Visions of Reality

The Walk

The Walk

Life’s not a stroll, an easy walk across a field, to quote from Pasternak – or was it, rather, Shakespeare, who wrote that? – a line, perhaps, from Hamlet, asking, basically, well, whether, then, to be, or not to be – and that the question, in a nutshell, simply.

A walk across a field – the ground below, the sky above –  the hedgerows and the trees, the woods and forests, all the branches, all the leaves – the mountains in the distance, far-off seas –  and fecund, fertile, nature, overflowing, in abundance – birds and bees – and all as if in song, a humming music, sounding, sighing, there, so then – relax, my friend, exhale, let go – to breathe it in, again, and bathe, luxuriate, in all that is, such that – like so – in drawing, deeply, inspiration, in, in making, meaning, sense, of it – you sense a sort of poetry – thirst-quenching, water from a well, within – within – and then, within each step, a spring, a flow, a choice, a change, as if at here a crossroads, now, surrendering – body, mind, the world – now looking up, now looking down – a journey to the west, or to the east – way to the left, or to the right – the right, the wrong – the outwards, in – so many paths – so many paths, in truth, that you could take – from there, to here – in one day, in one life – so many paths to lead you, at the last, to you yourself, the gift of questioning – so many paths to home.

And then, while walking here, with me, I ask: so have you ever thought it so, and noticed this, and felt it just like that? And, then, when walking there, alone, or seeming so, have you ever also felt it just like this, and noticed that, and that this too, quite simply, is –  and really thought it through?

And yes, it’s true, I know – or, that’s to say, at least, I’ve noticed it – that, walking – well – that, as you walk, sometimes – sometimes – sometimes, the sun shines warm and bright, the skies are clear, and all feels light and beautiful – and you think to yourself, now what a wonderful time this is to be alive; and sometimes, too, the opposite seems true – the sun now nowhere to be seen – skies dreary, dark, and wild, the mind, and stormy – rain beating down as if on you alone, too cold, too cruelly –  and all feels grim and heavy, heartless – all disfigured, all disfiguring –  ugly – and – unbearable – intolerable – and unending – lonely – until, at last, in utter desperation, think – you – to – yourself – that, what, a terrible, terrible, time this is to live, to be alive – as if you’d rather not – and thanks, but no thanks – no – no – no – and so, I’d rather wish to …

(Walk off – and walk away, maybe – just go.)

(Like life in mourning for itself, as if for you yourself, good grief, and sighing, deeply sorrowful.)

(The sad songs sounding silence at the end.)

And yet – heartbeat, somehow – you’re moving, still – and keep on walking – walking – walking on, in any case – that is, at least, until – as well you know you must, one day – you’ll stop, at last, to really rest – come to a halt –  if incrementally, perhaps, and so, so, so, slow motion, moving, in, infinities – or else in timelessness, maybe, blink of an eye, so suddenly – then, as if in falling into dream, or else awakening – a door to other worlds – you’re gone – and, walking, on, no more – as if your walk – your walk, and you – and you, were all along, but one, and all along, the same, you see – this moment here, and now – and flowing time, the gift, to you – through you – in you – of you.

And now there’s no more walking – no more walking – no more walking, now.

And now, for others, well, this walk through life, you see, it’s only now begun – in the beginning, only, now – our heartbeat born again in body, one.

And now this body spirited again – again alive in you – so soon to walk again, the walk goes on.

And, naturally, life goes on, too – in truth, so much like you – the mind – mind’s rising thoughts, thoughts falling – sometimes failing, too, but – always – changing, unpredictable – and like the weather, so – some days are good days, and some days bad. That’s how it goes.

To be – or not – to be.

Always – changing.

But go beyond all this – beyond embrace, the change – but field, but earth, but ground, perhaps, remain – and sky – the sky – sky, too, perhaps – perhaps – the living word, perhaps, the breeze, the spirit, echo, song, and sound, of those already passed, these, too, now passing, called away, and calling back, recalling us – to this, then, that – while walking on, towards that day – far off, I trust, for now – on which, beneath this self-same sky, you’ll one day die – as well, deep down, you know – that this you sense, you feel, you touch, you hear, you see – you see, that this is it – that this is all of life you’re living now – you’re life itself – you’re it – in breathing quietly, now, again, and then, again, in breathing, quietly, in, in quietly whispering – whispering, yes – and whispering, yes – and whispering, yes, again, while now releasing, letting go, and breathing slowly, slowly, slowly, slowly, out – all the tension, all the shame, and all the sadness, all the trauma, all the pain – as if right now released, cast far away – heart bursting open, thoughts now free – in body, mind, to be now fully present – being gentler, kinder, now, and more relaxed, my friend – to walk this walk we’re on this day together now.

