SOC Writing_ 26 November 2020

 Undertow

On softer ground I would have found reasons to stay home, to not go on – and leave the comfort of my home fires. On softer ground I would have held my tongue as if waiting for God to arrive himself and to be my advocate. On softer found I would have felt the strange choking sensation and put it down to a little sticky cold, or too much coffee. But now on hard ground, I feel it all. The blows are real and not meant to harm – but I am bruised all the same. The choke is a hold – hold over me from her – from all the missus, mistresses, teacher and high bosom bound she creatures who have had authority over me. The men seem pathetic - the only power is tower – glower – anger and rage – the rest is the women’s domain. Why so small men? Why only interested in the creations of churches, meetings and the wide wide talk of God, Christ and the afterlife? And that of our own secret and not so secret agendas. Now that I write it down it seems a mistake to have stayed with the soft places only – for a man must feel his strength and that of other men – must push through into his own made clearing – where he can see clearly what is his to be, to make, to create – to be this beautiful spark of light in the universe of women and children. His place is not under scrutiny, but how he is in himself surely is. I wager a bet with myself to become more androgynous - in that I hold masculine and feminine energies a piece – not lurching from one to the other – but holding as in a force field - all creations of nature – bold, brave, naked and intricate – touching and intimate. Fun and funnier the world seems as all our oceans are just breaking like waves – we go under, feel the tow – survive and feel so much more alive – us and our undertow.