I’m still trying to find the tools to open the shed so I can get the tools to use to find out where the truth might be buried, then I need more tools to work out how to unearth it….
Like a bonkers archaeological dig.
What the hell is down below and how do i get to it? Below where?
Stop worrying about it?
Shit, I wish I could.
I’m a botheration to my own mind. A bully to my own contentment. I stir stuff up when i don’t mean to. Like a toothache I can’t stop poking.
Poke, Poke, Poke, Poke.
Things come loose and I feel new pains. New little bits of gristle – I can’t tell where they are from using my tongue. My tongue is an unreliable witness.
I try and orient my self to what is going on inside my mouth and it is difficult.
That bit I am trying to get under… is that towards the front or the back of my mouth… ?
I try and look in the mirror but then the image is reversed. My tongue doesn’t know where to go. I need a dentist.
I need to learn from a dentist how to understand what side is up. What is down in the upside of my head? What is at the lateral and the outer?
Dentists. I hate dentists.
I wish them no harm. But I do hate them.
If tongue work is difficult what is the chance of determining God?
Oh shut up with such a grand idea.
Stop even worrying though. Stop worrying about it.
Whatever else is, is.
Now what about this girl?
She brings warmth. Basic warmth.
Head melting ideas, a constant challenge to your own lack of direction.
But if she has it, I don’t need to have it. If she knows, I don’t need to know so much.
If she has something worked out, I don’t need to work it out?
No, I’m not being lazy. It is an impossible task. If someone happens to have some grip on truth through whatever the universe has given them don’t knock it. Don’t feel guilty if you don’t have it. Don’t feel guilty at all. Guilty for what? Who is judging?
Who, the hell, is judging?
No, not actually, maybe symbolically?
Your friends? No, they’ve got their own lives. They don’t have TIME to judge you.
Yes, probably – some version of yourself arguing with you. Some asshole from years ago of yourself that won’t shut up. Won’t let you be.
Seriously just give yourself a break.
I know. That makes sense.
Whatever else is, is.
But you are.
You are your own best friend. Take care of yourself.
But I have kids to look after.
Shut up. We all know that. Nobody is pretending that isn’t true. So stop that bit.
You can sort that. You can look after them.
But you have to get yourself in place. Get your mind on the job.
Stop poking at your tooth. Leave it be for one minute.
But it feels smoother, I think on the inside of my mouth this time.
A little bit salty as well. Salty and metallic. That’s like blood I think. Metal and Sodium Chloride.
Shh. Take it easy.
Yes, so this girl.
I know. She is divorced as well.
What is her story?
Don’t ask that – that is like asking what is my story? I don’t even know what my story is at the moment. It is whatever makes sense in my head at any point in time. Depending on who is asking. Depending on what I need to be true at that point. My story is the story I need to tell at the point I need to tell it.
Ok, then what about her? Aside from her story.
She is divorced.
We have said that. You need to focus and build on that.
I know. She is divorced with kids.
Kids. You know that is a problem for you. You know you love kids but you can’t manage the thing it does to you in your head. About your own kids.
I know. I think I know at least.
I say I know but I just feel more than know.
I feel things and then I feel other things.
The feelings shift around as things move on. And I often feel I can’t cope with other kids. Which is no reflection on the kids. I feel guilty about feeling that about other kids. I feel sorry for them. That sounds bloody self righteous.
I feel stuck. That’s about right. Impaled on the ‘horns of a dilemma’ .
I’m actually doing ‘quotes’ inside my mind there…. my head does a little nod as it happens.
On the ‘horns of a dilemma’.
A girl without kids won’t be sure about someone who has kids…
Hold on, I’m going too far.
I am forgetting that there are other minds at work. My own kids. And I think they are phenomenal people. I’m actually surprised at how solid their minds are.
I’m stupid to lock myself in thinking that is just my own feeble invention. A feebly invented fear. Scared of something. Not even sure what.
Maybe I don’t want to hurt other kids. And that’s good. So keep them out of it.
Keep them out of it.
Adult hearts are breakable enough without disappointing some kids.
Poor bloody kids.
I love kids.
I want to make them smile.
Empathy kicks in – the world should be loved. The vulnerable supported. The grieving visited.
I’m in a bar and they have swings.. two low lying planks of wood suspended by unnecessarily thick beautiful ropes.
They have no sitters. They lie unswung.
I text a friend a picture of them ‘They have swings’.
‘They are at rest’ I say.
“They have found their equilibrium’.
A point of no longer having kinetic or potential energy. At rest.
Whatever else is, is.
So be it.
Just bloody enjoy it.
And I love the world again. And all the people in it. Even my enemies.
Few enemies that I have I wish them love even now. Perhaps even especially my enemies because that love-wish feels like it takes out the potential energy in me. That reduces the swing and brings me to rest. Breathing and gently coming to resting position.
Life is beautiful. People are crazy universes.
I can hardly understand my own and yet all around me are more universes.
I hope it is warm over there in that universe.
I hope you are treating it well and I hope most of all it is comfortable and you have adapted to it well.
What great words!
Tranquil is perhaps a little harsh in the middle…?
…what about ‘tranquility’?
Sounds less like ‘tranquiliser’.
The emphasis is on the ‘quil’ which is a nice soft word rather than the ‘tranq’ bit which is forceful and has sharp edges.
Tranquility makes me think of that space ship… ‘Serenity’?
The sea of tranquility.
I think that is on the moon.
I remember seeing that on a poster I had growing up.
The sea of tranquility.
Who made that up? Tell them I love them.
That was the actual name. In Latin. I presume.
The Sea of Tranquility.
Reminds me of that Prince song, ‘The Arms of Orion’.
I am forever besotted by that phrase. The Arms of Orion.
“In the arms of Orion that’s where I want to be….
since you’ve been gone I’ve been searching for a lover
In the sea of tranquility”.
That’s it… that’s the connection. He used two of my favourite phrases in one song.
Genius. Purple genius.
Purple-headed mountain of a genius.
With a river running by.
Rest in Purple.
Searching for a lover in the sea of tranquility.
Like the Halcyon, the Kingfisher.
Cursed, or maybe blessed lovers, given a time of peace to find each other. A space amidst the mayhem. Somewhere calm. Out of the maelstrom.
A beautiful and simple word. Sometimes I pronounce it with a little bit of the ‘l’ sounding… still all as one syllable but ‘caLm’ …
I raise my palm and say ‘the paLm of caLm’.
A gesture to fend off the fears and the eddies. A healing hand against the swinging and the kinetic craziness.
All is well.
I love you all.
That doesn’t pay the bills though.