And then, while walking here, with me, I ask: so have you ever thought it so, and noticed this, and felt it just like that? And, then, when walking there, alone, or seeming so, have you ever also felt it just like this, and noticed that, and that this too, quite simply, is –  and really thought it through?

If so, then what a walk this walk of yours must be, you know – a walk extraordinary – a walk most marvellous – a walk quite simply wonderful, you see – and like a walk in the park, let’s say – such that – that – then – when, here, and now, you’ve noticed all of this, and seen, and felt – experienced – lived – it – all – all to the full – and walking now in ease, not over-thinking, letting all just simply be –  you’ll walk now somewhat, subtly, differently – walk simply – walking – differently.

And what a rare and perfect, precious, pearl of thought upon this walk is this to be perceiving and be living through, this eye, this you, this insight, truly beautiful.

A thought, sublime, I almost wish to say.

This thought of yours, divine.

 © Bede Nix, 15 July 2021. All rights reserved.

Sounding My Way

Once upon a time
some long, long time ago
I’m sure that once I’d heard – I must have heard – recalled, most certainly – on whisper’s breeze of heaven’s breath
that sound of silence, sounding out – sound of silence, sounding me

yet still I don’t recall quite when that was, as if it was
pre-conscious memory, perhaps
and just a feeling, then
like sound of distant seas, maybe

as if I knew you

yet left to sound my own way
i would
i think,
sound, so, and, be, so, sounding, still
and sounding, silence, somehow
quietly
to this day
and sounding
simply
well, and
true

for you

but no, this was not to be, because, at birth

that sounding quietness lost
as others swiftly gathered round
to smell, to sense
skin close, and
tender warm
this
human
being
formed, and
from
one heartbeat’s breath into another born

to be
for me
too tired and troubled, often
nervous, noisy, anxious, agitated
sometimes aggressive, and confused
sad – angry – jealous – frightened
foolish – often fooled

and seeking, always, restless, change, in blink of eye, and screaming cry
for it’s exactly as they say, or something like
it takes a village, after all, to kill a child – child’s creative spirit – joy in life
takes a village, after all, to murder me

smothering quietness, stillness, contentment, calm
in so much human bonding, human grouping
blind human groping around, like
blind men in the dark
dark human quibbling, human squabbling
so many human hierarchies and societies

sacrificing all
upon the altar of the centre
on the sacred middle ground
the curled up calming stupidity, so seeming safe
from where
huddled up and hid within – the herd immunity
to worship – tinny din –
the endless tedium
tiresome tyranny of the normal – and the standard – the acceptable
the drumbeat all together now
step up, then – shout – for one, for all – it’s all the same – the same, no difference –
don’t stand up, stand out
sit down, shut up
in other words
and fake it
take it

total idiocy

hammering down the heaviness
any quiet residual human dignity, quiet nobility
abandoned, now, and lost
on ocean torrent, wave, on drowning wave
the beating hearts, so few, to hear the sound

the human heartbeat sound
breath of humanity

(breath recalling you)

and

such life, at any rate, I know, is not for me, for

i seek the silence – and the songs not sung, or heard, before

for which,

leave me please alone now

in the solitude, and the company
of the woods and forest
birds, the
singing
songs
of trees

and,
imagine my surprise, then
lost, as I was
in wild and windswept word
and howling thought, upon
that solitary, stormy, evening walk

all thunder, lightning, pouring rain

when sudden stillness, equilibrium at the crossroads
rose suddenly, and fell
reached out, from left, and right
to meet me, to embrace, and hold me there
in sound of rustling leaves
soft, evening light
between the branches
and the trees

and there, in that one wild embrace, in time, I, rooted, stood
stood sudden straight back tall
as if,
at last, to recognize, myself, like
some solid, splendid tree, somehow
grown up, from here
the earth
the ground, of memory
sky of mind
and sudden clearing ray of light
and forest thoughts at once like birdsong taking flight

I did not see a soul, you see – felt free

just you and me

and walking on, again
in evening woods, alone
a quietening, calming, restful, stillness, silence, seemed, once more, to sound, from me,
like distant church or temple bell
stone dropping quietly
mind of rippling memory
well

as if, just then, deep down, I could, somehow
recall, myself, to me

not only ancient, archaic, ancestral memory
someone – who knows – from sometime way back when

but here, now, too, as me
and, as really
I was, or could, or should be – there – for no one – or for all to see

and

in calling you

recalling you

i find
i see and hear
i understand
i am
again

as in a dream, perhaps
perhaps a wish, perhaps desire
perhaps a destiny, or fate
or prayer, perhaps

a prayer

maybe

and songs not ever heard before, quite simply

or not, at least, by you, and me
together, here, alone
together, here, as we, and

always all together in our thoughts; and in our thoughts always alone

all sing together then, my love; for

change contagion’s coming soon, somehow
change contagion’s coming anyhow
right here, it’s coming

it’s coming now

© Bede Nix, 13 June 2020. All rights reserved.

