Lilies of the field

 Almost immediately after I wrote the words:

...But is there any such thing as irretrievable? 

Are the disappearers... 

~ those emotions, thoughts, revelations 

buried or drowned into oblivion ~

are they stored in an internal, mercurial, ethereal, other-conscious world,

seeded to emerge in some other form?

What is that form?

In what fashion does it manifest?

Dis-ease of the mind and body?

Dis-ease of the soul, even soul-suicide?...

(Though those aren't the exact words I originally wrote.

They emerged from a splatter of words on the screen.

I no longer have the original splatter.

I formed it into another shape,

Hopefully without losing the essence of the splatter,

So, actually, it is the original splatter, rearranged.)

After I wrote those words

My almost immediate thought was:

What about the joys?

Are not those stored too?

If traumas are stored, 

why not joys? 

Would not they also manifest?

In what form?

Could they manifest as 

life-ease, rather than dis-ease?

I sometimes say, after moments in the flow,

"Another good memory in the bank."

Perhaps as we accrue these deposits

They too will be excavated 

from the deep earth

to a more shallow level

where they can grow

like flowers from seeds

reaching up through the soil 

toward the light,

like sunflowers

or the lilies of the field. 

Gestation

I feel pain

I feel my body changing

I'm not sure if it is for the good

What is happening 

to me? 

I wait

I feel stickiness

In my body

Not around my body

Rather, between parts of my body

Like a lubrication

I wait

I feel my self folding

Into a different form

Like someone is

Beside-within me

I feel my self cracking

No, not me 

It is this shadowy casing

My recent dwelling

And I wait

I feel something odd

On my back

A gentle coolness 

Something, 

something big, 

is happening.

And I wait

Oh my!

What is this?!

More gentle cool

Not rushing in

Just more of it 

Surrounding me

I feel  

My self 

Emerging

From my spine 

There is pain

Something is unfolding

As it unfolds

The pain eases

And I wait

Then

Like I already know what to do

For no one has told me

It is innate

I stretch and stretch

Two lightweight structures

Emerge from my back

I feel them broadening

With an almost unconscious effort

Because I know 

This is what I am made for

I begin to undulate these structures

And I am lifted upon the air

And I see 

Not only with my eyes

But with my entire being

I see a wide view

I can float and fly and land

Upon the milkweed

To drink its lifegiving nectar

The new opening gestating in me is 

Freedom

Somehow I will make it through 

All these symptoms

Beyond the poisoning of my system

And I will emerge

Maybe not totally cured in body

But in my soul I will soar

And maybe

Just maybe

My body shall follow....

~*~

3/22/21

Prompt: "The new opening gestating in me is...."

~*~

Excavation

I've not been writing lately. 

Not even journaling.

I think about writing, things I'd write about.

But it stops there, after the conversations in my head about such things.

Sometimes I get insights.

Sometimes I type those insights into words on my iPhone's Note-app, to remind me of them.

But mostly, by the time time allows me to write, my energy for such has dissipated. 

The faded conversations get stored in some retrievable or irretrievable space-place. 

But is there any such thing as irretrievable? 

Are the disappearers... 

(those emotions, thoughts, revelations 

buried or drowned into oblivion)

are they stored in an internal, mercurial, ethereal, other-conscious world,

seeded to emerge in some other form?

What is that form?

In what fashion does it manifest?

Dis-ease of the mind and body?

Dis-ease of the soul, even soul-suicide?

Not the suicide of the physical, 

but rather, the emotional,

but rather, the self,

where one so stifles the soul's voice that it becomes 

suffocated,

only to then emerge,

reincarnate, 

in a form unidentifiable with its previous form, 

at least to the physical eye. 

O Exiles! 

buried, suffocated, drowned...

Be made manifest!

Be made free...

Such prayer causes me to tremble inside.

But there is nothing to be afraid of.

I am physically safe.

I am mentally safe.

I am emotionally safe.

With my excavation partner

--that is my soul, my essence, my being--

together, we can do this.

Can't we?

I have the tools.

Don't I?