I drop from the sky sometimes like a broken meteor, plummeting to the ground in a twisted ball of flames and failure and as I lie there and moan a little and groan a little and laugh a little, I curse myself for an idiot. I know better, I know the rules of flight and the theories of aerodynamics, I know what goes up and how it comes down. But, you know, it's nothing new and it's alright.
I lie there smouldering and smiling ruefully and ponder the long climb back to the stars. It's no simple matter, you know, that kind of momentum takes an effort and a while to build up. It takes a little madness and a little recklessness and I'm not talking about things and actions, but states of being because if you've got nothing better to do, you might as well live and the only way to live is up there where blue turns to black and the truth opens up like deep space.
Well, then again, there's something in the earth too. Something worth touching and knowing and feeling. The earth has it's own lessons and I don't mind so much the quiet break, the digging in and deep, the dirt under my fingernails and the sun something forgotten. You know, I begin to remember the earth and how alive it is, how good it is to curl up and stretch out under it's covers. I sprout out some roots and I can relax here and sleep and dream and absorb what nourishment the earth has for me.
After a dream or two, though, my eyes open and what do they see but the widest expanse of pale blue sky flecked with drifting white whispers waking me softly. And then, and then you know, and then it's the sun again and it's warm, so warm and bright golden light and it fills me with hope and desire and I forget everything else as I rise with arms outstretched...
And don't you see? The turning and the spinning? The beginning and the ending? The living and the dying and the living again? Change and flux and everything is round and it's one picture and it's one moment and it's a smile and it's now and my god, why aren't you laughing?
I lie there smouldering and smiling ruefully and ponder the long climb back to the stars. It's no simple matter, you know, that kind of momentum takes an effort and a while to build up. It takes a little madness and a little recklessness and I'm not talking about things and actions, but states of being because if you've got nothing better to do, you might as well live and the only way to live is up there where blue turns to black and the truth opens up like deep space.
Well, then again, there's something in the earth too. Something worth touching and knowing and feeling. The earth has it's own lessons and I don't mind so much the quiet break, the digging in and deep, the dirt under my fingernails and the sun something forgotten. You know, I begin to remember the earth and how alive it is, how good it is to curl up and stretch out under it's covers. I sprout out some roots and I can relax here and sleep and dream and absorb what nourishment the earth has for me.
After a dream or two, though, my eyes open and what do they see but the widest expanse of pale blue sky flecked with drifting white whispers waking me softly. And then, and then you know, and then it's the sun again and it's warm, so warm and bright golden light and it fills me with hope and desire and I forget everything else as I rise with arms outstretched...
And don't you see? The turning and the spinning? The beginning and the ending? The living and the dying and the living again? Change and flux and everything is round and it's one picture and it's one moment and it's a smile and it's now and my god, why aren't you laughing?
VIEW 21 of 21 COMMENTS
It was great meeting you at Prom. I wish we'd had more time to talk. You seem an interesting fellow.