Our History Here and Now

Our History Here and Now

Our history here and now. And looking to the future, we try to be free from the past – to survive it, at least; learn the lessons when we can. Yet no peace for those that died so seemingly in vain; no rest yet for the restless, forgotten, dead – singing songs of sadness – resistance – liberation; in chorus, calling out to us – calling out to me, to you – to listen, understand – sing too; and if only it weren’t at times so hard for us to listen, and to hear – so easy to forget – not find – our voices – our voices to be sounded, crying out, and heard. Turn to one another, then – and lift your voice, my voice, our voices – lifting hearts and hands and heads up to the sky – and sing this song together – it must and will be heard, and shall – this day, this night, this time. Our history here and now.

© Bede Nix, 19 June 2020. All rights reserved.
www.bedenix.com

Migrant Mind, In Thought, Alive, In Thought, Afloat
“Cough up, if you can; and if you can’t, just cough up anyway [- whatever you’ve got]; for cough up–cry silenced, heart unheard, spirit broken, and body, battered, bruised, and war torn, homeless, and helpless, and cold, and hungry, and retching, sick, and night, raped, and daylight, robbed, of this, this wretched earth, of woman’s son, mankind–and pay up, you must, you must, you must, and more, and pay up, my friend, you must, and more, and pay up, my friend, you will; now step this way”, or so he seemed to say, the Devil, or something like (he spoke, what was, to me, a foreign tongue); “our boat’s this way”.

(And no Christian, Muslim, or Jew, was he; no true believer, heart warm, and loving, surely, in his simple faith, that much, was clear.)

(He knew the market, though; a splendid entrepreneur! And, I ask you, how could he possibly let such an opportunity pass by? And how proud and rich he’d make his children be!)

But what a ship of fools we were, quite honestly; astonishingly, even after, astonished, we’d seen the “ship”, and even then; naïve, so very naïve, so desperately naïve, we were, and innocent; either that, or damned, and desperate; and just thin scraps, and scratchings, left, of hope, there were, to nourish us, believers, somehow, still, in human kindness, human nature, human value, valuable, still, as walk that plank we did, up to our boat, if you can call it that, that crock of filthy, holy, shit.

(And I’ll pour out my wrath like water.)

And look at me now; the last alive, the only one.

And cough up the swallowed saltwater, if you can; cough it up or, if you can, better still, just keep it out, just keep it out of your mouth, and your mouth, even gasping, short of breath, keep shut, and closed; just keep your mouth shut; and even so, keep your head, if you can, above water, treading water; and be then like some bloody miracle worker, calm, and carrying on; don’t go under, at any rate; don’t lose your head; keep breathing on.

And it all floated by so fast, as in a dream, accelerated; your life re-lived backwards, as they say, going forwards, in reverse.

And, adrift on open seas, I reached out, reached out, reached out for it, then, in hope, as if it were a buoy, or rope; a lifeline keeping me, another moment, another breath, in thought, alive, in thought, afloat.

And a line of words formed then so suddenly, spontaneously, surprisingly, desperately, in mind, my mind, in mind, in foaming wave, on wave, of memory, spat, salted, sprayed, in teary, brilliant, blinding, sun, cresting, white, and paper, thin, in fading, fast emptying, dissolving, drenched, drowning, memory, on wave, of memory, in skin-numbed blue, to freezing, flailing, ink-spilled, body, black, and that, then, that, and beautiful, strangely, still.

And this line of words formed then so suddenly, spontaneously, surprisingly, desperately, in mind, my mind, in mind, surfacing there, and floating up, in reflection, as if, from nowhere, known, or recalled, or recognized – ocean’s rippling memory, a mystery, maybe, who knows – whosoever, wherever, whenever, whichever, whatever – why who; and these words, then, as it were, asked, then, asked, and, asking, me, myself, asked, if, behind, or perhaps underneath, or perhaps within, all life’s noise, and agitation, and emotion, in mind, there was, and there existed, somewhere, somehow, here, in the heart of the thing, in the heart (the heart), in the heart of the thing, a great quietness (of poetry), and an ear, to hear, then, there, the silence, deep, and still; an ear for silence. And so I lifted up, then, beseeching, heavenward, my eyes, and breathed, again, although breathless, panting, saying, why, and why, again; and, in reply, that sky, sky’s song, sounded silence, and only silence, and only silence, only, all; sky sounding silence, and all that, and more, oh my, my soundless cry, as if, in moment’s happiness, momentarily, to myself, that moment, this, and this, and now, momentarily, in moment’s happiness, now, were I, I wish, to die. And there, then, too, to look, to listen, to see, to hear, and to know; and to know, this, now, that, where, every, there, and, every, ever, here, and there, and here, again, and again, and again, so free, to be; in death, in death, in death; in death, live on. And all mind’s eye, quiet heart; so far, and yet, so near; come hold me dear.

