Trapeze Artists
Kinetic versus static
When I was a boy they told me faith is the belief in things unseen. Except all the unseen things in my six-year-old world were religious. Artifacts and gods and future promises. Faith was vapor in my nostrils. Something that might yield something, one day, but no one had any evidence of that. The greater my faith the greater my dearth.
We are all trying. Those words hang in mind like a trapeze artist. Tell me to go the way of compassion like river rapids. Created by obstacles, flow, and gradient. I give atoms to the universe then reach for them. Particles scattered off palms. The fear I feel after giving up old habits.
I needed affirmation. Used it to staunch bleeding from old wounds. Then the affirmation became a high. I found it on social media. In bodies. In women. I didn’t know how to give it to myself so I sought it from others. Had no idea accepting myself could be more fulfilling than acceptance from others. Not needing their approval was like swinging high above a circus crowd.
These days I prefer to sidestep puppet shows. I want hands. No matter the scars, I want hands. When they bring cheap food on a stick, I point to the forest. Say, yes, but do you grow leaves? Do you withstand cold winters?
