so my best friend is busy playing the martyr clown
and the hot guy at work is transgender
and my dream guy is bursting
at the wedding ring….
life is such a masquerade.
maybe I am destined to the stage
as we all are.
as we all are.
today i need you.
I am carrying you
because you carry me.
I hold onto you because
it helps hold me together.
it is something.
its something mystical
its something healing
and it’s something
integrative and glorious.
I’m about to come full circle.
i forgot how the field is.
the real field.
not the wheat grass.
not the beach with endless horizon.
you know, the one you return to.
and i promise these kids…
i am ready to bend and fold and stretch
i’ve been practicing for months now
and it’s autumn…
they call it fall
and i can fall forward
and i can fall sideways
and i can fall backward
and i can get back up
regardless of the storm that is surrounding you…
even when you cannot.
i will stand.
i will stand for you.
i will hold your hand.
the way you wanted to put your head on my shoulder.
the pull toward you i feel because your mother is absent.
your father is absent.
you want love.
you want life.
you want what you deserve.
you are a child of GOD.
if you want to kneel, you fucking kneel.
if you want to scream, you fucking scream.
i will fucking fight for you.
i will rage against the machine.
i will fight the system of a down.
i will protect you.
i am called to.
i am here.
i am yours.
and you are mine.
and i will not stand by and watch you be the victim to this stage of idiocy.
fuck that bullshit.
sometimes there’s just some grieving to do; you may try to avoid it but it hounds you, you know. and until you feel what you need to feel, no matter how strong and prepared you might be, like Achilles, your heels get attacked by the hound of grief. it bites at your ankles like a nest of ground bees, but its too painful to actually stop and swat. you have to run. you have to run like a mother fucker while they attack your very source of motion. and if your feet fail you, you can start to crawl. walk on your hands if you can, drag yourself thru the mud, but don’t give up. dont let them get to your heart.
you have to keep on. and find your way to the black pearl.
and once you get thru that purgatory nest, trying to pull you into hell, you feel like you see a new world, like Plato escaping the cave, and the newness is like a golden and colorful heaven, like in Golconda.
i don’t always get to my Golconda, but when i do, i find myself.
when there’s nothing left to forget, and there’s nothing left to remember, and you find that all that’s left is
the silence of surrender.
you don’t need the vortex of others to lose yourself. there is no more losing here. i already played that black flag losing game, Lillian. there’s no green flag winning games, either.
all that’s left is the white flag of surrender and the gold flag.
the gold flag of golconda.
i will meet you there, Lillian, at that flag pole. you can play jazz piano and i will play marimba and then we will dance. not to forget. not to remember, but to surrender to who you are.
this is my own self medicating prescription:
i need to keep my rose colored glasses as far away from my face as possible.
i’m only 5’3″ …so my own arms are kinda short.
it’s hard with those spectacles; they are like a magnet.
hello, readers from India and Australia….
may I mail them to you?
not that i recommend they be worn regularly….
look for a package without a return address.