The Power

The power lives in you.

He heard it again, that voice. What was it, the third time? Not menacing, or threatening, more like the gentle voice of a child; a fine mist leaking out of a corner.

He’d come into the kitchen to wash his cup out, the tea long since drained, the dark dregs like the mistakes of his life had dried in the depths. His kitchen overlooked his back garden, the huge oak tree which cast a shadow over half the house blanketed the room now. Half in, half out of light.

Two o’clock in the afternoon, whispers in the air.

He hadn’t felt alarmed hearing the words, indeed they were comforting in they casuistic way. The voice itself was ethereal, calm and soothing, like milk running down his soul. He’d left the cup in the sink and looked on out the windows, the words fluttering in his mind like the leaves outside fluttering in the breeze. The season was on the change, and he could picture now the lawn covered in frost while the trees disappeared into themselves with their winter reclusiveness.

The year, where had it gone? Disappeared into nothing while he’d roamed the house like a Victorian ghost; forlorn and melancholic. But then, what did they expect, he’d just been trying to keep It together. If the good lord wanted miracles, then it was indeed one that he was still even alive. Those dark days of spring when the end seemed so apparent. On his fingertips like the edge of tomorrow. He was still finding his way on this new terrain, still stuffing the darkness back into the holes that bled it out in copious amounts.

The power lives in you.

That voice, those words. He knew what it meant of course; he’d felt that divine pull for the past few weeks. His own lungs coughing up golden dust when he woke. Hard to breathe, hard to be here in this world the way he was. It was uncomfortable, he just knew he had to change. These voices, these little nudges were to make him see, to move him along. Sometimes we are so blind to what is before our eyes. It took him some time, but slowly he began to see.

Washing his cup, leaving it on the draining board to dry, he went back into his study. He called it a study, though it was really just the spare room with all manner of things piled high. He didn’t study anything, aside the figures and words that flashed across his screen; the requirement of modern life. He’d longed to give it all up of course, but his dreams had slowly died over the years and now necessity proved too strong a spell.

He sat down at his new desk, the wood still smelling of the sick like scent of the cardboard box it arrived in and pulled toward him a notebook. Past the pages of word commitments, the left to do lists and random spirals, coming to land on a blank page towards the back. Words had never really come easy to him, the right one always on the tip of his brain, peeking out like a child playing hide and seek. But he commanded himself, spurred on by the gentle voice that now echoed in his mind. He made a list of things he needed to change, things in his life and things about himself he could no longer tolerate.

His mind flashed, like skimming through tv channels, and it came upon a documentary he’d watched once. The image was fuzzy and dated; the haze of anything from our past which we give a comforting glow. Drugs, the documentary was about drug abuse and interventions by family members. He felt their pain in a flash, registering barely but a blip as he skipped through their plight. The counsellor, the authority in the room. What was she saying?

“People will only change when they are so far gone, that the thought of staying the same disgusts them. If Richard feels revulsion when he uses, that’s when he will decide to quit. You can’t make him, you never will. All this is just dressing to his world, your pain inconsequential. Only he can change, and he only will when it is worse not to.”

He remembered it, his mind the magician remembering every word. He barely remembered conversations he’d had last week, but here it was, locked in the annuals of his mind.

We have the power.

It came in a flash, like lightning this time. Cracking his skull and finding his soul. Louder too, and different. ‘WE’, joined together. Not alone. We have the power. He noticed his hands were shaking, the pencil he was using vibrating slightly. His mind, the magician and time traveller taking him away in a second to his school days, shaking pencils quickly to watch them blur.

Back in his study, the list before him. The words in his mind.

He looked at the list and saw his work ahead. Elements of change, poisoned elements of freedom. Within the poison lies the cure. These things were not terrible, many born from laziness.  But they did disconnect him, and they kept him from manifesting anything but what he had around him now. Is this the life you wanted?

He ripped the page out of the notebook, little curls of paper scattering on the desk like hair in a barbers. Knocking his chair back as he went, he sped quickly into his front room where the photos were. Shiny lined frames containing his life, friends and family smiling back at him. He stopped and looked at those faces, of the ones he loved. Some gone, some remaining. He ached for one in particular, their smile overshone by the light that beamed from their eyes. Drawing him. He’d asked of course, he’d asked for help from them, and God. Asking for assistance and the chance of change.