And a line of words formed then so suddenly, spontaneously, surprisingly, desperately, in mind, my mind, in mind, in foaming wave, on wave, of memory, spat, salted, sprayed, in teary, brilliant, blinding, sun, cresting, white, and paper, thin, in fading, fast emptying, dissolving, drenched, drowning, memory, on wave, of memory, in skin-numbed blue, to freezing, flailing, ink-spilled, body, black, and that, then, that, and beautiful, strangely, still.

And, adrift on open seas, I reached out, reached out, reached out for it, then, in hope, as if it were a buoy, or rope; a lifeline keeping me, another moment, another breath, in thought, alive, in thought, afloat.

And it all floated by so fast, as in a dream, accelerated; your life re-lived backwards, as they say, going forwards, in reverse.

And this, then, almost the last thing, floating away, from life, and me, that I could see: a tiny baby, bobbing, bloated, by me; bathing, I briefly thought, bizarrely, and all washed up, and off, and away, as if, seemingly, fresh, and new; and this my own dear child, this baby, blue, but still no strength for me to take, or hold this baby, mine, again, to beating heart, my breast; for this, my child, is dead; and I, myself, now, as one, as if, awash, and again, new born, in newborn’s screaming, selfish, dim lit, heartbeat, beating, fearful, drum, and dreaming, now, only, of my own, dear father, mother, sister, brother, home.

(One day a sanctuary, I thought, named home.)

(And come now home, come home.)

(And make yourself at home.)

(And be at home.)

And then, in all the dreamlike, nightmare, unfamiliarity of it, lost, disorientated, drowning, and delusional, something strange, occurred, most strange of all.

In this, my darkened vision’s final breath, my death; for this tiny child, my baby, floating off; I see, is, somehow, also, me.

This baby, too, is, somehow, also, me, I see, is you.

And I, then, in death, who sees, my breaking heart, my child, am He.

(For in dying, all eternity.)

And oh, my God.
And oh, my God.
And oh, my God.

God, can it be?

© Bede Nix, 26 September 2018. All rights reserved.
(Once In (Fortress) Europa – If Not A Promised Land, Betrayed)

Vox Populi

NEW

Salivating impatiently in the shadows of social injustice waits the many headed monster of political turmoil.

And, once unleashed, cutting all down, slashing and burning, killing and eating, this monster manifests as a most fearsome creature, lashing out furiously in all directions, every which way and that, to left, and right, in the virulence, long neglected, of its sadness, and its frustration, and its anger, and its hatred; and it’s like a singular, evil, alienated, eye, seeing everything in black, and white, to turning, seeing, red, raging, fire, burning, bright, in pitch black darkness, blind, out of light, and sight, of longest, darkest, bleakest, blackest, all devouring, all consuming, night; until, at last, it burns itself out too — at last — and finally; and all burned up, cremated, dead, and buried, dust to dust, and, ashes, to ashes; scorched, silent, desolate, once more, this earth of humankind; and this earth of humankind, to earth, again, itself, once more, the ground, returned.

My friends, take care – be wary, prudent, vigilant, alert – for no ordinary human strength or wisdom may tame this beast.

Yet one who’s brave and gentle — he, she, they, perhaps, can do it; loving, kind intention — quiet mind; and quietening, calming, heart, to be, as if, a droplet, then, in human sea, to turn, tranquility, into oceans of compassion, heads bowed deepening down, to hearts, to hands, to knees, surrendering, rooting, grounding, earth, listening, hearing, to looking upwards, seeing sky.

So come then, all, we, once were, oh, if, so, so cautiously, carefully spoken, expensively educated, care free, small “c”, conservative, capitalists, come; come, too, we lip service elitist, two-tier, state-run, communists; come one and all, indeed; whatever race, creed, and colour, and colour, your politics; all seeming somehow so different — even opposite — somehow separate; all so disparate, and desperate; yet somehow still the same; still all the same; same red lines, and same blind loyalties, and same dumbed-down, downsized, besides; and money-smudged, and asset-stripped, bought up, and taken over; and merged, converged, confusing, messy blur of human greed and human ignorance; and all the same old chest beating, tub thumping, grandstanding; same old greasy pole and slippery ladder; same old social immobility; and same old rich and powerful, too, my sisters, brothers — same old elites; and same old state machinery, seemingly; in ankle shackles, tongue constraints; our looks downtrodden; hearts oppressed; locked up in heartless human mind and body prison.

