Where Seasons Greet
Where else would I be but in this moment. Not the mind that accompanies it, not the conscience, or the complications. Just the body. That firm thing. That solid. It has been an expansive expansion of days gone and long lost since I last felt this. It is coming upon Christmas time. It has been many long sinces since I last understood the emotion of that day. Maybe since Santa stopped existing, or maybe when everyone stopped pretending he did. I am still not sure which meant more. The big red boss in his little sled carrying his special sack and in one night flying across all our foreign lands. Or my boyish mum and foolish dad who for one night of one year pretended to believe in the large magic man.
They would take me away from my fear. Take me away from the day. To a place where we would only feel and to the place where we couldn’t stay. Too much sense and too much logic stops me now from that world with no purpose. Sometimes I can taste it again. In waves it washes not over my brain but my mind. Mine, which was there when there was still hope that being grown did not mean growing old. Where finding a grey meant wisdom not waste. Of a life and of love. All that energy expended. Snowballing towards termination. Where wearing a tie stood for something more than a number in a bank, the size of one’s window, or the colour of a door. Stood for sacrifice. Of time and effort. For the sake of those who wait for you. Who think of you in your absence. Where a smile was something evoked not expected. Something given by nature. Not tamed and not commanded. Where ageing was growth and not decay. Whimsy and wisdom not deflation and surrender. Messages which some evil that corrupts me now presumes I don’t remember. Where did those days go. What within us, what that we share and spread amongst ourselves takes that from us.
This is not my message. These words are not mine. They are the will of the emotion that has been stolen from us in the theft of our lives and the blinding of our eyes. Eyes obscured by darkness and deprived of light. Do not heed my words of worry. Where we remain is what we witness. And it is in deprivation that we stay. Of the essential qualities that emboldened and sustained a life once worth living and that might again have value some day. Not defined by your status online or the quantity of your time. Left or lived. Rather quality, over all. Over fear and insecurity and doubt. I will for my life, to the ends of the earth and at the top of my lungs, search for a message that brings you peace. The person who reads this and feels themself to be in parts. Who experiences their pieces begin to shake and unsettle from their complacent positions. That feels somewhere in the depths of their stomach in the pit of their soul a will that screams for change and for magic.
The magic that gave us hope when we once believed it might remain, despite the passage of time and despite our age. We saw it in our parents eyes. A magic still fought for and preserved, hidden plainly behind lies veiled thinly. Lies which propelled the message that cannot be obstructed by rationality or thought. Words to forget. Forget their meaning. Memory and foresight are the only wastes in our wastes of time. If you must carry, do not carry pain. Carry on.