A February Morning
Watching and observing, as if thinking: why so different? which way it is supposed to be, this adapted chair with it’s rigid edges and tight belts, or those little feet of them rocking the floor underneath?
My world, my words, my cries, my desires..they’re all silent. Their desires are loud and out there!
..oh yeey there is the light again, I love the secret laughs I have with it, but oh..their merry voices and dancing bodies seems fun..and more comfortable!
How I wish he can reach out to me somehow, something more than lefting up his head towards me and looking straight into my eyes.
Does he want me to walk away and let him be, or help him experience the floor rocking under his feet?
sometimes it feels like one of my foot is on a collapsing bridge, and the other on a standing one. And oh God it is hard.. to keep going on when every now and then the leashes whip to pull my spirit down.
Today, I dared and thought it:
It’s not about being fair or not, you just choose them randomly , then we kid ourselves thinking we are special.
I’ve picked up for you Nemer this wonderful and powerful writing.
You will be walking some night
in the comfortable dark of your yard
and suddenly a great light will shine
round about you, and behind you
will be a wall you never saw before.
It will be clear to you suddenly
that you were about to escape,
and that you are guilty: you misread
the complex instructions, you are not
a member, you lost your card
or never had one. And you will know
that they have been there all along,
their eyes on your letters and books,
their hands in your pockets,
their ears wired to your bed.
Though you have done nothing shameful,
they will want you to be ashamed.
They will want you to kneel and weep
and say you should have been like them.
And once you say you are ashamed,
reading the page they hold out to you,
then such light as you have made
in your history will leave you.
They will no longer need to pursue you.
You will pursue them, begging forgiveness.
They will not forgive you.
There is no power against them.
It is only candor that is aloof from them,
Only an inward clarity, unashamed,
that they cannot reach. Be ready.
When their light has picked you out
and their questions are asked, say to them:
“I am not ashamed.” A sure horizon
will come around you. Then heron will begin his evening flight from the hilltop.
He is Himself!
“If I could let him be the boy he is, and let go of the boy he may have been.”
Very strong words and maybe a foolish hope.
How could she? When she’s thriving throughout the days, exhausting her mind and body to make it better for him!
But how would one make things better? By forcing a change, or by allowing the flow to pour in whatever direction?
Does she dare to just stop…and let him be?
Wouldn’t she slap her face because one day she simply didn’t know how to continue?
She knows that he is himself, but what if he still has more in?