You are your only saviour.

The voice came swift and curt, this time more of an admonishment. It was joined by a chorus of others, repeating it so it echoed into nothing.

He’d been here before, cursing them, cursing God for letting him down. Throwing his fists and tears up towards heaven. Heaven which never seemed to answer him.  God, who never seemed to give a damn. But now, these voices, these calls to arms in a way, pushing him onwards; empowering him.

He stood there, before the photos; the light shining off the silver frames and catching his eyes. He forgave and apologised. He took onboard all the pain and blame that he’d dispatched, the responsibility felt delicious and bitter in his mind. But he could not blame them, not anymore. His list showed him where he’d gone wrong, absolving himself over the years of the fuckups that he was the master of. His choices, his movements. His words said to them and others over the years.

It took him some time, and the voices left him to do it quietly as they swirled around protectively. They had been with him all along of course. Watched him along the road of good intentions, wincing when he fell. He’d never known the danger they kept from him, times when he could’ve been forever lost. But it took something within for them to now speak. Something had broken inside of him; something had burnt away all he had framed in his life. And in his ruins, they found the crack for the light to burst through.

Leaving his front room his eyes wet and weary, he walked back into his kitchen, passing the cup; now clean and dry. He slipped out the back door, putting on the wellington boots which lived just inside. They were tight yet reassuring, offering the freedom to clomp around any surface or pitfall. Spiriting himself down the path, over the little bridge where he’d begun his Japanese inspired retreat some time ago; he came to rest in the small pagoda. He remembered putting this up himself, it had taking him hours. It was second hand of course; the new ones were much too expensive and he could see the damage around the base now from the weathering and years of endurance.

Power of prayer.

These words rested in his mind like little clouds settling on a mountain. He closed his eyes and washed them through him. Prayer, power. His faith was not what many would consider appropriate to them, but he knew the strength of his spiritual side. It had saved his life, many times. The power of prayer was to keep a conversation with God. Talking, always talking. But he’d demanded a lot in his life. Cursing, bargaining and threating the creator. The problem with prayer is that it was always one way. A conversation with one voice.

Meditate, and hear the answers.

The voice, so close now. Like a kind hand on his shoulder.

He remained there for some time, his mind peaceful and his words coming quickly. He prayed more, asking and forgiving. Conversing with God until the words were used up. He then sat still, quiet like a bonsai tree and meditated, listening to what God now had to say in reply.

I ate the prayer

Layer after layer, through teeth and truth.
Bones that trip and slip under.
Down into the briny wonder.
I ate the prayer.
Closed the eyes, for tomorrow will never see.
Bring that illusion back.
Roll back the time.
Sucking up event horizons and riverbed pebbles.
Milky chalk to wash the medicine down.
I ate the prayer.
Laid out on copper plates and paper trays.
Flung from hell and the devil’s lips.
That kissed and took me under.

Need to come back (Story reading)


The water rippled towards him, a small wave plunging forth in its final effort onto the beach. It coated his feet in a warm embrace. He watched as the water receded hastily, as if it had disturbed him yet eager to do it once more. The ocean inhaled, drawing back again as the great expanse seemed caught between the beach and the horizon.

Somewhere in his mind a clock ticked, indifferent to the relaxing flow and rhythm of the tide…..

Read on


 

Occasional ruckus

Wrapped in the 21st century.
Shattering all trauma.
Which built against little empires.
Punching blindly in this fight for life.
Yet asked not to kill.

Die a little.
Crying happiness.
Lying slowly.
Counting stars.

Face first on the concrete.
Unwrapping the other side.
A tidied dream of destroying how it was.
The questions move me to new terrain.
Setting fires to light my way.

Heliocentric detours

A story unfolding at the speed of life.
Unplugged or imbedded.
They missed the Milky Way.
Drinking once more from a cup of stars.
Do these words seem familiar?
Rub it on your teeth.
Ugly and sweet
As they slide once more into focus.
Chewing on your past like a shark in a bathtub.
Filled to the brim with sorrow.
Eyes, that are empty.
Calling for tomorrow.
Now your moon hangs heavy in your heart.
Blue, like the subterfuge.
Shrieking past on a shooting star.
All light and brilliance.
Call it what you want, taste it like confusion.
Lifting into that lunar bloodstream.
But be sure to rinse your mouth with the irresistible.
And swallow the sublime.

