Colour in your cheeks

Image credit: Timothy Basil Ering

He said: “drink this, it will put colour in your cheeks”. And it did - ruddy, red - not like an old alcoholic - like a boy, fresh from running in the cold. He liked to run in the mountains - where the wild things roamed - then when he descended into his mother’s kitchen - her realm - he knew his place - said the grace - minded his P’s and Q’s - minded himself like a hawk. Every action - every feeling - every thought was under his surveillance so that she couldn’t see - so that he could have a modicum of freedom.

And now a man, he still acts this way. It’s absurd and it hurts himself and others. Slowly he peels back his skin, revealing shameful layer by shameful layer just how deep the poison went. And in the presence of wild - whether his lover or the wild elements - he is being healed - takes a step to find what is really essential - and shares the journey will all. There is not a word now on his tongue that can be bothered with the superficial - all depth and height now - all dying and light. One transformation after another - following nature into her natural cycles of death and renewal.

Who can say what is the right way to live today? Who can ask the question that is right for themselves? Does not contend with other’s heroics - but starts so simply - with the essential part of you - that long forgotten child asking for you to again taken them into the wild.