~~FlowingOm~~

for Rachel, on the edge of 17




Am I defective?
she asks
seriously

and I answer that -
perception may not be reality

and then
I wonder
am I defective?
imperfect?
Faulty?
Archaic?

perhaps.
Thankfully.

but never
lacking, deficient
not out of order (I dance for chaos like some sing for supper)
occasionally offensive, a spelling error
the awkward metaphor

but not unsound
not broken

maybe wanting

something other
than what is
is still what is
in the moment

supplicant labyrinth
offering the sacred

and she is so far away

I reach to you offering
my eyes
as an embrace

my perception
an innumerable
feathered
quilt

it is ok
you are ok
even on your bed of nails

don't confuse the storm at sea
with the solidness of the ground you stand on

we are all red under the skin
even when we are blue

and no one knows intimacy like the spoon in your mouth

what difference does it make
if your moment rattles the glass?

chew gently
your heap of bones and flesh
the only home you have

and if dreams were more than dreams -
how would you decorate your self?

and if your thoughts are citizens -
must you listen to them all?
befriend each one?
believe each honest?

even I once lied compulsively
on a bed of what I thought they wanted to hear

can we choose our thoughts like we choose our friends;
learning from experience?

and just for one radical moment
imagine
being
what ever you are
with out judgment

they never tell you this
but it is okay to hum with happiness
in the midst of the storm
when the tree roots scratch your throat
when the hallway of locked doors seems unending -
the insomniac's party

so no my dear,
you are not defective
even when ineffective

how else would you learn
to know the stars?

the angst of your creation myth
will be the song of your strength

it's ebullient resilience
the soul's best kept forgetting -
reversed recoiling

and darling,
the ever complex
is the tree that bears fruit
and stands through the seasons
even the strike of lightening
not burning the roots

simple to say

but take care the rooms you lock yourself into
and ask of who's own choosing
this resident paranoia

in the land of make believe
the cruelest of cynics are easily terrorized

and this too is like moments


is but a dream
one peel of the onion
the untouched jewel at the center of your earth
remains
waiting

and if in the eye of the unseen breeze
my jesters seem to spout
platitudes
in self indulgent silks

I reach out with heartfelt ablutions
this belief in your ultimate ability
to navigate
psyche's tangled tresses

as you look again, again, and again
in new ways
with today's eyes

I want to say
I care about you

August 2008