Ponderings of life dropped in the gap separating my emotional and chronological ages.

Location: Comox Valley, British Columbia, Canada

Saturday, October 07, 2006

I am Entitled a Work in Progress

I am entitled a work in progress.
I am different than I was yesterday.
I will not be the same tomorrow, if there is such a thing. So even if I am faced with the same situation two days in a row I will not approach it in the same way twice. How could I, as I am never in the same place twice,
not as I was,
not as I am,
not as I will be;
because I am entitled a work in progress.

I am entitled a mother, as in nature; it is my nature to mother,
to coddle and form
with love
those that will let me and those
that won’t.
Those that won’t deny my nature
and theirs
which is to love and to be loved otherwise
how would they have come to be if not coddled and formed
by a mother through her nature?
So you cannot keep love from my mothering nature and
you cannot keep my nature from mothering
so let me mother as I am entitled.

I am entitled a lover
Of men,
of music and literature
gardens and food
children’s laughter and
weathered faces.
These things and more I am a lover of and
they need do nothing
but be for me
to love them
because that is what I am entitled to do
as I am entitled a lover.

I am entitled a writer
A voice of our souls, our lives, our foolishnesses.
Whispers within tell me what to think and see and say.
As I look for whispers in what you say and do
when yelling drones have let a whisper slip through
your walls of oppression.
I take this space for my whispers
which seek out the whispers within you
to let our whispers
whisper together
until there is no whispering left to do.
and the yelling drones have moved on to puppets
who have never heard a whisper wisp
and never penned a written word of
souls and lives and foolishness.
My whispers are free upon the page, the page
I am entitled a writer.

I am entitled a servant, a helper, a calm voice in calamity.
Your crisis is her and his history
There are no new cries
Just as there are no new lies
To justify
what you have done.
You cannot scare me
Make me hate you or judge you
You needn’t be afraid of me
But it’s okay that you are.
We are neighbours and souls in a forest play
It is my job to see you through
As a servant, a helper and a calm voice
where there is no calamity
Just life as you are, and I am


Blogger GoGo said...

yeah. i'm hoooked.

1:39 AM  

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