Meanwhile, the TV debates the non-stop, breaking, broken, news, in surround sound shouting overheated heads, vox pop, around the 24-7 clock.

(The Fourth Estate.)

And what do you think?

And what do YOU think?

Do you think?

And are you then now the enemy?

Yes, YOU: the enemy!

Or am I now the enemy?

Who, me; me too?

Who you?

And who, here, now, the allies, friend?

And when, and where, in this, the entertainment, then?

(The bad news junkie.)

(Hooked up and always nervous, anxious, jittery, cross.)

(Soul-sucking screens.)

(So that sometimes I forget to blink; and you?)

(Doors of perception; doors of no return.)

(Arbeit macht frei.)

(Eyes exhausted; dry throat burning; hoarse voices, crying, moaning, mourning.)

(Smoke the sky.)

(Come, please, and step this way; walk through.)

(I do.)

(Not only me alone, of course; nor you)

(We’re in this, then, as we.)

(As we … )

We once were oh so, so, so, clever bankers, CEOs, oil barons and top brass “defence contractors”–“arms dealers”, so to speak–and property tycoons – landed lords – hedge fund managers and venture capitalists, media moguls and TV reality personalities, fat cats and fat fish, top dogs and big cheeses, presidents and ministers, drug lords and farmer-pharmacists, stockbrokers and shareholders, statisticians and economists, insurance brokers and car salesmen, silicon valley techies and washed up uncivil service wonks, and corporate slaves, and then the small fry leftover rest, all the minimum wage corporate cleaning contractors, moving from boardrooms to bored, empty, rooms, in single room flats, and lost, absent dads, lost sons, and daughters, lonely mums, enchained, perhaps, in their, in our, prosperity, or else, more likely, in their, in our, inner, city, poverty, all enchained, in any case, or encoded, at least, in pixilated digital data, and face-reading surveillance statistics, registered, and recognized, “whatever”, and, wherever, on the great grand scale of things that, then, you and I, they and we might aspire, one day, to weigh ourselves — between a soybean beefed up, or else, a chlorinated plucked clean, extreme, to form a one huge happy human-animal feed family; in short, a global village, of sorts, with mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, daughters, sons, all colours, creeds, orientations, sexes, sexualities, all one, and all; all asking, ourselves, each other, all together, if we can, searching, surely, not do better, then, than this, be better, can they, not, can I, can you, and, can we … ?

Can we surely not do better?

(And)

Be somehow better.

(Surely).

(Birth place: Earth. Race: Human. Politics: Freedom. Religion: Love).

For the material can be useful, can be lovely, but without some breath of spirit in the thing, some music for the soul, and, stripped of hope, a deepened humanity, it’s all as good as meaningless, all this status, and property, stuff, and treasure, which we so much crave, and cherish, all basically meaningless, this ‘phone, this car, these jewels, these fine, fancy, and oh so fashionable clothes, and all of it on the way to soon seeming in any case so stupid, so numb, so lifestyle lifeless, so dead, so dull, so dumb, as deep down well you know.

So come on, then, let’s face it.

For all we really wish for from one another is some soft, kind, gentle, word, and face, of recognition, and gentle eye’s forgiving gaze, and loving, hand’s warm, touch — small signs of shared humanity.

And there, that’s it.

And …

So …

Let’s, then, work, and work  together, to search for, realize, and celebrate our mutual flourishing; sharing our food, our shelter, and our clothes; our human hearth, and home; our human warmth, and fire, and feasts, festivities; music, and culture; our family, our extended families, and our gods; all our human hopes and aspirations; our dreams and our delights; our wine and our song; our laughter and our smiles; our bodies and our souls; and all our intricately, intimately, interconnected and interwoven lives, to share.

And let’s now drink a toast, then, here, to that, and join now here together, all together, to eat, be merry, sing, and dance!

And stretch out your hand, then, please, for mine.

Hold my hand …

(We’re almost there.)

And our minds, still, and our thoughts, like the breath, now slow, and calm, and quiet, and deep, and the heart, the heart, now, centred, and like arms wide open.

And together, then, we’ll defy, defeat, and dispel all these nightmares, feeble, distasteful, unimaginative, ungenerous, and ugly, as they are. And we’ll do so simply from the clarity and strength of these our far-sighted dreams, and from our hope for and belief in better days, soon to come, maybe here already.

