Posted on Saturday, April 09, 2011
One thing is for sure: you will never be prepared. I heard the news through an ex lover and now old friend. A tribute to a life lost, tragedy lay in its wake. Pinch myself to see if I am actually awake. Sentiments swapped down a phone line, of thoughts of love and sadness and a chance to rewind.
You just never see it coming.
Things like this make you turn inwards and count your treasures. Blessings in the shapes of friends and family trees, the truth that it was them and not me. The sadness creeps in. Thoughts roll back to my kin. I could not take a blow like that any time soon, my throat swells of broken bones and messages on phones, telling them that lives like that are not easily forgotten.
You always hear old people say that they'd give anything to relive one day of their youth, to feel the energy and possibility of not knowing, to keep going, discovering nothing and everything is a monument in its self. An ageing self, of sore veins and dusty brains and crosswords as exercise. Pass me my eyes. Thick cuts of glass become a laugh as the frames sit awkwardly on wrinkled faces. Time paces. Broken up by breakfast, lunch and dinner. Tablets to get you thinner. And here I am worrying about a dint in my thigh. How I will laugh in decades to come, life willing, at how I saw myself. What wealth. Youth cast as a burden of indecision and lack of vision. Not mine. Eyes cast towards seas and decoding messages in DVD's and mix tape Cd's and dog-eared novels to remind myself to yearn. To want to learn and to teach.
Keep yearning and believing that the seasons have some meaning and that you feel the way you do because you are alive. Be happy to be apart of the hive. Old eyes stare knowingly and flicker not with judgement but jealousy of what was once theirs, is theirs no longer. And ponder. And question every ripple of emotion. An endless devotion to something bigger than what you have made so far.
I discovered that in my bones are the makings of stars and that by itself is enough for me to disconnect from the shit that I collect. These are just things. Unlike human beings, are unable to unscramble your mind late at night, unable to hold you tight and tell you a truth that it's going to be alright.
Invite the chaos in. And keep yearning.