Sometime in the night I acknowledged dying and for every hour sleep failed to take me in her arms I cursed even louder the oncoming day knowing she would come with frazzled ropes to bind my steps knowing full well my heart had fashioned scissors from my sorrows hoping to use them to cut those strings and instead with excessive frivolity cut into itself.
Stepping out of bed and wearing a dull throbbing head I ached for a life in any dimension that existed before sheep came into existence and people began to count them in a daily ritual to bury the mind of the intrusive herd of thoughts and calm the heart’s greedy portion of emotions.
Looking down at my stomach I dared her to transmute my nausea and her bloating to dizziness. She laughed because the ropes had already arrived. “Fatty!” she chided. It was true and she knew like I that fat people are the personification of the corpses we all pretend not to be. Dead inside, thoughts and tears imploding within to swim upon the sour vestiges of acidic additives, non-nutrients and marshmallow-like beds made months or years prior in order that the frightened souls craving rest and release can burrow into its own fiery skin cave of chromium and sedentary sleep while wistful of thirst born of over drinking from wells of reincarnated self-hatred. Fat reminds us that we cannot hide our pain and she is ironic in her overt presentations.
I walked inside from the rain admiring the snails pace and patience while wondering what I’d given myself that was acceptable enough to share with others. Then I stood naked before the camera while speaking into the microphone and told myself this was the home I made and that between my body and the walls inside and outside of me I will continue the endeavor of finding and creating and building beauty and love upon and below every surface that has the power to be a place of warmth, a place of shelter and a place of peace for others. The temple is a lifetime endeavor that promises arrival in the running without end.
Today though I die.
I cry, laugh, feel sorrow and joy. A face flashes before me and the mourning of physical presence washes over me even as I mourn my mourning. Birds chirp, snails awaken and began a long trek indifferent to danger, Parents and caregivers wave goodbye to children at school, A brief nod of greeting is offered to a gardener and doling out a pet’s portion is added to the other rituals of the day, most of them led by rope.
Every farewell is but a necessary dying to fall into a womb of promise and swim in a life less fragmented and freed from the ropes that inhibit the nurturing and love found within each hearts placental walls.