Lady Glass

I was watching the bare skin on my arm in the morning sun.

The sun was coming in through the window of my wooden home,

It’s snowy outside and I have kept the fire going for days,

The temperature inside has agreed to stay warm,

Ghostly patches of cold seeping in through places that lack insulation.

My skin was smooth,

I admired the sideways rays illuminating every single hair on my arm.

Then a thought, not draft, caused goosebumps .

I watched each hair take a stand, and slowly lay down again.

On seeing the reaction, and feeling its effect,

While thinking of something entirely different,

I saw a connection where there was nothing and I can’t prove it exists,

Aside from the fact that I am an in my mind,

Whether it’s right or not, at this moment, it feels very real to me.

Emotions have large hands here, hands that hold giant brushes.

They are making broad strokes over empty spaces,

Bleeding edges cutting into bleeding colors giving shape to a scene.

Reactions, thoughtful & impulsive,

Never really knowing where they came from until later,

And then it’s only speculation,

Never really knowing where we were, until the essence has passed

And a new one takes it’s place.

Little shifts in sensation could provide the insignificant coincidence

We need to continue in the precarious direction we yearn for,

Am I running away from my destruction or from my salvation?

What determines our quality of life?

Me.

The interpretation of our senses is always partially mysterious.

I think, therefor I am.

Bumping into objects on the way down our rabbit hole of experience

Gripping onto souls who seem to be falling at the same pace,

We share a moment together.

The end.

The great decider of things has spoken,

Under a low cloudy sky, I drive to the cabin with my son .

In between my car and cabin is a post and beam gateway,

The gateway is closed, but the cabin in close,

Behind the cabin is forest so thick,

On the gateway a fresh muddy bear paw,

I shouldn’t get out of the car,

But the cabin is so close I think I can make it, so we go.

We made it to the gateway, but the bear was there,

Walking cockily from behind the corner of the house.

I didn’t have time to run back to the car,

I threw my son on top of the gateway and climbed up myself,

The bear had quickened,

I was hugging the top of the gateway, lacking the energy to lift up, I hang.

Hoping for the sake of my son, that I was high enough.

My shirt hanging open, exposing the skin on my spine,

I bury face, become one with the beam, and scream for fate to rescue me,

As the bear licks my back.

I am the only person I can speak honestly for,

Experiences that would rattle another, have settled my soul.

In this moment, I can’t help but know,

That I knew better before I got out of the car.

But, I have agreed to exist naturally.

I have found patience in enduring despair, and consequently pleasure.

The lessons of others have helped my subconscious teach me more clearly,

But they have not yet taught me to listen.

These are my recommendations:

Marcus Aurelius, Plato, Socrates, Seneca,

Epictetus, Diogenes, Aristotle, Machiavelli,

Fredrick Niches and my favorite most recent existentialist, Albert Camus.

A journal from insanity and back. These are My Sisters, by Lara Jefferson,

And for hope, Upstream by Mary Oliver.

Today I need peace, tomorrow maybe excitement,

The next day I may feel the desire to mourn the excitement of yesterday

And the following day I will find peace again.

However, I do not look for things that are just sad, or if I do,

I look at the good in the bad,

And if there is nothing,

I admire the example of someone patiently enduring.

I see the example of one who is suffering in comfort,

I reflect for signs of ungratefulness in myself.

I would define selfishness as immature observation.

Eventually, we’ll see what we should have all along.

Once an injury is past enough for one to save face.

If you inquire within long enough, you’ll see the aid of what Socrates said

“No evil can happen to a good man, either in life or after death”

Every trauma is an opportunity to show your spirit,

While our duty is also to deny the impulsive desire to reciprocate injury.

The trouble I feel still, on occasion

Is discerning whether or not a lesson is my responsibility to inflict.

My nature drives me to the door to deliver,

But my experience tells me that it is not my place to barge in.

I have settled on a notion,

That we seek answers to questions when we are ready,

I have stopped myself from driving to the door,

Instead, I simply make sure that my door is accessible

And free of catastrophe.

I realize that anything or anyone could come in,

But I am stable in myself.

I do not need a door or a wall or a building to keep mercurial emotions out,

My mind is mine.

As the sun has passed my window and now lights up my hands,

The hair on my arms lays flat, there are no goosebumps,

Even though I am beginning to feel a chill in my toes.

I admire the way my fingers bend and flex at will,

I admire the way I can hold onto warmth in one place and cold in another,

I’m tempted to see how long I could sit in discomfort,

But it’s not necessary today, so I won’t.