Walking about the surface of our concerns, careful not to step too specifically, spreading the weight evenly about the thinness of lower class divides, the elegance of greed is as light as forgiveness and heavy as sin. Beware of the foolishness of endless winters, Sir. Beware of the warmth of judgment and the pressing flaws of homogenously white ice floating atop the fertility of muddied water.
Be calm when the flood comes. Disregard the immunity of retreat. Feel free to command your steeple from a solid gold throne far up enough to forget there is a down. The flood does not care for silly birds that can’t fly. The flood cares only to eat the stone beneath your feet and sooner than not you will find yourself swimming or drowning with the rest of us.
As if winged and bursting from cocoon
A beggar’s Heart flamed out from heaving chest
cleaved and hollow for a demon had flown
and yet, it loomed and wallowed in the foreignness of air
Alone with the looseness of around
The catalyst was gone, retired,
Slouching over a pension
That did not exist
There were moments of pure frustration and ill temper. There were moments of absolute serenity when the worry and angst had worked their mischievous levers against the calmness of the wind as it washed over me in layered waves of cool and heat, and gave way, breaking like a fever in the pitch of sweat and death. I rode across open flat fields dotted with cat tailed oases that were littered with the feathered children of dinosaurs, taking the form of happy brown mallards and stoic pelicans of virgin white, stalking slender fishers of blue and honking masses of black necked geese. As I rode, I began to feel the knots of furiously troublesome worries loosen just, and as their robes began catching the warming brawl of gasses I could feel their flutter and their want to give way. I began to think of each blade of grass and every stalk of corn, tasseled and leaning toward the sun, their unique disparities in the color green, their indifference to pain and their compassion for the blue sky so necessarily torn and fouled by their lover the rain. I began to notice the smallness of stones at the roads edge and the memories they must have of greatness, once edging the stalwart face of some un-climbable cliff looking out onto the horizon from unknowable heights. I began to feel each leaf hung about in the trees fussing with one another like silent chimes, and each thin thirsty root licking the moisture loitering beneath the surface of the earth. I could feel the hairs on my arms lengthen, each atom of air fancifully dancing across the surface of my skin- the ardent songs of birds I could not hear dancing with them. A melody began to play far off in the distance and within me at once- an inaudible matrix of selected chords, whispers from God the universe compiled by winds that do not blow from a place that does not exist. At long last I knew peace without really knowing anything.