Yellow light, new to the season, coats me through the kitchen window. one pane. there are about a million powerlines slashing the scene into a mosaic: rich blue sky, red church – bell and cross. Life has changed rapidly and not a moment of it have I been embittered. Growth into my young maturity, I am less and less alluded by time, even concerned with it. Mantras sink in over the days, I hold onto myself. I recognize you standing in the mirror, like I pulled you straight from a dream. Warm sun, single pane.
something like the sound of a monkey on the album I listen to. We sleep warm together, entwined all night, dreaming through. My lover is my greatest accomplishment. He draws me into the obvious truth, I have no choice but to become, more and more deeply, me.
On a call the other day, a woman astounded me. The revelations around diagnosis, the ‘freedom’ acquired by such, wrapped in Yin and Yang. Our culture rejects Yin, lashes it into formulation or casts it as broken. You’re diverse, jumpy, your mind is broad and floating, versatile in its form. Pity, no room for that in a Yang favored society, ADHD it is.
To say this as fact is not my intention, merely a claim of relevance to someone else that stirred within me. Throw her into the looney bin! A woman who might know and see the ether beyond. Suspend herself outside of the physical, and call her insane. My world broke then, my identity limited my potential as my mind fired wrong. Of no harm or chaos were the energies I picked upon, though still shaken. Material reality crumbled around me, and I sought coverage in a place of boxes, pathologies, abusers. I signed my intuition away and took the label they gave. Proud, functioning, distilled. My power was behind glass doors, and I engaged the world in a dance of embarrassment, fear, difference, specialness. No one could touch me, I proved I was tainted.
My Yin, as I gently come to understand. In flow with the world beyond our eyes, picking up on energy as it passes, calling out. I was young, conditioned, the world was just too small. Even as a child, I gleamed at the idea! Praying for seasons of apathy and repression, praying to hate myself enough for love. Sharp bangs now, and smiling with the sun, I am closer to those manifestations that I might’ve ever imagined. There was no place in the physical world for them anyway. My body moving through the air, I know this. Wind, clarity, Yin I let sing.
Let this year, moving swift to winter, continue to heal. One year, ago? bitter and imploding it seemed. I could not reach the surface to breath. Let this one have been a lesson, a testament to my movement. One year, a blossom of life and death and rebirth, myself included. One year, ahead? i imagine myself, flowing the route of a fallen leaf on the river, belly to the sun.
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