SOC Writing _ 13.3.21

Fuck that’s beautiful

He said as he drew his hands angrily across the page. The day dawn fucking gambit that may pay off if only I can stick to my knitting and see my way through the path I’m forging for myself – for all the ancestors – reverse history – children coming after me – who long for freedom – who want a different way to travel – and thus I am thinking its all about me – all about me – its not – I’m in work that has been long in order - has been since way before my grandmother on my mother’s side every uttered a mystical word – the phrase mystical – metaphysical comes easily to my brother too – we were born wanting stars - wanting matter to be glorious – as star spangled as the cross - as permanent and deeply divine as any hymn to arch – angels. This birth right is flowing through me – I feel the resistance to his freedom, my son who wants to want – who takes with abandon – triggers my control factory existence – when the boys joke about private parts I marshal all the teachers, all the parents, and all Christendom at my disposal to shut it down – shut down the life force – always we are trying to be free on one hand – cutting our arms off with the other hand – we - all – long – to – be – free – and some of us are willing to pay a higher price than others - to go alone – to be cold in society – to try and etch out our own little enclave apart – this – has always been going on – remove yourself from the emperors lands so that you can remove distraction and focus clear and bright on the religion that bought you here in the fist place – set you on a much wider footing – gave you depth to explore the cosmos – made you trust divine love in the first place. It’s all coming to pass, the bumbling mess we call our lives – rolling, falling, weeping beneath us as we stare dream ward into what lies about – tattered and precious, the days of our lives – the rain falling again – washing the washing again, and leaving me with a sense of fucking beauty.