The older I get, the less I know.
Here’s what I do know:
there isn’t a deeper meaning
the layers are on the same plane
unzip your paranoia for a moment
and maybe I will too
but I’m pretty sure yours will take longer
so I’ll give you a head start
I know there are layers…
evaporating from me in clouds,
raining back down
to drench me again,
even as I thought I was outrunning it,
energised by the grass under my feet
and the breath giving coldness of marble walls,
their vapour mixing with mine.
Their incongruous corrugation
oscillating to unheard music
helping to propel me
to the memory beyond.
But the hands reaching out
The face appearing
Confused by dream mediums
I dragged in the shallows.
The wave overtaking.
The gorgon emerging.
Stone icicles –
entombing my vapouric bliss.
Glistening more in the unreaching…
I had the most interesting conversation with a dear, elderly friend recently. Every time I do, it makes me lament even more how our culture doesn’t value the wisdom of the elderly. There are times when I truly grieve over stories lost forever.
We talked about the fear of man…
the fear of God…
the misunderstanding of the fear of God and how radically it is exacerbated by the growing fear of other humans, the context being, that we believe humans were created in God’s image.
The astonishing kindness of anonymous bloggers, their anonymity injecting poignancy straight into my veins.
I told him about the phenomenon of hikikomori which fascinated him, but he immediately responded with words straight from his mature, listening heart, ‘no wonder people are afraid of God. We are forever doomed to create him in our image…’ or something to that affect. Ugh, my awful memory does not do him justice.
And this post does not do this issue justice. but I want to get in the habit of writing more regularly so this will have to do for now.