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Freewrite 04 – January 19, 2009

I’m fleeting dying falling do you know how fancy you are to be able to hand me this box wrapped in red ribbon and shining golden paper? It does not fool. Your smile does not fool. Your words certainly do not fool. I see through you like I see through air, air the sustainer of life but this is not what you are. Back off before I feed you your poison, for I know it will surely kill you too. All I must do is recount what you have done to me and you will see your regret like I see a wolf tearing me from the inside looking for blood and finding plenty. He has found a home and I keep him alive, but he leeches and in return I get nothing but a heaviness around my heart and a tail of fur and sharp strength wrapped around my soul threatening to squeeze until my life gushes in all directions and becomes truly irreparable. I feel more than most, I feel the sand between my toes hours after it has fallen away. I feel the sunlight on the sand as I walk, reflecting in all directions and creating a field of light, a field of strength and knowledge and truth, but without depth. Water drowns the field as well, seeping upward from underneath like the wolf in my insides, and seeping up from the sides, from the vast ocean of salt and animals and waves that beckon us to come inside and meet death. I do not go near the water. I walk on the sand and feel warmth and try to pick it up but it falls through my fingers. It leaves the places under my nails and between my toes and gets lost. Lost little grains find their ways all around the world and hope and pray that they may one day be reunited with their mother the field of truth, and their father the light from the sun. The shining beacon that appears every day without fail, sometimes masked and hidden, threatening the chance that it will never return. But the threats are empty for the sun is immobile. Though it is we that revolve around it, we also surround it and circle it and it cannot escape. It feeds us, whether willingly or unwillingly, and our only thanks comes in the form of our growth. And we grow to be warriors and we tear apart the sun’s creations and the rain falls over us. The snow falls over us and the cold tries to freeze us. Danger comes constantly from every direction. But in that danger is air that keeps us alive, assuring us that life is ours to have and assuring itself that we remain to face the dangers so that it does not have to. And for this reason the air is the worst creature of all. It knows, and it hides. We cannot see it, but its pressure is always there and its arms force our lungs to expand and to be thankful that we are alive. The wreckage is hideous. All we can do is watch with wonder, helplessly tied to eternity.