I race through lines of shadowed trees
marking highway miles
Beams of sun flash inbetween
stains of light on dark
Never slow. Never stop.
Nothing stills the soul
A one-way movement through the day
as still the cancer grows
Nothing soothes the sting of flames
lining every breath
A daily journey–race it seems
through lines of shadowed trees
Another lightning in-between the patient-doctor space-
Data-speak and comfort lines
my very human face
reflecting life as memories
shadows close the day.
Photo by Trevor Cole
There is no imagination even
She knew beauty from inside out
flaming life with gentle sparks
When death like cancer found her heart
beauty breathless cried for help.
She died too early for spring’s warmth
beneath the surface broken, hurt
with hopeful lilies by her side
and dreams of color catching light.
-For Janice.
I always remember my dreams. They reset and reframe the truth lying just underneath my daily life and struggles.
In anticipation of 2017, my sleep brought the terror of a whirlwind. Being swept away by the forces of nature, I woke distressed to say the least. This unsettled mood lasted through the last day of 2016.
I woke this am, however, on a journey abroad in the company of family and strangers . I was advising others on how to pack but also reorganizing my own bag.
Perhaps I am ready to move on.
Lock the door on your way out.
Looking out with weathered views I find there is much seen from places away from where I stand
I really depend on problems. They engage my intellect. Energy flows best in me while in the “problem solving” mode.
But it’s killing me.
I spend hours intellectually solving the emotional crisis created in make-believe power struggles to right a wrong. I tune in preferentially to the oppression of wrong thinking, ready to push back. My eyes notice first the thing “wrong” with the picture.
I was educated to do this. My skills honed to fix the broken.
I have the mind of science, dissection as discovery.
Did I mention it’s killing me?
I use the quest for perfection as motivation to create. I think and talk and type until my voice is heard.
I yell louder – and over power.
I think deeper – and over intellectualize.
I focus harder- and over work.
It is killing me.
Can I just hang there? Can I hold a view on the edge that accepts the death of needing to solve the moment? Can I then live within the fall of mind to heart?
Can I live in the pain of brokenness, of autumn’s peace and beauty and know season’s change is not my call to arms?
Can I just die a bit in the strain of change without the torture of failure?
