This was to be a poem, yet is not.
My dear kindred set me up with a topic. I am taking it and running.
I suppose that we all, us humans, have or have had times when we were unraveled. Feeling like loose string from a favorite piece of clothing. A little tattered around the edges we have sulked into the crevices of ourselves that hold dirt. The parts we act like we cannot wash. The memories that pile up and never let us forget the stench. A bile fume that clogs the nose. It resonates and it knocks us off of our balance. Our dance suddenly looks unrehearsed. We clumsily have broken a heel. Our ground shifts. Sometimes our ground can become old and unsteady, cracks and crevices so wide and open we fall in a little. A foot gets stuck for a while. This ground is unkempt. Ground is not solid it is gravel. We are walking with stones in our toes. We are crying while walking. No law against that. Its gets comfortable walking with stones, we are crippling, not rolling. Nothing is flowing when the ground from up under us, as humans, starts to crumble. Their is no glue to repair. We are not stone masons we cannot make new ground. We cannot go back and cover old ground and expect to grow.
Standing for something has to be hard. It has to weigh on our emotions, to stand for something, against something or someone. For if not, we fall…and anything goes when lying down on ground, gravel stones stuck in back. For no other reason except that we are weak. If we cannot expose the truth when hearing a half, or a lie…if we have to hide our true selves from the ones who truly love and care for us…if we cannot look into the mirrors everyday and produce self-love which causes ultimate love for others…then why complain. We manifest who and what we want in our lives…we start to walk without crutches…when we start…to love…ourselves and other people. Everything has an etiquette, there is a WAY to do everything. From the bottom to the top, order and discipline are the way of solid. The way of complete. The way of being pure. At times, we think pureinnocent are fluffyclouds we see in cartoons. Some think in rooms of goofy and absentminded. Not opening a door to see what common sense is doing ever. Letting it get covered with dust. Moths feasting. Snakes laughing. With pain, and strife comes knowledge. A stance forms from the stand. A flow, a very behaved pattern appears. And relief is all upon us.
When grounded we are in control. Do we really understand that the only ones we are fooling when we try to bullshit someone is our own self? I have came to this very specific point in my life, where my sword is sharpening and I am preparing for any battle…that’s what pain does. When it feels that I am ready to give up, I look down and see a solid slab of scars, from my person that balances this vessel. This vessel that is being reworked. That has been destroyed for its renovation. That I love and adore because their was a time I didn’t…and this isn’t about me…this writing has never been for me…This is for the women who feel that they are stuck getting black eyes by their man…this is for the drug addicts using and alcoholics drinking…the promiscuous women who looked for a figure in a man, every night, one night stand after another night standlay…For the men who were never taught to be men by a man so they are still trying to figure out what a real man is…for the people who have hate in their hearts, for the murderers, the pedophiles, those who look at little girls and boys and become aroused…God help us all I cry….for the ones who never received enough love in their lives from their families so they look for love in this life without anything to hold onto….they have no place in society…to the religious folk, who cannot understand it is the Spirit that moves our bodies…that our vessels are made by the same dust that formed the ground that we rest upon…this is for the liars, the thieves….the people who cannot be looked in the eyes because they give chills…writing has never been about the stage…the points…the rankings…the accolades…the google me…the I’ve performed at the museum of anywhere…for the look at me I’m published…I got books and you don’t…the selfish…the unappreciative ones, who lack connection, who cannot feel the pain of the readers, of the listeners…the people.
My stand for something had always been my writing…when I was drinking, drugging, sexing, abusing…myself and others…My ground was, is, and always will be my faith. Which is mines. And prayerfully, you who are reading this, have yours…and you stand on that for your something…for a passion that cripples your right hand before the age of thirty; for something that makes your stomach do butterflies; for something that you cannot remember being without.
Even when tragedy hits. And you have lost everything. Remain Standing. Back Straight. Spine Erect. Common Sense. Cleaned and Polished. Remain Standing.
and if by chance you fall…well…fall down my people…you fall down…but…you get up…and…you love yourselves. dig.