Friday, July 22, 2011

A Walk

I went for a walk and suddenly it swallowed me how I am all those parts of me, the child and all his tantrums; the parrot, the analytic, the sage and the me I think I am; all just parts. Parts I boxed as good or bad, all those parts locked away; they all came out to dance and skip on the side walk today.

A small sprinkler was jettisoning droplets of water like flower petals gently floating to the ground and melting into the lawn.

A red car, just wanted to have a conversation to pass the time away.

Each and every tree smiled, some bowed others humming a little sly tune and I felt like hugging them all and tasting their leaves. I wanted to wrap myself naked around each and every one.

Up popped some apartment nozzles and water from them began to spray. I stood transfixed by the majesty of it all. All in unison they sprang to singing the fullness of the chorus of that watery melody they sang. The drops, some on the lawn and some on the sidewalk puddling up here and there; then tiny rivulets began meandering across, into cracks, flowing like miniature rivers in deep eroded gullies, finally off the edge tiny waterfalls gushing onto the street.

Something is in the air today, something is melting me from the inside out and I too will soon flow like rivets into the street and down the gutter and who knows where from there.

And really I don't really care...

Morning Pages

As I was writing my morning pages this morning, I kept getting a whiff of ink from the pen I was writing with. I hadn’t smelled that smell since college or maybe early in my career when a pen leak was not uncommon and geeky pocket protectors were a necessary accessory. There was no leak, no mess, just the scent of ink as I wrote, playing and frolicking in my nose. I got up to make a second cup of coffee and as that smell now danced as a memory; I poured the water from the Brita filter pitcher into a measuring cup to microwave. As I poured, the sounds of the water swallowed me, their lips sucking me in like a piece of spaghetti and carrying me away, tumbling and rolling into the cup. The sounds continued to echo even after I was done and returned to the writing.
Sensations kept coming, the feel and texture of the cushion I was sitting on, the clamminess of my skin from the warm humid morning as the sun began to pop over the tree tops. The taste in my mouth, latent aftertaste of that first cup of coffee and a reminder that a brush, toothpaste and mouth wash was in order.
I continued to write, thoughts of wounds, questions of healing, how’s and meanings, rights and wrongs, solutions, answers; a quest for an elixir of wholeness and cure. When in the depths of the quest, thoughts flowing feverously winding up for a profound break-through in understanding; the silence was shattered by the earth shattering CRUNCH as my cat began eating its food. Again and again, another and another, some short, some in pairs or triples, no two the same. I stopped and listened, listened to the voice as the universe spoke, hearing her voice, remembering the taste of her words, the feel of their texture and smell of their essence. And in all this cacophony and thought distracting diversion, a tiny spark in a cavernous darkness lit those thoughts, though dimly, but lit them none-the-less. In the echoing flashes, a glimpse of thoughts, faces without eyes to see, smooth without nose to smell the fragrance of wonder or a mouth with tongue to taste the colors; no fingers to touch the sensuous wonderment of all that surrounds me, no arms or legs to move about this astonishing world; nothing just bare naked, sterile thoughts running frantically as if to make meaning.
Yes, thoughts, ruminations of regurgitated experience masquerading as life. The quest for healing, a frantic attempt to hold back and stop the blood flowing from the opening of an old wound, the blood merely an illusionary confirmation of a straw surrogate's attempt at pretending to be me. Let it bleed, I say and let the life blood flow, because it too is an imitation, a putrefied liquefied illusion, dyed red by fear flowing through cracks in the straw. The dying straw man merely last gasps of an old belief falling away, as the king marches homeward to reclaim his lands.

Inside Of

Inside of nothing
Inside of what I can’t see
Inside of the fear
Inside of the fear I can’t see
Inside of my past
Inside of myself
Inside of myself I can’t see
Inside of the crying
Inside the little boy
Inside the angriness of a toy
Inside of alone
Inside of the pale
Inside of the beak of feel
Inside of the inside
Inside of the door shut closed
Inside of the room
Inside the shards of tomorrow
Inside of the perilous new
Inside of the who am I
Inside of the me
Inside of the emptiness inside
Inside of the helplessness
Inside of the lovelessness
Inside of no feeling
Inside of the hurting
Inside of the lost helplessness
Inside of the falling away
Inside of the nothing nothinglessness
Inside of the no-way-out
Inside of the inside-outside lost

I remember that night
I remember my mom
I remember my dad
I remember the screaming
I remember the choice
Choose me
Choose me
I remember the choice to choose
the screaming to choose
who do you want to go with
who, who who
I remember the hate
I remember the wanting
Wanting it to stop
I remember the screaming
I remember not wanting to be
I remember not wanting to feel
I remember not wanting to hurt
I remember just wanting it to stop

I remember
inside of the nothingness

I found my home…