greatwhitesow
I don't want to go to bed yet. I don't want to finish my dinner or sit properly or eat this yucky stuff. I don't want to get in the bath or shower or put my PJ's on or go out or in or stand up or sit down or laugh or smile for the camera or hold hands with my sister or talk to my Aunty on the phone or go and do poos or wees or chew the rusk or look cute or show my new tooth or anything else...ever. You are all just mean and bossy and mean and and and wahhhhhhhhhhhhh
It took me a long time to realise that I was not in this alone. I was being assisted, every step of the way...things really don't just happen by chance, do they?
'I have given my word my lady.' Ah, but what is this, which word, which thought, what is in a word, what do you need to part with to give your word, can there truly be heart in a word...if when you speak those words of honesty you feel the goodness in your throbbing chest, you feel the knowing , you live the action of the gift, then perhaps you have truly parceled up your word and handed it over. Yet if you are still struggling in the murkiness of doubted conclusions, of twisted meanings and pretensions as you nodded and 'gave your word' then who is the keeper and who, then, the giver.
She passed over the dish and he looked down. What on earth had he been given by this drab looking urchin. Leaning forward he looked closely, carefully...scraps? gnawed remains of a scant meal?... but then, then he looked up into her eyes,pure, clear, lively, and he saw a chapter, a turn of phrase, an anecdote, a shared joke, a story...a gift given carelessly.
There was nothing to be seen but women with colourful delights, ready to pounce, approach, encourage. Sitting on that beach I was lost in a haze of confusion as the women pulled, tied, attached and bartered...me, lost in a world of braids, rupiah and confusion...my introduction to a new land.
Just an honest day's work, that's all it was...yet she could not get it off her mind. The look of that face, leering, laughing at her misfortune...what was there to do but return again tomorrow...and again...and again ...
when are we to land....just moving so slowly, why not faster? When the waters rise we will know the reason-perhaps...if we can just wade through this last memory of meaning.
what are the depths what are the reasons for meditating on the levels rising, rising. We are but waders in the rising waters of our planet