose of mediocrity,
slouching towards the pursuit of nothing.
Give me the full life or give me nothing at all.
I want the full life
the rich life
the mess and ooze of it
sink my teeth in it
fall in love with it
again and again and again.
To embrace the mystery,
to fully accept the fluctuating rhythms of life, of
moons and milk and windstorms,
That which makes us human,
That which makes us ache and feel and the
light and dark and frays on the edges.
That which makes us magnificent,
standing on the edge and thrumming with joy,
light spilling up to the brim and burning over,
electric-charged, resilient, shaking, shimmering,
pioneers, vikings, resplendent.
That which makes us mortal,
A seeping mess of science and suffering,
blood and bionics
skin and scars and scrapes:
There is no cure for the human condition.
Yet there is a cure for the half-life
And I want it.
I want all of it,
The full cup, the elixir, the balm,
filled to the brim and spilling over,
the light the dark the
edges rough and raw and frayed.
The open life, the spilled open life,
the one smudged with passion
rather than pessimism and defeat.
I would rather be bruised by loving life hard, than from
knocking against my own negativity.
The free life, unfettered, unhinged, cracked open
and filled with
And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
likeness, image of
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind
— from “Poetry” by Pablo Neruda