I am visible, yet hiding – balancing a vitality-blocking disorder that renders me inanimate, repulsive –
Who doesn’t flinch in the face of deviancy?
Creativity obsesses grasps hope that courage will annihilate the beast, that resourcefulness is all it takes to overcome – Hold on! it cries, nestled deep within the grief –
Oh, you think you see me, but I assure you, my friend, you do not – I am rebel, lost in isolation, vulnerability fantasizing revolution –
Resolve trapped between the exaggeration of infinite possibility and the unremarkable defence of compulsion to survive – thrive even, if spirit was not so aghast at current setbacks.
6:30 a.m. alarm sounds. “Time to wake up!” Compliance commands. “Just a little longer,” Sensibility suggests. Guilt, like an incessantly annoying child tugs on Conscience: “Come on; there’s lots to do!” Body does not respond.
Sleep wins and dreams come: homeless, relying on friends, no food, backed up toilet, children’s wide eyes fearfully imploring: When is this all going to end? Guild propels a return to consciousness.
8:25 a.m. “Up and at ’em! There’s a good soldier!” Compliance attempts to be chipper. “There’s really nothing more important than rest,”Sensibility suggests. “Can’t lie in bed all day!” Guilt counters. But body is MIA.
Dreams resurface: Setting up house in a thoroughfare people coming and going, oblivious to intrusion co-workers indifferent, eyes scolding – convicting… Guilt mutates to rage, Body chokes, gasps, reaches for inhaler sucking in desperate air.
11:11 a.m. “That’s it! Up you get!” “No! No! Rest is needed!” “The day is wasted! There’s no getting it back!”
“Silence!” A new voice emerges.
A collective intake of breath.
“Breathe,” comes the message. “Just breathe.”
A unified sigh.
“And breathe again.”
Tempers cool, and emotions begin to settle.
“What’s going on?” Guilt wonders. “Just trying to stick to routine,” Compliance defends. “It’s always been this way.” “But she’s ill now,” Sensibility adds, “and there needs to be concessions.”
“Breathe,” the voice reasserts, and all sigh again. “Just be in the stillness of the moment.”
Stillness has no voice. Its language is compassion and infinite, infinite wisdom.
“…and surrender.”
Compliance sobs with the release of such enormous obligation. Sensibility gratefully gives over the burden of responsibility, and Guilt…well Guilt is little, and happily snuggles up to Unconditional Love.
“There, there,” Voice soothes. “Isn’t harmony so much better?”
Body concurs and rises out of bed.
(Harmonics first appeared here September 2014, five months after illness left me bedridden. Image my own)
The pot simmering on the stove really should be boiling, but baby needs changing, and He-who-is-charged- with-watching-the-children is asleep in his chair…
Where to lay the infant – her soiled and sodden diaper threatening its own release – when her siblings have dragged all the bedding – fort-intended, now abandoned under foot?
Turkey is in the oven legs trussed, flesh buttered and salted… Baby’s skin is red her squirming legs noncompliant
Dog offers his presence curious nose intervening… I leave the wriggling bundle to dispose of offending nappy – images of dog mouthing contents beyond current capacity
Children’s giggles signal misadventure, as bath water spills into the room, husband stirring, “Smells good!” says he pushing buttons on the TV remote
Ankle deep in water contents of pot now burning, awareness dawns – the forgotten baby is now missing… madness achieved.
(Another dream inspired nonsensical poem. Image my own)
One Woman's Quest 