Up, Up to get Away

     I am out of my old neighborhood and that itself is a giant step. I do not think i will be leaving Rhode Island, or even Providence, any time soon. Not for a few years at least. Anybody who suggests doing so just annoys me because it is not even something i feel that i can even consider. I like to think that anywhere i happen to be is where i need to be at the moment.

     It's not as though i am opposed to going off somewhere that i am called to by opportunity-- I just don't think that time is right now. When it happens it happens. But right now, in order to survive and strive i need to focus on being successful within the environment i presently reside in. I want to be able to achieve at least that. Then maybe I will better at identifying the justifications of natural and necessary suffering when i see them.

     I will be able to withstand all i want to run from.

Questions

What the fuck am I even trying to break through?

I keep wanting and wishing

hoping to “open up”

but what does that even mean?

What am I closed off to?

What am I hiding?

What do I care?

Like what is the definition of unaffected?

Does it mean unable?

Does it mean hard

despite being squishy.

Despite having sunk my own hands into my skin and yanking out my guts letting that shit spill up and over.

What does it mean to keep distant?

Does despondency truly exist

when I am and always have been

right here waiting?

I know of nothing else but myself so why is it so hard to be myself?  

Sublimity in Snowfall

There is a sound that only the snow makes.
It is quiet, almost silent
But if you listen, you can breathe it in,
Absorb the dampened air through your skinpores.
The snow is cleansing.
Not because of its blanketing whiteness but because of the cold that shakes you.
The consciousness of flakes gathered into one; you can hear them chatter,
“Come here. Come stick to me.”

A single snowflake is almost nothing,
Many simply melt on tongues.
Even these flakes have a purpose—they guide a smile, create a shine.
Just take a look at all the snow mounds, the caps of mountains, the north and southern poles—
Single snowflakes had to land there, had to gather.
Single flakes spoke to each other, “Hey there, you can come stick with me.”
Suddenly single is septillion,
a septillion become one.
Suddenly a single snowflake is most sublime.

I see the sun on your back

I was walking last week in the snow, stomping around the mounds and ice, wearing my great coat (a Civil War replica) for warmth. The wind was in pure form that evening, chilling the air by at least ten degrees. As I pulled the cape of my coat over my head and tugged the edges tight about my face, I was reminded of the fable of the north wind and the sun. In this story the wind and the sun both attempt to make a man take off his coat. The harder the wind blew, the firmer the man's grip on his coat, while the sun only had to beam in order to get his way.

The moral of course is through gentleness, one will be able to achieve what they want, especially when it comes to getting others to act. A good lesson, I suppose, on just how one should interact with people, but what about the man? During my walk I kept seeing myself in his shoes, being beaten down by the harsh north wind and I wondered, "When is my sun going to come?"

Now coming from someone like me, it sounds like a sad question. A loaded question full of wistfulness, longing and despair. But as I gazed upon the snow drifts, clutching at my hooded cape, I was not begging. I knew my time would come, like the man in the story. For the moment, I simply had to keep holding on, despite the rough hands of the gales life was blowing towards me.