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REFLECTION
...THERE'S ALWAYS HOPE... (I HOPE...) THERE'S ALWAYS HOPE... (I HOPE...) THERE'S ALWAYS HOPE... (I HOPE...) THERE'S ALWAYS HOPE...
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REFLECTION
A long time ago
(very long)
I walked along the perimeter of the park
that stretched between the block I lived on.
Cross the street, and I was in foreign country.
The city was all around me, but I was somewhere so far away.
I thought the world was so strange
That one could go from one side of the road to the other
And everything would become different.
I would become different.
I would become an adventurer and wander
beyond the boundaries set up for my childhood safety.
There would be that moment,
That sudden jump in the belly,
When I knew I was in a place
Where there was the challenge to be brave.
The elements would come upon my senses
And overwhelm me;
Engulf me;
And send me flying toward myself.
The grass was green,
So green
As to make my eyes crunch together.
The air smelled of some kind of flower
(I do not know which).
They filled the shallow pool in summer:
The boys took their basketball game elsewhere.
Oh, I would wait for that time
Because I loved that smell;
And the sound of water that tickled my ears;
And the ladies with their tea sandwiches;
And the melody of laughter all around me.
I wandered to that place
and stood alone amongst the activities of innocent humanity
And waited.
Waited.
For what?
For the sun to set?
For the water to clear?
For my heart to stop pounding?
For my skin to cease burning and my hands to capture the air?
I waited to be found out.
For someone to see what I could see:
The molecules.
The veins on the leaves.
The patterns in the tree-trunks.
The sun's pulsating streams of light.
Colors of such vibrancy that they made me dizzy.
My auburn curls whipping around my face;
seeming to have a life of their own.
Life was a dance;
And I was caught, like a dervish, in its pulsating energy.
Too young for its insistance; so I spin out of control,
And still remain upright.
Sooner or later a voice would call out and beckon me home.
A stern reprimand.
A sudden slap on my hand that stung like a hundred hornets.
A shake of her head and breaths full of tears.
My mother would reach for me now and try to pull me close:
(NO....no..don't touch...I'm on fire...)
"What are you doing?"
(I could hear her...)
"What are you looking at?"
(I could HEAR her...)
"Why don't you listen to me?"
(I don't know........)
"What do you want?"
(I don't know.....)
"What am I going to do with you?"
(Easy..let me stay here forever...)
"Do you hear me?"
(Absolutely..now go away...)
"Let's go home"
(Nonono!! But don't leave me...)
"You are not to do this again. It's dangerous."
(Yes; there are evils lurking around every bend...)
"Okay? Now come...."
(OKokok. You walk; I'll fly......)
My father's hands were beautiful
But they needed too much.
He painted pictures about the things I knew about.
He must have known them too.
We shared moments from a distance
And he taught me to follow a falling leaf
To imitate the sound of a waterfall
To dance the shape and the movement of a cloud.
My father's troubled soul and exquisite brilliance
Vibrated with energy
And could blind me at times;
Or make me creep ever closer to myself
To bury my being into my heart
Where noone could come
And where I could stay safe.
My life, these days, is full of difficult people.
My life, these days, is puzzling and complex.
For as unsteady as I may feel
I am equally rooted in place.
I am experiencing so many things at the same time
I am being hated
And loved
With equal passion.
In my lonliness, I may feel crowded
And when I am in the company of others
I may seek solitude.
These days, I do not know peace
But I do know
That I feel the air
And see it's energy
And I can touch the molecules
That move through space
So that everything is a dance
And I am trying to choreograph my life
In time with the music of my heart.
Me.
3-20-99//Saturday
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