How I Shine Holding My Protest Sign

I think my heart and my mind are somehow in cahoots with one another. Usually they work against each other trying to find their own resolve and on the rare occasion they will collaborate. Yet these days I wonder if they are simply communicating to not communicate. These fingers are slowly finding a rhythm in these keys, in these words to shed light on this black hole of – and then suddenly my eyes blur into one and I seem lost in front of this page. The question? Writer’s block, creative impasse and shaking off cobwebs from this passenger seat – have I lost the map?

I am full of amazement in front of my child as I laugh away with him. There are moments where I trip and fall to find the camera or a pen as I look to document and encapsulate all the numinous expressions. Then the instant fades in front of me but I do not languish in it, or in thinking that I somehow missed it, it just is. Maybe it is simply a new blank canvas that stands in front of me that I find difficult to fill with my own selfish visions of greatness. Constantly inspired by the artistic endeavors of my colleagues sometimes to the point of impossibility. How could any of this ever measure up? How far behind this can feel. This part-time castle-building leaves me speechless and full of humility yet the full-time passion punches plenty of verve as it searches on for its true place in time.

There is a fog lifting at a snails pace, there is a swarming crowd of thoughts scattering to the gunshots of this lost passage. This drum machine heart beat looks to explode every colour to the ground and let it wash away with these grey months of rain. I am splashing like a child in these puddles of discomfort as the water drops singe my hot and weathered skin. I walk along Thoreau through the brush at Walden and find purity flowing effortlessly in the woods. The next minute I am walking in human feces, discarded needles and unforgiving, unhealthy appetites that search right through me for the next fix.

A fifty-foot wave will cut open my chest and set my heart ablaze. The branches of the great Heaven Tree will stitch me back again saving me from my grave. I am in discussions with the angels of bedlam to host the last party on earth. As we await your response the decorations are hung and the bands begin to tune. There is a melancholy melody twanging with the sense of urgency while I search for the right key. Do, re, me I am the unchartered frequency.

The Vampire Weekend sings the story of the ‘campus’ and I am suddenly transported back to the scholastic grounds grasping a politics degree in hand. Oh how it has served me well to dissect the last eight years of dishonesty and criminality. Look how I shine holding my protest sign. It is obvious now when a tree falls in the forest no one hears, for one would think the hundreds of clear cuts worldwide would be deafening. Where are we headed?

Now that you have chosen to wind through this maze of verbiage with no exit in sight, how can I bring you closure when I’m concentrating on opening up?