Becoming Me

SOC Writing _ 15 October 2020 

Becoming Me

 Laid back, and in my own space – the boy calls across the playground and I holler back at him – I cringe as I look at all the little people – in a world so much smaller than my capacity – my limited self-hood kingdom. Childhood dreams – squashed in between the gates of the Christian School. The fool – hardy world full of itself – the grandiosity that only look at its own face - embraces only its own mind embrace. It’s a disgrace to my grandfather who puts his mind out there to my parents – the scorn and derision of he – he the only stalwart looking at us, at me – wondering, hoping that we will be saved – from my parents salvation – not even a right of passage – this place of fields and 4x2 batons – of bull rush and grass stuffed up the pants and backs – of toilets white and plastic – echo – echo –echo – the sports shed guarded my Mr Hermansen – 4 square and all the commotion of hard on’s in public sight. At the delight at the disfigurement of others - the making fun in the centre of the Christian universe – children are so harsh no matter their religion – And the flag – bowing down – a salutation – though I love to sing and sung through the breaking of voice – the choice to chose the Christ in the midst of no choice – but choice I exercised to go deeper in still – to find the stillness where I could lay out my feelings – angst, lonely, waste-land – no mans land – but a God hand in hand – friend on the farm is Christ in my bosom – the gates of eternity swung on their rusted hinges – now there’s a gate for us to fix dear father – here is a place to give up it’s ghosts – its’ ghouls and be perfectly honest about the meaninglessness of the after life – the strife – and striving towards the mark for the perfect union with one who is un-united with all the base – race – place - space – of this, my one and perfect body, in this one and perfect world.