Need to come back

The water rippled towards him, a small wave plunging forth in its final effort onto the beach. It coated his feet in a warm embrace. He watched as the water receded hastily, as if it had disturbed him yet eager to do it once more. The ocean inhaled, drawing back again as the great expanse seemed caught between the beach and the horizon.

Somewhere in his mind a clock ticked, indifferent to the relaxing flow and rhythm of the tide.

Turning, he caught sight of them once more, up on the sand dunes, walking across them like they were the treacherous paths of Everest. Taking giant strides as they struggled against the depts of the sand. He called them over but was waved off by a frustrated hand. Busy.

He smiled and begun to make his way towards them. The wind caught around him and nudged him on, as if the finger of God steered his way.

It was hot that day, but not unpleasant. The sea breeze found each pore, relieving them from the sun which shone down in it’s burning smile. He carried his shoes in one hand, having taken them off before heading down towards the water. He wasn’t used to the beach lifestyle, but this was what he always did. Taking his shoes off, rolling up his trousers, just in case. He reached them quickly and held out his free hand for them to take. They stumbled slightly over a large mound and almost dove toward him, reaching for him desperately like the edge of a cliff.

“Why don’t you come down to the water, the sand is more compacted there.”

“I don’t want to get my shoes wet.”

He looked down at their shoes, now covered in grains of sand. Dust and damaged, already in need of cleaning.

They kept hold of their hand and they walked on a bit. He slowly begun to steer them towards the sea, but they still kept on the deeper sand trail; his feet digging deep into the cooler parts with each step.

The beach was almost empty. It was a Wednesday, in winter. But winter here was not a winter there. It was hot, and relaxing and exactly where he wanted to be.

His hand was sweaty, and he was conscious of them letting go, but they kept hold of it. Rubbing his thumb with there’s to show affection.

They came to that spot, the spot they knew so well, and which gave them the clearest view of the bay. The beach was a half-moon shape, curving around the bay like a giant force had scooped out the land, letting the sea wash in closer. It was so clear, he could see out into the nothing, as the waves bobbed and churned in their maddening calm. What could’ve been a dolphin poked up further out, gone as quickly as it appeared in the rise and ebb of the sea.

“Why do you always come here?”

He looked at them, the instant sadness appearing there like a ghost.

He gripped their hand a little tighter.

“Don’t you like it here, you love this place.”

“Yeah, I know.”

The wind blew a little stronger, and if he were honest a little colder too.

He kissed them, closing his eyes like he always did. Feeling their lips as he felt the tiny moisture there. He took his hands and ran them up their back and into their hair, cupping them both in the moment. Breathing them in, holding them close, wiping away the tear which had begun to slide so silently down their cheek.

“It’s a place I can always come to when I cannot go on.”

He said this, as tears came to his own eyes. Blurring his image as if the sea had leaked inside of him.

The clock in his head suddenly shuddered, doubling the ticks in rapid progression.

“You know each time you add something. This time I took your hand.”

He looked away suddenly, as if he’d been discovered.

“I like it too, but it’s something I’d never have done.”

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

He watched as the waves hurried in, ignoring them there on the beach. Going about their tidal business. Commanded by the moon.

“There are more of course, but you always come to this one. I guess you’re the happiest here. I was too.”

He pulled them in tightly, scared they were already slipping away. He felt them, heavy and solid and gripping on to him also.

“I can’t unlove you. I can’t undo any of this.”

His tears flowed onto them, the wind stung slightly, catching the dampness there in his sockets.

“I love you still. You just doubt that, which saddens me.”

“I love you.”

“Then in the end, we win.”

Tick.

Tock.

And they both were gone.

Worry is like a prayer for something we don’t want. Our mind, at times, takes us to such dark places beyond that which gives us light. We can choose where our consciousness leads us, right now in the moment. We can choose what is projected on the wall of our mind. But it is our movie, our film which we have a say on how it ends. If you want to change it, change your consciousness and choose happiness over pain, light over dark.

Bleeding air

Wait for this dust to settle.
A hurt that’s wrapped tightly in a bandage.
Squeezed into numbness.
You asked me here, you want me to stay.
But to remain means deserting me.
Leaving myself alone to drift into space.
You handle my heart so divinely.
Picking off the dirt that reminds me of my past.
Scars that taught me not to break.
To catch you, half a world away; lost in the fog of tomorrow.
Cancelling time zones as the tock and the tick irritate.
And your kiss, inebriates it all.
This Atmosphere changes everything.
Up here, I cannot see the fall.