And look, look up: the light of the sun sparkling sky is up there, still, clear, and blue.

Let’s lift up our eyes, to see.

And lift up our hands, our hearts–our human spirits–in prayer, in praise, in gratitude, and – above all, in greatness of heart — and in touch – like this, shared word, on breath, of grace.

And let’s enjoy, then, still, some confidence, and faith.

Take courage, my friend.

All will yet be well.

We’ll make it so.

 

 

OLD

Salivating impatiently in the shadows of social injustice waits the many‑headed monster of political turmoil.

Once unleashed, cutting all down, slashing and burning, killing and eating, this monster manifests as a most fearsome creature, lashing out furiously in all directions, every which way and that, to left, and right, in the virulence, long neglected, of its sadness, and its frustration, and its anger, and its hatred; and it’s like a singular, alienated, evil, eye, seeing everything in black, and white, to turning, seeing, red, raging, fire, burning, bright, in pitch black darkness, blind, of longest, darkest, bleakest, blackest, all devouring, all consuming, night; until, at last, it burns itself out too — at last — and finally; and all burned up, cremated, dead, and buried, dust to dust, and, ashes, to ashes; and scorched, silent, desolate, once more, this earth of humankind; and this earth of humankind, to earth, again, itself, once more, the ground, returned.

My friends, take care – be wary, prudent, vigilant, alert – for no ordinary human strength or wisdom tames this beast.

Yet one who’s brave and gentle — he, she, they, perhaps, can do it; loving, kind intention — quiet mind; and quietening, calming, heart, to be, as if, a droplet, then, in human sea, to turn, tranquillity, into oceans of compassion, heads bowed deepening down, to hearts, to hands, to knees, surrendering, rooting, grounding, earth, listening, hearing, and, looking upwards, seeing sky.

So come then, all, we, once were, oh, if, so, so cautiously, carefully spoken, expensively educated, care free, small “c”, conservative, capitalists, come; come, too, we lip service elitist, two-tier, state-run, communists; come one and all, indeed; whatever race, creed, and colour, and colour, your politics; all seeming somehow so different — even opposite — somehow separate; all so disparate, and desperate; yet somehow still the same; still all the same; same red lines, and same blind loyalties, and same dumbed-down, downsized, besides; and money-smudged, and asset-stripped, bought up, and taken over; merged, converged, confusing, messy blur of human greed and human ignorance; and all the same old chest beating, tub thumping, grandstanding; same old greasy pole and slippery ladder; same old social immobility; and same old rich and powerful, too, my sisters, brothers — same old elites; and same old state machinery, seemingly; in ankle shackles, tongue constraints; our looks downtrodden; hearts oppressed; heartless human mind and body prison.

Meanwhile, the TV debates the non-stop, breaking, broken, news, in surround sound shouting overheated heads, vox pop, around the 24-7 clock.

(The Fourth Estate.)

And what do you think?

And what do YOU think?

Do you think?

And are you then now the enemy?

Yes, YOU: the enemy!

Or am I now the enemy?

Who, me; me too?

Who you?

And who, here, now, the allies, friend?

And when, and where, in this, the entertainment, then?

(The bad news junkie.)

(Hooked up and always nervous, anxious, jittery, cross.)

(Soul-sucking screens.)

(So that sometimes I forget to blink; and you?)

(Doors of perception; doors of no return.)

(Arbeit macht frei.)

(Eyes exhausted; dry throat burning; hoarse voices, crying, moaning, mourning.)

(Smoke the sky.)

(Come, please, and step this way; walk through.)

(I do.)

(Not only me alone, of course; nor you)

(We’re in this, then, as we.)

(As we … )

We once were oh so, so, so, clever bankers, CEOs, oil barons and top brass “defence contractors”–“arms dealers”, so to speak–and property tycoons and landed lords, hedge fund managers and venture capitalists, media moguls and TV reality personalities, fat cats and big fish, presidents and ministers, drug lords and farmer-pharmacists, stockbrokers and shareholders, statisticians and economists, insurance brokers and car salesmen, silicon valley techies and washed up uncivil service wonks, and corporate slaves, and minimum wage corporate cleaning contractors, boardroom to bored, empty, rooms, in single room flats, of lost, absent dads, lost sons, and daughters, lonely mums, perhaps enchained in their, in our, prosperity, or else, more likely, in their, in our, inner, city, poverty, all enchained, in any case, and encoded, too, in pixilated digital data, and face-reading surveillance statistics, registered, and recognized, “whatever”, and, wherever, on the great grand scale of things that, then, we might aspire, one day, to weigh ourselves — between a soybean beefed up, or else, a chlorinated plucked clean, extreme, to form a one huge happy human-animal feed family; in short, a global village, of sorts, with mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, daughters, sons, all colours, creeds, orientations, sexes, sexualities, all one, and all; all asking, ourselves, each other, all together, if we can, searching, surely, not do better, then, than this, be better, can I, can you, and, can we … ?

