When I am sad I follow self imposed protocol. I lie in bed, listen to Ben’s instrumental album until I feel ready to face the sun. Then I write until something coherent comes out.
Read if you like.
I am just a woman sitting near a pool with cold cup of coffee and a cigarette dangling between my lips. Watching a waterfall mimic the sounds and even smell of the ocean.
But to me…it’s an expertly choreographed light show. Even if the wind is raging a bit. Even if I can hear the sounds of traffic. The blue lights racing towards some unknown catastrophe trapped in someone’s backyard.
It reminds me of one night in the desert. I.was walking between bushes and dry sand, could hear the sounds of people getting ready to dance, fuck, rejoice, rage and howl. The sound of hedonism swirling. And there she was. A tiny woman, her body sheathed in lights that flushed a soft blue and icy white with her every movement. In the dark she became a work of art. Celestial with her every movement.
It’s all a work of art. This place we call home, this earth-prison-graduation planet. Imagine for a second …you’re this Being from the 7th realm. You saw the start of it all. Crafted and moulded the world with your very thought. You alone Knew the intimate Joys of every grain of sand that would tower into mountains. But to be here. To feel the sand, be the sand blissfully thrown into the sky by a six year old with such abandon. There is nothing like it. No high compares to simply being here. No hell either.
As I sat at the pool a voice asked me, ‘Are you sad little girl?’ No was my only answer. How could I be, sitting where I am, with my cold coffee, the sadness trapped in my chest while the sun and wind dance around me? Then what do you feel, it asked.
I feel like someone standing at the summit of the most beautiful place on earth, remembering the long the journey towards belief ..while my feet bleed and everything is about to give in.
No, I am not sad. If I look closely enough I can feel the hands of the gods in everywhere. And so even on this day, my sadness is no longer my own. It becomes Music. A small part of the whole, a tiny melody riding on the back of the wind. Rilke was right all along you know. Love the questions, like unopened books in a language you do not know. Love the mystery. Remain there… until IT and you are the same. Indistinguishable. A celestial being unfurling light with every small step.