Fucked up Queen of the Light.
Kicking rocks. In the shit. That’s real bright.
I try to live in the light. I try. I delude myself into believing I’m better at it than I am. I’m learning and unlearning, but fuck, it gets so tiresome. Little light lessons are easily found; strewn across life’s prickly path. I pick them up and alchemize them effortlessly. I put them away. Done! Nice. But among my fuckery and misadventures, I’ve hazily stumbled across my own immense aggregation of bullshit. Found it hiding out in the greenery 🍃. Squarely sparkling, winking away in plain sight. What a fucking curse. Foolishly laser-focused, I’ve attended only to sweetly scented lessons, to the detriment of all else. Unwittingly and nonchalantly, I’ve carelessly kicked a putrid pile of shit bricks and rocks into my brain’s bemused corners.
Heavy heart. Dirty mind matter.
Red rooms of burdensome beastly boulders. I refused to acknowledge my ever-growing rockery.
Now I find myself buried in it. Deep in my own shit with no sense of smell (true fact). Caught unawares, unbothered, out in the fog. All flimsy fucking smiles. I’ve always told myself “I’ve got this”, I’m soul-ly self-sufficient. I don’t need help. I luxuriated tediously in my brokenness. Bothered by nothing; a comfortable familiarity.
I’d become used to relying only on an ill-equipped me.
I’ve lived a life that required such thinking. It makes me sad sometimes to think about it. So I try never to think at all.
But I’m waking the fuck up. At least I hope I am. It’s hugely possible this is just a little stepping stone, leading to even greater gardens of rotten, rancid refuse. More self-deluded, maladaptive mental manure. Can’t wait. The stench slowly stinks up my psyche.
My mind is full of more cracked corners than I care to cognitively claim.
It’s likely I’ll forever be tripping over my discarded dirty rocks. My foot–eye coordination has always been terrible. Rocks and shit strewed everywhere. Must be why I feel so at home on my beautiful Brighton beach.
But I’m glad to have stumbled upon my haphazard and shitty rockery.
Begrudgingly, I’ll water wildflowers as they beguilingly bloom from rocky cracks. I’ll turn my scary spaces into a sweetly rambling passive place.
I’ll grow roses from my madness to welcome butterflies and bees.
Inspecting each rock, I’ll turn it over. Make friends with hiding spiders. I’ll make it safe. A place to climb to higher and higher heights. I’ll sweep away the pain, the dead leaves, the betrayals, and discarded dreams. I’ll learn my lessons; light lucid lanterns, to illuminate my folly. I’ll have a shed to store hard-earned tools. A greenhouse for my saplings and bulbs. I’ll hang nuts for lost and lovely squirrels and a hammock to admire the crescent moon.
I’ll build a lattice fence of wild willow wood; the kind that bends without ever breaking. I’ll sow seeds that slowly grow into vibrant luscious green grass. Soft and fresh and free. I’ll lay out a fluffy pink blanket laden with home-baked cakes and exotic fruits. Books, notepads, pens, and rose wine. I’ll laugh at bad jokes on wooden lolly sticks on days when the light shines brightly inside. I’ll have a bird bath and tiny seed house to welcome delicately melodic messenger birds. A little pond of blues for my baby fish to swim. A breeze to tickle ripple rings atop the waters they call home.
Dainty flowers will spring, full of hope, from the depths of composted dew and decay. Peace in my place for my cat with a name to bask in summer’s heat of orange rays. I’ll buy intricately ornate iron furniture dressed gloriously in gilded gold. A “keep-out” sign nailed firmly to the gate, will banish ancestors of a treacherous past. A docile old dog with a coat of satin stealth will keep quiet watch under the stars. I’ll welcome wisdom and joy; with easels and paints, we’ll pass precious time painting love into life. Beautiful wings of serenity’s grace will hold us as we write dreams into the light. With help, I’ll build my shelter of trust and warmth to hold you all safe in your storms. My beautiful soul-chosen family of love. I’ll build my rockery into a garden for us to call home.
(Dedicated to AD , inaripocket , Luciahoyle and Ali (my magical therapist), the most phenomenal Earth angels I’ve ever known)