Reveal

The suffering of fools.
With each new day they add their stain.
A clogging to the air that you breath.
Beneath the end, that’s where they’ll find you.
So strong and complete.
Underneath.
You want it all so badly.
This revelation to tomorrow.
To be remembered and loved for the skeleton inside.
As you bathe in a bath of bleach.
And rinse your soul with turpentine.
Uproot the dirt and the dark that keeps you hidden.
That keeps you displayed for a world of passer-by’s.
This great reveal, behind the curtain.
Under the skin.
Is the world you live in.

Sweetness follows

Jasmine lips and honey eyes.
Dance on my flesh like miniature dragonflies.
Growing roses in my heart.
The ivy of my mind to twist into.
Licking your skin and tasting the ocean.
Chasing your wave and finding sand in my shoe.
You.
Blue and free like the sky that pulls over my eyelids.
Whispering into my skull, the tantric movement of tomorrow.
Taking me off to another land.
Where your skeleton slips into my skin each day.
And crystal tears carve a path right through me.
Amber shivers and slumbered eyes, welcoming these dreams.
Tip-toeing through the water lilies of your world.
Hovering like the hummingbird of your heart.
Beat and hum.

Accelerate

What have you done?
Today, this life; where have you gone?
Which angry root did you pull out?
What weak bone did you break?
What flood turned to drought?
Which love to an ache.
You may forget everything in the end.
As time shuffles by, and souls begin to bend.
But you have each moment, each second in the sun.
A little tiny diamond, reserved for each one.
To pick up today, and more the day after.
A small little treasure, like happiness and laughter.
So forget the mould and oil that covers you like gloom.
And go out and discover, shoot for the moon.

Heavy

Pull out a rib, snapping a finger.
Divert the pain, do not let it linger.
The heaviness pulls like a planet of sorrow.
Flickering at times, but returns again tomorrow.
When did this all get to heavy to hold?
When did the hurt turn as heavy as gold?
The tears fall like lumps of lead.
Splashing on skin, little emotions now dead.
Leaving me soaking and covered in despair.
The alchemy of hope, now no longer there.

Try

The vessel inside overflows.
Screaming to expand.
The trying, the tearing.
The overcometh of each battle, each day.
As those warriors say.
We leave nothing but our trail.
Blood and candles to light the way for others.
A legacy gilds the petal of our history.
The bloom of overcome.
The fragrance of succeeding.
In the skin that sheared from the bone.
And tears the weep from eyes that have seen tomorrow.
We sleep an eternal rest, knowing that we tried.
So now sweet moment, which I gather in it’s lustre.
I be present with you, and smile at the strength it took to make it.
Where I fall, may there be lilies and lotus flowers.
Marking the space as sacred and inviting.
An organic tombstone to one, who did nothing but try.

Fake Dawn

The stars are so bright tonight.
It sounds childish, that you want it to last forever.
You see the same in my eyes.
Stretching the night.
Trusting the darkness.
Tomorrow was a failure.
Today is weakened by the sight of it.
That returning thought of Saturn.
Shrinking once more into the horizon.
You marked it there.
When you had nothing to lose.
It’s easy to hope for the dawn to take you.
Easy to grapple that hand of mine into yours.
Sending postcards and roses to your sixteen year old self.
A secret message that you made it.
It’s harder to wipe the sleep from your eyes.
Harder to beckon the day.
Which threatens to stain us like the ones before.
When we were lonely.
And afraid.

Devoir

The noise was smothered by the night.
Lain down in god’s whisper.
So deep the mind fell.
Beyond fossilised creatures and secrets in tar.
The moon hummed in its milky orbit.
Delicious solitude descended.
A quietening of existence.
That is where I’ll find you.
Beyond the chaos and the trauma that litters these lives.
Your sanctuary for my soul.
A marbled palace adorned with tears and precious memories.
A temple I wish to practice our religion.
So light those candles and sing me to sleep.
With conflicting thoughts of tomorrow.
And your voice crawling over me.
So when the day blazes into this skin.
Purifying each sin.
The renewal within, is possible.
Only by your sweet vow.
To remain.