Memory.

Wandering greens and greys in red tint,

I entered the mouth of a giant.

It washed me with cool air.

Heartbeats of trees

Thumped through the floor under my feet,

Thoughts trickled with the water.

While the ferns followed the waves of the breeze,

The wind nursed me into quiet.

A pitter patter of ducks and  wandered the riverside,

And there behind the trees a yellow light glowed,

Casting bronze between the branches.

Then I walked 4 miles of thoughts.

I spent my feelings on food

And my food for a feeling.

I sat in the quiet of a room,

‘My room’,

Nursing the numb I’d aquired with focus, with focus.

And as weariness takes me,

I roll around and around,

Looking for the cold parts of the sheets,

Until it is stained with me,

And I think about the yellow light, and the ducks, and the thumping of the hearts of the trees in the feeling of my feet.

And it didn’t matter anymore…

An image of colour and light,

Such a beautiful memory…

-Ben

The Truth

I wander streets in the night, I do. I practice kung fu under the street lights at the end of a dark road at quarter to 2.

Sometimes I thought I had it all figured out.

Swivelling between knowing and unknowing the point of the universe and all of its problems.

It’s a feeling and it comes up deep from my balls and my gut, and my head opens as if it was the same as everything else all along.

Talking about it sometimes, people think I’ve gone crazy. I feel it never occurred to them that I’ve seen something that possibly they haven’t.

It’s true that it’s selfish, but I struggle to see where else I can start other than from the self.

Or maybe the cork popped up in the old brain and I’m now a walking liability.

I don’t know.

I think about words sometimes. Trying to figure out why and where from. My need for insecurity rearing its little nose.

Liability: The ability to lie.

Sometimes I feel like I want to die. It sinks quickly from the high of fullness, down to the low of lost.

I miss the old days that never were, and I miss the opportunity for a life in a fantasy kingdom imagined by writers in a writing room.

I sometimes feel like a ripple a pond. Sometimes I feel like a grain of sand at the bottom of an ocean.

The way the world is looking scares me and I don’t know what to do about it… Is it the feeling or the world?

I love myself, and I hate myself too.

And I get confused about who ‘myself’ is every day.

My back aches from the weary neglect of hours at gyms in the night. And the sweat of anxiety linger as scars to today.i

It’s easy to forget that there is nothing to lose in telling the truth.

-Ben

When tired of Dancing…

It will always be this way,

This moment,

This happening now,

The moment in which you feel.

The choice is a dichotomy

To notice

Or not to notice.

If one notices

One see’s that feelings are neither

Good or Bad…

Feelings just are.

I promise

It will get better.

And then worst

And then better again.

That’s the game

The roller coaster

The dance.

I asked the other to dance with me,

Later I realised

That it was already dancing,

All of this time, dancing,

And I was a part of it.

One wonders whether life is about

Fighting or loving.

But they both live in one another.

Fighters love,

and lovers fight.

On the best of days it should never end,

On the worst of days it should end now,

The balance is always kept.

The thing

Is that no thing is alone.

Can we let our feelings be our teachers

And dance with them

Wherever they may be?

-Ben

‘The earth has music for those who listen’ – William Shakespeare