Voice

Recently, the idea of establishing one’s ‘voice’ has crossed my path multiple times. I think it may be the universe’s way of trying to tell me something? When I look at my winding path so far, are things that keep popping up this way ‘the universe’ pointing me here or there? It could be a non-binary God laying my path in a way that I stumble along it in the direction they desire. Only occasionally do I fall, yet, never varying far from this path… I eventually get to the next place, safe sound and a bit more wise (maybe). I certainly was never one of those people who mapped out my future. Yet here I am, writing and pondering the idea of ‘voice’.

My lazy Sprite, the one in my head who would rather sit in front of the TV and eat cereal, beckons “WHY????”. Although I’m not fond of that part of my brain / psyche, I suppose it comes from the level inside where I am deeply cynical. Cynical that we have much control over anything in a universe that encompasses light years & zillions of stars. We live on a minute green and blue vessel where there is the continuous hum of billions of heartbeats. And yes, I admitted earlier that this was my most cynical side! I have recently started to embrace the idea of a quantum realm. A place where all things are possible and where we actually can, in some small way, affect the ‘what’, just not the ‘how’.

The whole concept of a quantum realm is fascinating. A place where time, materials and space do not exist. The idea of separating thoughts, emotions, physical sensations… away from ‘what it is all composed of’. In other words, empty space. This idea resonates (at least for me) on a profound level.

There is so much vastness around us. We act like we are the captains of our own ships. Why bother with “having a voice”, or wasting valuable TV time on struggling to understand what a voice is and what it means to have one? I suppose if ‘having a voice’ refers to ‘speaking one’s mind’ then yes, it would likely be a futile endeavor. Imagine billions of voices expressing themselves simultaneously all the time. The cacophony produced would deafen us all while driving us mad instantaneously. However, just think of a common topic and do a google search… it will open the door to a rabbit hole large enough to consume you for hours (if not days, weeks, months) of your precious life. If we consider our ‘voice’ as that as a contribution to all voices, our reflected awareness to all awareness… then ‘voice’ takes on a completely different life.

It is unclear if this is a wise decision to spend my time this way, pondering if my voice is part of something much, much bigger than myself. Yet my curious, eager to learn Sprite, the one who lives in the wonderment level of my psyche, is seductively beckoning me down this path.

The State of Things

I really cannot un-see it. The lifeless body lay before me. The open, fungating wound from where she bled out. Clearly this is, was a cancer. A horror washes over me of the suffering she must have had. These things do not happen in a day, nor in a month. Months of decay preceded this moment. Cells being overtaken by an invader, much stronger than their defenses, they surrendered. Allowing the mass to grow and invade deeper into it’s victim. Structure by structure gave way to the advancing front of invasive cancer cells. Left behind was a trail of necrosis, dead tissue that would be the feast for a host of scavengers, in this case maggots, everywhere. My mind braces once again against a tide of horror as I think of how she must have felt… was she even strong enough to try and wash the maggots away? What kind of place was she in where such a thing would get to this point? Although I struggled to push the thoughts away, I could not. An image of her lying in a makeshift bed, literally decomposing while still alive. This evening, nature finally brought her peace. The cancer (or maggots) had eroded into a named vessel… a fountain of red followed. She closed her eyes for the last time.

Despite this, healthcare in America ensued. Someone found her, 911 was called, without any advanced directive the algorithm kicked in. Rapid transfer to the emergency department, Code T was called bringing highly trained experts at controlling hemorrhage and resuscitation of the near dead. The ultrasound was placed on the chest showed there was still organized movement of the heart — we had to try. The heart was so empty there was not a pulse. Large catheters were place and blood products pumped as quickly as possible into the patient. A one moment a pulse was detectable yet quickly lost again. A breathing tube was placed. Chest compressions were done. After many attempts, and the passage of time, death was declared.

Such insanity. These expectations of modern medicine… at least modern medicine in the U.S. of A. Other places on the planet…she may have received comfort care from the moment she was found. Yet in other places on the planet, she likely would have had some access to care so that rotting death would not take her as she wasted away on the street.

Spirits

Shimmering Silver Translucent

Drift from point to point

Shadow dancing path

Mark time as you move

Hollow. Vacuous – ghost,

Empty mirror on the look

Unseen

Voiceless

Echo whispers

beat by beat

Untouchable

through thin air.

Yet… Which American Dream?

November 3rd and passage of time

We fight for diversity of thought from founding father’s pens and invisible mother’s toil

Cacophony. Voices from opposing aisles. Deafen the masses.

Left liberal Right? Conservative Center shifting direction towards the edge. Loud objections, violence clashes.

” Children close your eyes.”

Injustice screams

“Children cover your ears.”

A thousand peanut butter and jam sandwiches, bedtime stories, bandages on skinned knees. Strength and intention to protect and grow you. My citizen of the world.

And yet. This shift. Bigger than all of us. Because of all of us.

A darkness hides the sun. Do not reach to touch it child. It is too hot.

I cannot protect you from this. I can only give you smoked glass to avoid blindness.

I cannot lessen the sound of the explosions, I can only give you cotton for your ears.

I cannot stop the cacophony, I can only hope you see more sides than we do. Your open, flexible and joyous heart. The promise of you. A promise.

Pause

You

interrupted my now.

Uninvited

you arrived.

my thoughts pull me to you.

The idea of you,

ghost of decades past

soul resurrects with each pulse

coronary drumbeat,

rhythmic temples

Turn away from today,

pull of sadness,

heaviness.

of loss.

now water over me.

I KNOW you will fade

bellows of my breathing

time. then more.

water will rise

? too far before you leave