Can we surely not do better?

(And)

Be somehow better.

(Surely).

(Birth place: Earth. Race: Human. Politics: Freedom. Religion: Love).

For the material can be useful, can be lovely, but without some breath of spirit in the thing, some music for the soul, and, stripped of hope, a deepened humanity, it’s all as good as meaningless, all this status, and property, stuff, and treasure, which we so much crave, and cherish, all basically meaningless, this ‘phone, this car, these jewels, these fine, fancy, and oh so fashionable clothes, and all of it on the way to soon seeming in any case so stupid, so numb, so lifeless, so dead, so dull, as deep down well you know.

So come on, then, let’s face it.

For all really we wish for from one another is some soft, kind, gentle, word, and face, of recognition, and gentle eye’s forgiving gaze, and loving, hand’s warm, touch — small sign of shared humanity.

So there, that’s it.

And …

So …

Let’s, then, work, and work  together, to search for, realize, and celebrate our mutual flourishing; sharing our food, our shelter, and our clothes; our human hearth, and home; our human warmth, and fire, and feasts, festivities; music, and culture; and our family, and our gods; and all our human hopes and aspirations; our dreams and our delights; our wine and our song; our laughter and our smiles; our bodies and our souls; and our lives.

And let’s now drink a toast, then, here, to that, and join together, all together, to eat, be merry, sing, and dance!

And stretch out your hand, then, for mine.

Hold my hand …

(We’re almost there.)

And the mind, still, and the thoughts, like the breath, now slow, and calm, and quiet, and deep, and the heart, the heart, now, centred, and, like arms wide open.

And together, then, we’ll defy, defeat, and dispel all the ugly nightmares, feeble, distasteful, and deeply unimaginative, and ungenerous, as they are. And we’ll do so simply from the clarity and strength of these our far-sighted dreams, and from our hope for and belief in better days, soon to come, maybe here.

And look, look up: the light of the sun sparkling sky is up there, still, clear sky, and blue.

Lift up your eyes, to see.

And lift your hands, your hearts–your human spirits–in prayer, in praise, in gratitude, and – greatness of heart — in touch – a breath, of grace.

And let’s enjoy, then, still, some confidence, and faith.

Take courage, my friend.

All will be well.

We’ll make it so.

© Bede Nix, November 2016. (Revision of 21 January 2020.) All rights reserved.

What Do I Care?

And now ask yourself, as one of the very privileged few, this question, following:

“When did I last – or when, that is, was the last, most recent, time – that I – I myself – I – that, consciously, knowingly – I sat, and shared, freely, that time – my time – (your) time – and theirs – in fullest energy, and fullest presence, and fullest attention – heart questioning, heart listening – and understanding, perhaps – although, in fact, perhaps, not really understanding – yet really trying, all the same – and really trying, at least, in all good faith, to understand – (you) – standing over a stove – or sitting around a kitchen table – hot tea, or coffee – a cigarette, maybe – just details, in any case – and only details, which do not matter – not really – no matter – but yes, they do matter, even so, and every one, you’re right – all the details – faces – one by one – every one – (all details – all circumstances – all challenges – and all potential – all faces – everyone) – every one – and so sat, then, that’s to say, that is, with someone – a distant acquaintance, perhaps – or lowly, junior, colleague, ladder’s bottom – someone in the supermarket, at the cashout – counter – till – or at a fast food joint – or café – bar – or simply standing, there, alone – the street – like someone passing –  lost, seemingly – and passing away – in anyway no details anymore, and no face clear in memory, no name – who stands there, way over there, and far away – silently – as if dumb, or mute – but a person, that’s to say, and nevertheless, who was currently living, then, or was currently trying to live – to manage – to survive – and doing so, or failing to do so, maybe, still – on the minimum wage, or just, or well, below it – not a one off sort of a person, and unique, of course – but rather a “one of”, a “one of many” – the global majority, indeed, that is – albeit largely disenfranchised, and voiceless – insignificant, as if – as if, forgotten – and that’s to say, then, something, then, like this – as if again to count them – yes, count them – yes – the bottom five billion?”

And then ask yourself this question, too, in fullest rhetorical flourish, as perhaps you’ve done already, many times, deep down, in darkened, dim lit soul, if quietly, so quietly, so very quietly, such that you yourself barely heard it asked, or said – now did you? – at least, not consciously:

“And what do I care?”

