Perhaps it's all some kind of crazy game where if you know how to act you get on just fine, but if you haven't a clue then you're in trouble...
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How much must I push myself in this game of thrones and how many dreams must I break to get out of here? How many perfect screams must I cry before I can escape?
“Come this way to see,” you say, and so saying disappear beneath the ocean vast where I can’t follow.
Existing existentially in some movement full of pleasing possibilities that has an exploding south of the border full of movie extracts that find no home anywhere else, and while some call it déjà vu and others some kind of space dilation I prefer to be dreamless.
So Buddha said: “Pass me your eye to see you and mending will happen in and out of the breezes that see you and blow through your soul.”
And from the sidelines someone whispered: “Hold on, help is coming.” And yet others said so many things with their expressions saying much with so little to say.
Oh raise me above this where the pain is too pure a hurt to say; but I come from this and do say that I ride this and riding live here where none can say I do not.
And now upon the wind such wind to cry I am the perfect fool.
Oh father, would you have me this, that looking in your eyes to see, I am what you would make me, such anger to love beyond.
Scratch my face and break my soul; come, show me what you feel and then beat me to it until we are joined as one.
“What are you? You’re the idiot, the fool,” you said with each thudding blow that broke my heart.
“Learn this,” you said and opened so many doors of horror that can never be closed.
“Trust me,” you said, and led me into places no father should ever take his son.
Could you not hear my pain? Where was your heart in all this? Was it sold to your fear? Did the fear-mongers steal it from you in their war you died in?
When my screams brought people running to find out what was the matter you forced me to collude with you in your denials and hide my suffering and pretend they were mistaken; and so my confusion grew beyond all hope of repair.
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And the cords of all your angers attached to me and held me bound to you so that there was no escape and when I ran away they brought me back and I was in the wrong, until I knew only despair.
In the long lonely years of my childhood where depression ate me up from inside I was the strange one to be avoided because of it; I was wrong, and guilty; and wearing the same clothes for years I had no chance, and so what was the use of trying.
Even when mother took us away and banned you from her heart you came and smashed your way in to terrorise us; and after, being restrained, evil pouring from your mouth, you became the devil to us; and even then you didn’t realise what you were doing and asked no forgiveness.
You’re gone now and I must find my own heart to lead me out of here where I never wanted to be. Such waste where joy could have been this long time, such dark clouds to cover the ruined soul, the broken spirit, the heart in pain; come, beat me some more, I am big now and can take it; but your psychotic attacks still linger to wreck my inner healing.
You lost many years ago, clawing your dying for your redemption; but I’m still crying for mine in this drum that still beats where you lived in my heart once.
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If only I could go back and know what you wanted from me; but maybe you never knew that, and all that came between us was what you were afraid of and couldn’t explain and so tried to hide it in your punishment that made us both so small.
It is said that the hurt is where the light gets in and I have known this, but I must be unworthy, for it didn’t stay long; or perhaps there was too much hurt and it didn’t want anything to do with that.
I’m the one hurt and so I’m the one who must deal with it and either transmute it, let it go, or live with it until the end.
And when the end comes will the worth of my life be the amount of joy in it? And if my life is measured by joy then this beggar must knock on the door and maybe keep knocking forever.
But if there is no judgement, then when I am no more surely I will be welcomed home with open arms, and if that is so then let it be soon. But if the stain accompanies me then will I be turned away to go back and wander, perhaps for many lifetimes until I’m clean again? But not this or any other explanation can soothe my soul until I’ve had enough and it is burnt from me and I can rise up and fly once again to that beautiful place that awaits my homecoming.
When you’d ridiculed me enough until my humiliation was complete and all my dreams broken, you laughed and said we were nothing more than animals with our animal desires and that this world was the hell we all lived in and that I would never be saved for there was nothing and no one to save me and that my only purpose was to help fulfil your desires.
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The horror of this appalled me and shrunk me up to the size of a worm, caught on the end of your line.
But I don’t blame you, now, for I know you were a product of the system that destroys and you were blinded in its inhumanity, warped and twisted beyond all measure to return to your heart and the simplicity of just being the loving father you should have been; and maybe you felt regret at the end as you returned to the spirit world where you belonged.
But father, tell me, how long must I cry for your pain?
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