A Cemetery Visit
Ghosts, angels, and self
When I see the world I see it in blue. Radiating electric energy left by ghosts. Not people, but doorways left untouched. When I see the world I see what could have been. I feel no sadness about it. What could have been is beauty. What could have been is the world’s expansiveness. What could have been is ghosts.
The first time I saw a man walk through a wall I thought I was hallucinating. Because I have ideas about what can and cannot be. My judgment picks up where my presumption leaves off. I am quick to berate myself for trusting in possibility. Every time my instinct resists a new mode of thinking I remind myself it’s survival instinct. It is normal to resist change. Excellent to accept it.
I sit at a green light and watch it go red. Like opportunity down a public toilet. Moments tick while cars collect behind me. Filled with people who honk and yell. They pull around and give me the finger. Stare inside my car. But I don’t care. When life has broken me like a sodium cracker what can their violence do?
Ghosts moving with insidious urgency. The faster they rush the fewer the truths to confront. I always think the answer is more pressure, greater velocity, higher intensity. My truth is I don’t know who I am when I am slow. I only know who I am when I’m a blur. The man with the washed out face…
