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.
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.
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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