SOC Writing _ 25.8.21

Broken

The day they arrived – pastels on the floor – Lola and her racing to make art that made itself. Nothing is ever lost, wasted or forgotten in the end. Jesus and Christ were brothers – did you know that? The one to the other inside ourselves – the parts of us that want to speak – live and be – the two sides of our coin. She told me we never see the dark side of the moon, I don’t want to see the dark side of myself. Shrinking back to the boy – the farm – where I preferred to go off and be alone with all these strong feelings called adolescence. Preferred to masturbate and die down everything that wants to arise. And now it re-surfaces – gasping, coming up for air – like it needs to breath, get some space and feel again what was denied it long ago. I am significant - my life matters – as does yours – you snarled at the sea this morning – thick with detritus and mush - the mountain’s clad in snow as I clad you – we are thick in this – thick as thieves – and, and the sights beyond sight – the road appearing and disappearing – the light holding and fading – the birthday has come again and I sail the seven seas without a life jacket – asking only that the adventure cast me upon a good island with wise and capable people. We seem to grow the most in our darkest times – if we allow the travail – the challenges whereby growth visits our home – our house of merriment – set aside for awhile while we make friends with the ghosts – are kicked along by our own subterranean beasts – its alright to feel this way, and that way – to move like the tide does – we cannot say to the ocean – only like this – sandy stretch of beach, rolling blue waves and a light breeze – she comes as she comes, when she comes and we are grateful for it all – beyond the horizon a voice is whispering - quietly, firmly – directly, sparsely, at you and I – what she says is not to be missed. But we can already feel the tendrils of the future close to our skin – a year of excitement, vivid dreams and wonderful things on my plate.