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  • More prose/talk-

    Squaring Off

    Tell me there isn't someone who remembers as a child being afraid, avoiding eye contact, eyes that ricochet still from teenage flourishes and downcasts. Tell me you wore my make up. It has to have gone somewhere. Tell me you love reconciling, and the dead skeletons aren't to hang upon doors like knockers. What, a coin in my mouth? I'd spit it out, i'm still alive. To dance with you, where we knew we would have both perished without the central axis of ... us.

    The ventriloquism ... a sort of 'active imagination' in which I am all the participants. I reason, let the fabric of what ideas are made of create with me ... if psychology is cause and effect, then we also have a way to break the habits. We might just re-wire the circuits, then. But you know, on the highway that is our working nervous system and mind's neuronet, where we are 'stuck' in a certain circuit could be analogous to a "bug".

    Trauma is a bug in the system. Of course technically this does not pan out, trauma we see is connected to something much more. We see it in extremes. Mental disease. You see it in the pressures put upon people who can't deal with those specific energies, and they just snap. There is a rhythm to it, too. Illness rears its head, people casually forget to check themselves. Sooner or later a pattern builds up, a habit is introduced.Like two siblings in a family fighting over thin air. Take away stimuli. Identify the problem.

    When put to the limits, we see the truth, and what is most irrational actually in us will come up. We might bare the animal grin. But why worry about how we're seen anyway ... if we have done nothing wrong? ...Right. Who has done nothing wrong, everyone sins. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone is here because they are alive. One could go further, they are alive because they needed to learn something. For what, for whom? Themselves? This leads to a non-specific loop. Re-incarnation. Too many mistakes. And we are given life. Think real estate and religion and price mark-ups.

    You and I wore the same make up. So the quality of life has not improved, we perhaps just desire 'something' more. Except if we desired peace, we don't find it in the fights we have over petty grievances, passive-aggressively nibbling. I want to be yellow as the sun and slather mustard on bread and say, maybe you were hungry. It doesn't matter that no one has yellow colored eyes like mustard spread, either. It doesn't matter that I find you easily, but it's somehow difficult: Serendipity. You are the angel of Grace and the guide to my way. I always think about you. And we fade and might remember or forget. We have limited resources, and we're getting older, and we're dying less, and we're not so much happier. We repeat ourselves and still expect to be listened to. We found many people never listen. Usually you can tell, there is an intelligence, a pique. Usually the ears open wide and you can feel the energetic transfer. If you're along with someone you can jive with.

    Say, you know the same things, have similar experiences to share. Love the fresh midnight air. Ponder love notes to people barely there. You get to thinking, in the condition of the night, after a fresh rain, with the breath still visible in December ... How absurd and empty and unthinkable these last three months would be without our festivities and traditions and traveling and celebration. We're so used to it. We're used to the burden, and the taxingness of the exchanges, and what I want to know is, is that why things do not change, because we're used to it, but not too sick of it? Will we always celebrate? It would be much better to have a reason to celebrate; "perhaps" rather than sticking it all in one long parade of a place, with moving parts like skeletons and thanksgivings and Christmas trees we drape with lights?--

    I am only questioning. I am fond of the holidays, and enjoy the warmth the lights and fire and family bring. I wish it were actually always a celebration, that we had the wherewithal to be able to celebrate always. It would be more becoming to my spirit. Perhaps. If we had the energy. What I really meant is that I wish we could take the spirit of the holidays with us, and make something from it, that justifies the magical feelings. Because they can and do die. When we remember Christ, perhaps we remember that part which stays alive, and lives common to everyone, faceless and warm with a love that speaks but in no one-specific language. Squaring off with that which is massive within myself, massively small and massively large. That which could break to be touched. The vulnerability and tenderness that make love so full.

  • #2
    Wow. I’ll have several reads of this poem. Do tell me you’re writing a book!

    Comment


    • amenOra
      amenOra commented
      Editing a comment
      Aren't you? lol, well... I have tried. I suppose these pieces could be collected and organized and presented as such. I guess that will come when i'm less inspired and productive, writing-wise. lol.
      Thanks for appreciating enough to say that, Sister Greed. Hope you are well.
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