Moon passing onward and over, black again, no moment to decipher from the next. Outside the weather itself regresses and halts us here, “you missed something,” she bellows. Yesterday, there was no opposite we could properly fit across from stagnation. Today, an excavation unexpected, making sense of idleness of my company, myself rather.
What is all this to say, that I have lost the time? Seems arbitrary in the scheme of it all, as losing and having do not truly mirror one another. Some things do not have opposites. I am moving through a world with gazes blank set forward, breathing from their mouths. A soul across the abyss writes a poem to celebrate and remind of our humanness, our loss of wisdom and guidance, at the toil of love, for their is no other righteous point to die for. Simply this, I embark on the hollows and question the footholds. Questioning, for the first time with that plea alone, and not rooting blindly for a voice to ring out yes, decision made, the path is lit up now.
Just as opposites, two things might be true at a time, even unthinkable twos. Two loves abundant and curious, though I can’t say acted upon. A simple woman’s heart would beat to extinction. Lonely and love, another two that has made great strides in my life over these years. Nestled and unsupported, there is a theme painting itself before my eyes. Down the rabbit hole, I am still teeming for answers. Unlucky and unlearning. Another two.
I read again, and pull from my selfishness.
Put forth a stance of courage, and blind eye from the murking waters, I am of man not of fish. Clear waters, an internal figment, and the suspension of all that is good.
Months of quiet or disservice, what have you, I fell victim to the plague of our kind. Out stretched finger, long in the winds to come, the black hull of a ship does not tell of its master. So much violence and confusion plumes across our lands, and feebly the body goes limp, cloudy. I to myself and to all have done no service in the journey of wisdom and of perseverance, not as of late.
Here I stand, on new land under the black and beached hull, for the smallest whisper of truth has guided a new course. I am impressed and both silly, as the wise men do not grip my mind so absolutely until it is one from my own labyrinth. The miracle of man, harrowing and spinning, the dilemma proof of our being.
I shall venture on, faceless, guiding and being guided, even as we cast gaze behind, even as we quiver and slacken grip.
The sea is in black rapture now, yet we are on the sands looking up toward the summit. I remember now, as I have since, the sea does not leave.
The question of the beach, echoing in all places, What would we be without such a sea? Summitless journey indeed. I grip the rope again, eyes closed and facing up.
Again press forth on the journey
of a Common Individual.
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