Tug of War

“All gods are homemade, and it is we who pull their strings, and so, give them the power to pull ours.” – Aldous Huxley



a-lunatic-mind

Sinking below the water’s horizon, I’m afraid to reach out to the hands offered to help. God, I do need the help, but at what cost? I’m just trying to survive, to pull my head above this liquid grave and take one more life giving breath. Can anyone just pull me up? It’s my fault I’m here, but don’t put me in the chains of your plans for me because you have it all figured out and for now, your feet on are the boat. The waters will boil, swallowing the best laid plans, resisting the strongest efforts, and here is where everyone falls. Your strong now, but I know the sense of control that comes when you realize that I, your desire, will be held near you by your assistance out of my tragedy. Your hand is what I need, and not just yours, but the effort of a village. Tug of war, I’m grabbed from two directions, pulling me not where it’s best for me, but where the hands want me to go. Just breathing is no comfort when, after I breathe, I find myself immersed in the murky water of slavery to a strange will. Sweet Jesus, my heart is overwhelmed and I cannot feel, I can only gasp, hoping that what ever hand I blindly slap the water and find, is one that will release me when I’m aboard.

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Natural Selection – Make a new start

“Although no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending.” Carl Bard

 

At anytime, there is a correction

To start over, without exception

Unconfined by election
Releasing inhibition

No holds barred, no friction
No need for deep inspection

Release yourself to a new direction
No chains surround, nowhere to check in

One more time, an election
To start over, takes only selection

Also published in Broowaha Magazine

02092011

Chains of Friendship – Leaving abusive relationships

“there are worse things
than being alone
but it often takes
decades to realize this
and most often when you do
it’s too late
and there’s nothing worse
than too late”
Charles Bukowski 

Ive seen a friendship that is evil in its alliance. An alliance bound with chains. Chains forged by links of loneliness, pain, heartache, and despair. Links formed by a desire to please, perceived opinions, obsession, and a mad desire for approval of the friendship. Leaving autonomy behind, approval and praise are the goal. Giving all to please, a trap is sprung that will never release individuality. Friendship gained by such means is doomed to have the pleasure of the captor satisfied at the expense of me, the captive, throughout its lifespan. Many, so many, are the tricks used to keep the prisoner under the curse. Sex, drugs, gang association, vengeance, praise, but most of all, attention. All tools of the trade for the captor. The captor, obsessed with selfish preoccupation, recognizes the weakness of me, the prisoner, now helpless in my clamor to belong. In collaboration with selfish will, cruelty soon follows; after every “beating” I crawl back making sure I haven’t ruined our friendship.  How many will suffer at the hands of a cruel friend, a cruel partner, a cruel companion?! Be free! Be free from conformity to that will, prisoner of friendship! Don’t be afraid to stand alone, to stand free, to stand apart! Break those dark chains that bind you to suffering at the hands of your friend and know that you deserve better.


12122010

Midwife of Creation

“I’m not ashamed of heroic ambitions. If man and woman can only dance upon this earth for a few countable turns of the sun… let each of us be an Artemis, Odysseus, or Zeus… Aphrodite to the extent of the will of each one.” Roman Payne, Rooftop Soliloquy


“The artist’s job, I think, is to be a conduit for mystery… and sort of midwife that mystery…in such a way that it isn’t damaged in the process, and may even get heightened or refined.” – George Saunders 
 
Artemis – Goddess of Childbirth

Holding my infant of creation’s muse

Enemies of worry outside being used

To slay my desire before it grows

Limiting my dreams and blocking the flow

I’m the midwife to birth the newborns

Stand aside doubt and thoughts forlorn

I cut the cord and new life is freed

No chains of anxiety on those parts of me

Misty Is Her Way – Part One

“She would hang on him
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on.” 

wallpagers

I felt light traces of her fingertips, leaving a trail of pleasure long after they found other parts of my landscape to wander. My breathing slows, mind numbs, and a creeping satisfaction, like morning mist rolling down the hillside, fills every low place of my mind. The lows of sadness, footprints of giants pocketing my memory, cupped every delicate drop of her. These lined with the nature and nurture of excruciating experience, crushed me like shells on the shore, the pounding driving me into smaller and smaller pieces. Ah, but the mist of her touch, brought healing in the haze. The troubles disappeared as I soaked up the attentions and affections of her spirit, bringing me to life with her touch; watching as it swallowed my world in dancing swirls of natures skirt, a skirt of billowing softness, gently unveiling all her nakedness. Me, I am ravaged and barren, a scorched desert, but full of life, a life that stung, bit, and poisoned all potential for happiness. It is amazing how close to pleasure, pain is. It is possible to confuse the two, in fact, I counted on that to escape the dreary confines that echoed with the chains of my captivity.