April 4, 2013

I Want Miracles to Grow from My Fingertips. ~ Edith Lazenby

Caught in a cage of tears.



I want to scream. I want to drive off the road. I want to find the deepest hole and crawl inside. I want to meet nothingness in my soul. I want to strip all meaning from being and see what remains. I want to fly to the moon and find the backside and plant myself there.

I want to laugh myself into insanity, walk hysteria’s edge that will take me to an end. I want this to end. I want to stop caring. I want to believe anything is possible. I want all my problems to dissolve like sugar and the solution to feed my cravings.

I want to change.

I want to let go of knowing and meet the challenge. I want to stop time. I want to climb to the roof and flap my arms and pretend to fly. I want to sing. I want to dance until my feet bleed. I want to hear the music of the spheres in my heart. I want to see the energy sucking me into a vortex of fear that blossoms into a flower and marinates hope with the honey bee.

I want to walk on water. I want to make bread from air. I want miracles to grow from  my fingertips. I want to touch matter and turn it to gold. I want my life to change.

I want to take my broken parts and make myself whole. I want to take feelings of worthlessness and crucify them on the cross of need and belonging. I want to die so I too can rise from the dead.

Now percolates. Now itches my eyes. Now is too close to here and I want to kick it over there. I want to get to this and that and see the cracks that hold their difference. I want to pull my hair out one at a time until I am bald. I want to pluck my eyebrows so my eyes have no shadows. I want to trim my lashes and pierce my tongue. I want to tattoo a dragon on my belly and a butterfly on my back.

I want to chant past sound’s container until what vibrates is indigo moving in my mind’s eyes.

I want to build an altar to time so I can crush it.

I want feathers to grow from my armpits.

I want to stop being human. I want to be a hawk.

Mostly, I want to stop wanting. I want to stop so I don’t have to feel anything ever again.

My wishes begin to spill out with my tears. I let them go and plant a garden that does not need sunshine. My garden asks for tears because that is all I have. What grows from grief holds me in an embrace that I am beginning to understand won’t let go unless I pull it out by the roots and find fresh seeds. The seeds burrow deep in the earth for comfort, their embrace is my need. My tears dampen earth and hope creates a space I don’t know.

This space is a room of windows I want to break. Instead I try the different views: one window holds the moon; the other the dark scale of night; the other shows a tree. Another has a feral cat reminding me of what it is to be free.

I decide to make some popcorn. I decide to enjoy the ice water. I decide to decide matter does not matter.

Bottom line: What I want, what I need and what I decide don’t mean a thing.

Tomorrow comes full of more nows and I am doing my best to come into today. If I can live in the now maybe my problems will let me be…or maybe I can be here, now, without a rage of grief. Maybe…

I’ll have to dream and believe.


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Ed: Brianna Bemel

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