SOC Writing _ 25th August 2020

New Song

The earth tilts constantly on its axis – like a spinning top teetering through space at amazing speeds. Every that has grown on this globe inhabits the same similitude of spin and topple – like we are carrying an enormous stack of books, hardly able to contain balance, but the door is opened just as we stumble and we continue on our merry, chaotic way. Such is our life, such life – the such-ness – duchess of a way gone wrong, princess spilt beads on the car park floor – lost herself in men who didn’t care for her – lost in the pain of separation from her true family. It wasn’t royal blood in her veins - not hers to keep the mores and social responsibilities of the patriarchy. Hers is freedom – hers to glitter and dance – hers to be fabulous to a world who would crush and extract her wine. Dead now. A memory of the vast waste of those under the bus, left to disintegrate outside the city gates. There are parts in all of us we disown – leave to their own devices only to find them having a life of their own that may suggest to us we are heading down an unknown path. Such is our way with the unconscious voices and lives lived within us that our normative response is to pre-emptively strike and intend to kill that which has appeared from the depths. That which wishes to speak to us, pass on a subterranean message – down below there is a wisdom that has no currency upon the surface, has no prior knowledge or accessible memory bank. These powers, these creatures are to be welcomed, bathed, fed, clothed, and housed in the best lodgings we can find, and despite the ruin the may cause us; a curious heart and mind is required – is the order of the day – to listen. What do hear welling up in your moments of quiet – in your repetitive dreams? It is the voice of yourself, speaking as it must to the whole choir of your being – notes for a new song, a new way to sing.