"The Unbearable Lightness of Being"

Never felt so rootless,
so afloat;
nothing can tie her, no anchor.
It's frightening,
not liberating.
Left to her own devices
no chains can bind her;
circles and charms and candles and spells no devil’s trap no pentagram
she’s free in the scariest sense of lonely.

Uh the fuzzy warm blanket of being desired,
thought it would put her on the map of known
But she’s still unbelievably lost.

She tries to look for a switch to turn the lights on;
it is pitch black,
eyes still can’t adapt,
finger tips on a mission;
she searches, grabs, every new nothing that the darkness fabricates and finds,
blindness…

Clusterphobic
“I can't breathe...”
And the clingy, weak, vulnerable, flimsy blob that sits beside her heart
is quivering;
 it knows now that there’s a nightmare
that she builds every time she gets bored with her flesh;
this time the creative demon inside decided the maze has no exit;
like a tape on loop:
“Just, Breathe!Breathe!”

Millions of little muscles pumping,
chests rising…
falling…
rising...

Fascinated by the frailty of their being she stares at them on the bus.
Her inquisitive peculiarity makes them twitch.
With a blink of my eye,
twig snap,
ripped walls and punctured souls.

A failed system, a flawed evolution.
Weren’t we meant to be immortal?
The magnificent presence,
stapled to the flesh of the weak;

Marks left on their noses where Prana finds its way to the pumping muscle.

A primitive animal,
a soft, delicate, thin veneer separates us from splashing ourselves on the cutting board
when you cut your finger while chopping some onions!

 She breathes…
she will keep breathing…
stop commanding her.

Revelation comes:
No high can make your reality less real
No light can break through
there is no unreal,
the mirage you see down that valley is real.
The grass is greener on the other side,
the fist will unclench.
You will be alive.
Jump with joy!
and breath NOW!

There’s a kick from within.
Little monster, she won't push you out.
She’s terrified of touching you.
Afraid she would taint your serenity.
She can't see your light,
she can't feel your warmth,
she can't hear your life,

Are you dead and gone?
Did you end before you ever began?

We have a tendency to fall flat on the floor.
So she keeps her posture.
She’s too precious…
you are too
and she’ll imprint a note on your soul
“fragile, this side up!”
so no one misplaces you.

Yet inside,
she’s become too familiar with her body,
she’s been here for too long,
she’s lived for far too long,
and the veneer is being washed off,
peeling off layer after layer.

She knows.
There's sanctity in the sound of your shrinking spirit,
as we give our souls up little by little until we have none left and then we die.
It doesn't leave you when you die.
You die because it's already gone…

And then she would bury some charms at a crossroad and bring back the dead.
Her god complex isn't quite satisfied though
and so she weeps for not having the talent,
to write the melodies you would dance to.

But you will leave.
and she will too...
Itinerant,
skinned alive,
she bares herself and falls flat on the floor.

Her truth gushes out from the finger she cut;
exposed, she blacks out.

Coming to a profound disorientation
she fulfills a wish she doesn’t remember making.

As if the world has cracked open
to reveal a melancholy beginning
she turns into a tree,
with roots so deep they crack the earth’s core.

She grows on a crossroad,
where there’s a crow eternally sitting on the wires,
where the earth ends
as you walk off the earth and into a hole
that you weren’t supposed to have known about.

Anchored...
Now she’s grounded.


June 04, 2012