Too vague, the opening lines of our play-on-words — hurtful retort rocking me to the core. Helpful words or set in their ways of how things should be, this too shall I let go and all the other hurtful words — actions rhyming dis-harmoniously from the right-winged and the left — blindly forgetting they are the same bird.
Years come and go, some more hurtful than the next — this year, especially cranked up like a series of fifteen-inch sub-woofers pounding penetrating bass into our core. Still, in cautionary tales of last year’s pandemic scares — of loss, more violence and fighting amongst family members senselessly for what one believes to be true.
Standing firmly in one’s own — self-realizing knowing and unknowing of life’s greatest mysteries, none other than the human construct — creative realities of individualization. Letting go of past — hurtful branches of a deeply rooted tree — cutting off rotting limbs from the remaining — making room for greater blossoming — springtime’s promise to another spurt.
Empty-handed, hollowed-bones — room for whatever is thrown in our direction, allowing things to remain, repel or hover about in mysterious fashion without ever fully understanding — of its arrival. Going with the flow — like winds directional calls, singing and dancing to various tunes — entering and passing through the deepest caverns of our soul.
What am I letting go of in 2021?
Not a thing — for there is no longer a clinging to what-ifs and whatnots, expectations of how everything shall turn out — remaining in mystery, enjoying the passing of time itself — there will be those who challenge these words — so be it. Greater is the soul — freely moving about — even in the face of adversity.
No discredit to those falling victim to co-workers lashing out — carrying evil spirits wherever they go — or the loss of a loved one to senseless crimes not understood. Echoed through the media — pouring more fear into our homes — cutting off the power cords to negatives favorite song.
We stand among each other — naked and afraid — vulnerable to those who bow to the wicked tongues, offering daily reminders to the right-winged and left — being a part of a greater body. The left and right cannot fly without returning to the body of kindness — for those unwilling, remaining grounded in their misery.
Pictures books, scrapbooks, memories of ill-fated truth — letting go of chapters before, this twenty-twenty-one included — rejoicing on how far we have come — we have arrived. What good is dwelling over the old pictures, ancient as the saber-toothed tiger going instinct — nothing has changed from then to now.
One story, none different than the next — varying characters and thematic squeals of echoing song — return to kindness. Looking inwardly, finding truth — singing a new song into brighter days of twenty twenty-two.
You must be logged in to post a comment.