Wednesday, March 16, 2022

Storm is Coming

Original Painting
Simon Lutrin 

It is another worldly vibration that is always humming in the background. Lurking beneath my skin deep into the cells of disarray. The storm is coming; the storm is here, the storm never leaves it continually teases its power and forbearing. You are forced to prepare for the wrath while trying to enjoy the calm. Is there ever a calm? There is an illusion of safety that we create to manage to take on another day. It is no wonder one would end their day in the ray of sunshine; the finale to be luminous rather than dark and alone. We do not live by the same rules. We are here but so very far away. Smiling but no longer from the eyes caught up in unfettered joy. A prisoner with a warden always looming. Toe the line; the imaginary constantly moving line between living and surviving. 

When did we leave this world for our own little kingdom? When was the moment we breached the boundaries and there was no coming back? We live in your world but we are no longer of it; yet so few notice our fading. We don't let them see us fade; because then we would truly disappear. Until then we put pretense of this is enough. It has to be enough because we are told it is and too tired to fight the narrative.

We are no longer alone but we are lonely. We have a community where we never meet in person. Avatars of varying degrees of abilities and we celebrate when one breaks through to the other side; no matter that we know they will return. A temporary reprieve. I'm so tired of them returning. A few break truly free; the young who have headed the warnings to rest until they can't rest anymore add a dash of luck they are truly free. No matter they will always be on probation; they know what was almost lost and play by the rules to keep their freedom. For how long?  That question is never far from their mind. But for those few, very few the storm blew thru and they have a chance to rebuild. The wise ones with a firmer foundation, a newfound awareness the next time the winds will move slightly north and they will feel just a breeze. The breeze their reminder this freedom can be taken away; the next wind may be the hurricane. 

Original photograph 
Cheryl Juech 
( poor photo of the photo )

I have lost all illusions I will ever live without the storm rustling inside of me; perhaps one day our eyes will meet in peace. Until then we battle and we break. It barrels I take refuge. It passes I feel the calm behind the destruction. We look out the window tasting the breeze hoping it has whispered freedom to a fellow traveler and offered the comfort of relief.


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