Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Empty Shells

(Pre-Script: This poem should be read as the song, " Other Side Of The World," #33 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...)(...still waiting...)

Last night I had two dreams, both about being stuck in a shopping mall with a lot of levels and a lot of stairs. I remember the pervasive feeling of loneliness, and it was a huge contained space in which to feel so very deeply lonely.
So today, I drove to the most open space I know. All the way there, I sang loudly at the top of my lungs and imagined I was singing on a stage where people were listening and loving it-not loving my voice, necessarily, but loving ME, for being there, for doing it, for my moxie and willingness to stand before them and sing, anyway. It was overcast when I got to the shore, and I was alone, and I let the waves crash over me because that was where the glass was hidden among the pebbles, the treasure just there where the waves were breaking, so I let myself get soaked by them, I let them wash over me as I continued searching beneath.
Later, when I was cold and goose bumped, I drove away wondering where I was going. I was so tired and wanted a place to rest my head. Shivering takes a lot out of a person, especially the soul shiver of not knowing where I might exist in this world, but guessing that it's some place I have not yet seen, or that has not yet been discovered, or is not even a physical place on this planet. How many rocks and broken shells a person can turn over, shells that once contained something, that now when you hold them up to your ear you hear the rush and whisper of the lives they once contained, what they at one time housed. I drove back with a bucket full of beautiful, empty shells and wondered where I would eventually lay my head.


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