Conversations Between my Soul & the Sky

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I wanted to dance & she said “no”.  She said “no” with violence & vehemence – I don’t dance.

I wanted to make right.  They took my knees & they took my hands.  I watched as my bones curled into disfigurement & the differences I swore I would make, the dreams I had for this soul, for these bones & for this body all drifted away.

I wanted to sing.  I wanted to make music so beautiful you could hear my soul in every note.  I wanted to sing my insides into existence with my guitar & my piano as my hands grew ever weaker, the distance from finger to finger smaller, the aching getting bigger & bigger.  It hurts, & my voice was lost in a heart-stopping lack of movement - a stiffness from the outside in & a dreariness from my bones that sank deep into my soul.

A Life Spent in Wanting

I wanted so much.  I wanted bigness & I wanted bliss.  I wanted to stand for something but I am standing so far from everything that I wanted.  In the wanting is only disappointment.  With the distance between my survival & my bliss being so much greater than my arms can reach, how do I go from here to there? All that is left is to give up. 

I give up so that the wanting is gone & the only thing left is where I am.  I accept less because less is all around me.  Less is achievable.  Less is what is left.  There isn’t enough room in this world for bliss for everyone.  I keep fighting for what isn’t meant for me & I am tired.  I keep fighting & I wonder if in my fighting I am taking up space that is meant for someone else.  I could not forgive myself for taking something from someone else but how do I stop fighting when biology propels me with every breath?

Lost in Thought & Needing to Know Why

The sky is grey, & I ask it “why?” like it has any answers for me, like it knows why we are the same, a grey scale all on our own – blankness from dark to light & back to dark.  The sky & I are one & the same.  We have the intention of beauty but the blankness of grey.  In the sky I am looking for meaning that isn’t there.  I am looking for anything that might feel the way that I do, but even in this feeling there is luxury.  I am lucky to feel anything at all & I hate my awareness of this.

Some people are born more awake than others, with a higher level of consciousness – we talk about it like it’s a good thing, like the knowing is better.  But I know that I am lucky so I ask for nothing.  I sit in silence, poised & grateful in spite of all the things that are broken, in spite of the fact that I am broken.  They come with their intention to steal, but I give it all willingly.  I give it without contest because I don’t know how to express anything but smallness not for fear, or a lacking of bigness, but because I have taught myself to be a harmless little duck, & I have let the world become water on my back.

She yelled, but there could be worse.  She spewed her venom, & her violence, she sought me out because is my silence she perceived weakness.  I took it all digesting it, stuffing it down into the abyss because I could.  What was the alternative? 

We are all connected.  We are all circuits & wires.  We are all conductivity, & electricity.  It flows from you to her to him to them & so on.  It flows from her to me, & there it burns.  It has been burning for years, & all that’s left is ashes. 

Letting Go

I want to hate, but I think of the “why”.  In all of my private conversations with the sky, I ask it again & again.  Its silence is the only reply.  I know what lies in its silence, why worry about the “why”?  What matters is what is & the because.  What matters is “what now?”,  “What next?”  I am grateful for the things that I am, & I am grateful for the things that I am not, but I do not want these ashes anymore.  It doesn’t matter how they came to be, whether the fire was set by her or him or them -  what matter is what I am going to do with myself & for myself now that they are here.  Waiting to return to the dirt is not an option anymore.

I was born with all the potential of a princess.  I want to lay blame & say that it was this & it was that.  I want to point fingers and scream my accusations at the top of my voice.  I want to tell you why I am here, & what bent me into this shape.  It doesn’t matter though. 

All that matters is that I am here.  All that matter is what is next.  In the tossing of these ashes, I can only be sure that they are not here with me anymore.  I don’t know if there is anything left that wasn’t destroyed in the feverish blaze of hatred & self-deprecation.  I don’t know that this fire has indeed been put out. 

I don’t know a lot of things beyond the fact that something has to change, something’s got to give, & running away is not the answer.  I know too that life is too short to continue wallowing here, marinating in these questions of what is right, & what is wrong, wondering if I should or should not.  I don’t know what life & living is all about, but I know that the answer cannot be found in sitting still the answer cannot be found if everything is simply passing by.

What is left, beyond my heart, the sky, & our silent conversations?  What is left beyond ashes, blankness & grey?  I have words, & through them I can be all the things that I dreamed of.  With words I can paint the picture of my insides, crooked teeth, gnarled hands, blood & guts.  With words I can be beautiful.  With words I can be art.  With words I can have all of the things that I see in the air, in the sky, in the birds, in the world around me.

With words I can be free.

…Maybe?

Yoda said “Do or do not.  There is no try”, but Yoda is little more than Grover, a simple blue Muppet, & Star Trek was always better.

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