They are downing trees on my ride to work for a conglomerate of sorts, a facility to test things when the forest would surely know best. You can feel them crying. Palpable. Stripped and naked. An unknown roadside holocaust. The emotion bleeds into the pavement like watered down sap; silent and slow.
Clock reversed; paper, pulp, solid strong branches in prayer to the ceiling; passed the dome, into the stars.
What keeps us from falling? Like a sheaf of papers, sliding from a desk to a bottomless floor, What keeps?
Morning. I walk into work.
Quiet.
Only my footsteps under lights that never dim, lights that hum in my head over the grid of the floor and I think; 'Why do humans fall?'
Not the trip, the misstep, but the fall...within. Just stop, like a clock that cannot wind, like a dawn that never shows. Just the fall into darkness, into the universe of themselves.
Stars explode. We implode.
And I hear my footsteps, my small body like a machine, a mechanism, a freestanding cog with things to do - tasks at hand. And I pause. Just a pause. Yet it's so seductive, covert, and deviant. this pause.
And it's as if I could stop the planet spinning in this moment - admit defeat and surrender to the lights that make us mad; rabid. Surrender to the glossy floor that can be mopped, sterilized, wiped clean of me as if I never laid completely open upon it. Surrender to the tasks that would get reassigned in the void that I would become. A small delay. A small inconvenience. A small body that, one day, just fell.
Then procession. Clock ticking
I breathe twice; feeling the ocean of my body ebb and flow, aware of the oxygen/blood exchange - an ancient dance of existence that I am not the least bit in control of. This vessel with this brain that is always seeking to exploit the dark crevasses, like the God forsaken false prophets of the false lights overhead.
My shoulders square, perhaps the last time...I am unsure. I step forward from my pause; into my day, into faith, into a mask, as if I, too, were mindless and without the awareness of suffering.
Connect nonetheless
Namaste
