Time vs. Darkness

One thing that hangs, elusive to our cries for it, is just out of reach.  "You've had enough," it taunts, knowing our addiction to it will not let us simply accept that fact.  Instead, we seek out those who seem to have mastered the art of commanding this tyrant.  We pay to hear the secrets they hold and do our best to mimic their paths.

Our own path has it's own plan.  "You are yourself, you crave what you already have, yet toss it aside like some insignificant gnat."  We all have the same twenty-four hours in a day.  But some seem to get so much more out of their twenty four-hours than we do.  Such a mystery.

Depression and fear are like sponges.  They take away so much and leave us with little.  Time gets wasted, worrying about what isn't, while forgetting about what is.  Our eyes get cloudy, making it hard to see.  What we have are blind ambitions, pulled from our assortment of wants and desires.  They can't see to lead the way where we can save time for the important things-the place we long to be, but have handed over our "spare" time to others who squander it away.

They live in us and drive us along our bumpy path.  This path happens to parallel the paths of others.  Those who needn't answer to the beastly drums of mental illness.  Those who have learned the wise ways and captured their time; using it as they wish and deaf to its constants jabbering, countdown;  ten...nine...eight...seven...another minute escapes our grasp...six...five...four...two...and soon it's gone...one...zero.

Looking back on that minute, we see the waist left behind by the depressive struggles to harness the time, but it laughs at our attempts.  "You've chosen your path, the one with the potholes and boulders to stumble over."

To change paths is to cast aside the demons that hold us tightly in their grasp.  "How?" we ask. How do we escape this dark place that has been our home for so long?  Baby steps.  Hmm...I've been told that about many things and am not so sure I trust it.  Babies fall.  Their unsteadiness reminds us of our own shortcomings.  Darkness deepens.  Somewhere in this muck is a way out and on to a light-filled, gentle path where time is our own.

 "Smile!" a voice from within the darkness commands.  How?  Just smile for no reason?  "Smile!" the voice is closer and louder than before.  The smell of a field of flowers fills this empty place.  Memories rise and to our astonishment, we smile.  We smile from the memories buried in our deepest, darkest place.

We hear children laughing.  It's like they are chasing each other in the park...the park on the sunshiny side, opposite our path.  Tears fill our eyes.  The laughter is from a birthday party...I think it was my eighth...warm sun...glistened through the trees...birds sang...then, "Happy Birthday to you...happy birthday to you...

So many friends back then and lots of magnificent imaginary kingdoms, and dressing up like a princess.  A princess in a long flowing gown.  We smile, bigger this time...time...we had more time than we knew what to do with then.  What was different?   The light!...the light that surrounded us when we played.  The light that danced with us when we played on the swings.  Laughter!  That's why the voice said to smile.  Laughter calms the turbulence inside...brings the light into perspective and makes us happy.

The Beast

Since the prior one was so short, here's another:

The cold oozed into the beast's gullet from the frigid air outside. People bundled in coats and gloves were drawn in and looked hungrily at the beast's flesh; dallying just a little more than usual to stall that blast of icy coldness a little longer. As the gaping mouth opened and closed, the atrium became its own freezer. Steam danced from their mouths as they came and left.

From inside, music blared above the noise of cash registers and techno alarms. It was like the beast was chomping its teeth, breathing deeply as the people were sucked into its gaping belly. Once there, they were assaulted by the noisy din of its cavernous belly; aching for more to fill the emptiness.

The drones who helped break down and re-build this nonsensical beast's insides, continue milling about the new-comers. They come searching for something. They all are searching, including the drones whose only purpose is to care for the beast.

The drones are tied together, mentally, when they are seeing to the beast. One tells a joke, they all laugh. Another tells the others that one of the new people is wandering through the curves of the beasts intestines. Without thinking, other drones join the wandering one and guide him to his destination..

Sometimes , when the beast yawns or breathes a sigh, the new ones leave. The beast doesn't appear to mind as others take their places. The ones from outside the clear walls bring offerings in exchange for some of the beast's inner flesh. They greedily snatch pieces and leave their offerings before being swept out with the exhale or the the freshness of the places outside. The drones watch as others who were once digging at the flesh of the beast have been drawn into the bellies of neighboring beasts.

Most seem happy to continue this ritualistic tearing down of the community of beasts. Some smaller beasts can't take it , whether it's the gnawing by the outside ones, or the silence in their lack of presence; either way, they slowly die, void of of any of the life that once occupied their insides.

Something New

Even now, as he plays an old Elton John tune for me , I remember how important it was that he regain his ability to play for me again. . The leg meant nothing near as much as the hands. When he plays, it's like a singular root that binds us and and connects us, is throbbing to the beat of the base. That connection flows through me more than the riding.

When he first played for me, my senses all turned to the sound he was creating- like when a sudden blast of a horn makes you turn your head to find out where it is coming from-everything inside me turned to focus in one instant.. It was water and life. I've never been touched like that by anyone. He reached into me and found something tiny inside me, a speck, it was something long dead,but forgotten. He brought life to it.

The riding was fun and exhilarating. The feeling of having him between me legs for hours at a time captivated me, but didn't hold me so gently in its hand like the music.