You know, magic is closer than close, but in all the mundane rush of life it seems to get lost and you feel you can never slow down enough to feel it, but then you do, and it's just, magic...
Image by Johannes Plenio from Pixabay
My computer has just told me that I’ve written a million words since last Friday and I may now go home and have the weekend off, what a lovely you are it said, that’s the write practice.
I froze the computer right there until Monday when I would be back again to see what other nice things it had to say to me, and went off home.
As I bounced around in the car on the way home I thought about nothing much about many things and wished the car would go a little bit faster and get home a quarter hour earlier.
Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay
I was the frozen dream struggling to escape in its urban rush where oblivion is faster than eternity by a long shot and I was ended up all over again where I was going…
Well, I’m cavalier about it most days as you know by now; and I paint a lot by myself; and I drink wine of an evening, standard weight in the rush; but just lately I’ve been groaning about every wall I was hanging on to to get to anywhere, and making lard and mud pies to sell to the neighbours when I began to see that if I couldn’t find my way out of here soon I’d go nuts and give all my shirts to the beggars with their hands out, and making me feel guilty as hell, and twice as crazy.
Image by Johannes Plenio from Pixabay
Arriving home I put some music on and thought: Japanese gardens, just to be on the safe side and noticed that I’d been in the third person omniscient singular lately an awful lot of the time, and wasn’t about to give it up for anything less than a breakthrough or something, maybe something organic, and sustainable, or maybe a belly dancer out in the fields.
Yes, I was thinking Japanese gardens and that the feeding machines were out to get me and that I couldn’t turn them off, help.
Blowing out the candle I turned over to sleep and made a wending path into my dreams.
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
Oh, was I really 37 percent less than I ought to be was the next thing I was that came over me the next morning and popping popcorn and literally feeling that I was falling over a cliff and about to die at any moment it was all so intense and personal and up close enough to see, and battling the weather of it all the way, and eating a pork pie, and shirking to boot.
Many thoughts lower and feeling like a journey to the next realm I hit bottom and began practising yoga to piano music over in the corner where it was darkfest and the beggars of my thoughts couldn’t see me.
Oh the ragged spirited saint was I and such like other sundry essences I could name, but it didn’t really matter, I was only myself in explorations of plain-water pouring where the rumour extension was the rabbit’s hole weaver and the whole blind bride spinning up the heat of summer’s turning and multicoloured to boot in the poetic reasoning and losing myself once more where I could.
Image by Johannes Plenio from Pixabay
Yes, I was a penny farthing in a whisper machine and rattling around like a door thief on the jum and as big as the stone wall with a pulse glowing through the window into the mystical garden, silent and deep.
I didn’t know what I was chasing, but I felt that I should be chasing it; and I didn’t know why I was chasing it, except that I felt compelled to chase it. Oh, oh…
Anyways, there I was sneaking out of my window into the garden for a quiet coffee with the sun coming up on me and many barking dogs squabbling over their breakfast behind me and the usual letters of doom coming from somewhere when I came to a full stop and thought, perhaps there's something more that all the standard fare of life coming at me.
Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay
You know, sometimes I lose all track of the story and have to start again at the beginning over and over again until my brain hurts and I have to relax or blow up. And sometimes I feel I have to talk to someone else about it and drive them mad too. Man, I tell you, waking up on the hop is not all it’s cracked up to be, but it’s a jolly good hop out of bed I can tell you. And Monday is a long way off…
And then the birds went tweet tweet tweet in the tidal returns of dawn all the new beginnings, to keep me alive and living one moment longer, and then one moment after that and breathing huge in the magic I always knew existed but didn’t know how close it really was…
Images from Pixabay