“And what do I care?”

“And what do I care?”

“And what then, really, do I (you) care?”

And then there – just there – right there – notice straight away, now, right there, at once, how that question begins immediately to tickle, there, a little, ever so little, and then to stick, a little more, then tighten, constricting, more, and more, and more, and more, and more, around your throat, as if your throat were locked now in the grip of a desperate, squeezing, tensing, tautening, tightening, furious, fist, to suffocate nearly the breath and spirit of you, and to strangle you nearly half to death, or simply to shake you, violently, into the realization that – do you know what? – hello! – we’re here, and human, too, you know.

(The bottom five billion.)

And then I ask you:

Have you got the slightest clue, do you think?

And have you really any idea about what our lives are really, really, really, really, like?

And if – quite honestly – and “honesty”, at last – it seems to you the answer’s “no” – then I ask you one last question, which is this: why then the hell, quite honestly, should we give a damn or care, either, too, about you?

Why should we care about you?

I mean, really; please tell me – tell me why!

Why then the hell should we care about you?

And why then the hell?

(And yet somehow, still, we do care; somehow, still. Or I do, at least. And I’m glad that now you’ve read this through, and may it now stay with you, here, and remain, and last, a while, to be – as if, now, your thinking, too – your thoughts – your own. And do now be gentle, my friend – show heart; I know you can, and shall, go well.)

© Bede Nix, 20 June 2019. All rights reserved.

www.oxfam.org
www.inequality.org

(“The richest 1% own 45% of the world’s wealth.” www.inequality.org)

(“The world’s richest 1% have more than twice as much wealth as 6.9 billion people.” “Almost half of humanity is living on less than USD5.50 a day.” “Men own 50% more of the world’s wealth than women, and the 22 richest men have more wealth than all the women in Africa.” www.oxfam.org)

(“The 26 richest people on Earth now own as much as the 3.8 billion who form the poorer half of the planet’s population.” Robert Reich, 19 January 2020)

Last Walk In The Woods

it began like this

i walked out to the woods
to choose a tree
from which
to hang

myself

and

it was a line of thought that
periwinkle-garlanded, seemed, you see
already, as if, bound tight, around, my neck
in word’s dark ink, to think
once more to it
again, and again, and again, and again, and again
weighing out each heavy word
obsessively

and

taking flight, again, these scattered thoughts, in treachery
and unkindness, those
twin ravens, blinking black
the thought, the memory
and the body, and the mind
the soul, if such there be
the me
and all the world as if accursed

and upside down
and damned
as far as I could see

and this, the search for knowledge
search for meaning, wisdom, truth
and justice, search
for understanding
inspiration
search for kindness

surrender, sacrifice

a pretty song, indeed

sing us, then, a song

from song of forest trees
sings sweet
the hanging man
i thought
sings sweet

and so
i walked out to the woods
to choose a living tree

some symbol, still, of life, and all eternity
from which, the living wood, at close of day, this line of feeling, thought, and word, to action, and to verb, to hang myself, periwinkle-garlanded, there, upon, this black night free

and so, at least, it was
in this way, that
i took down – writing, here – these few strange breathless thoughts, in words, as if, dictated, not by, but to me, frantically

this exhausted mind

or else, these thoughts, these words, as something – foreboding – on the breeze, and in the air
and there, picked off, just so, like heavy hanging fruit, ripe for rotting
simply
thinking
slowly, then, that i
must
go easy, be
easy
now
as anything, and
as easy as can be, and
taking it easy, take a stroll, quite simply, leisurely
smiling here, and there
to those occasional passers-by
upon the gentle, evening air

and do they themselves not say that life
all life
all life is suffering
secret, soundless, silent, anguished,  suffering,
sobbing
screams

and yet

so what, i thought

turning shoulder to the turning wheel of time, because

life
anyway
must
end

life
anyway
must
end
life
anyway
must
end
and so, just then

the end, to thought, i thought, it was

this thought
too near
too near to it, indeed, i thought
thought thinking, tense, and tired, and
straining eyes, and shallow breathing
so near the edge, the limit, and the end
i was, of this

my cramped, confined, cooped up, curtailed day

(and, and; and, and)

and end of patience, too

too irritable, too cross, I was, the cross
to lift, to carry
all this time, so heavy
here, on me, i thought
like weight of all eternity
bound tight, too tight
the cord, the rope, the tether –  tethered time –
as, all the same
the time, torn up, in tatters
tossed away

as if

i cannot breathe

and

perhaps, “too bad”
they’ll maybe say
while loosening the knot, maybe
or, then again
maybe
not
maybe they’ll not, and
maybe they’ll not say that

as if

i cannot breathe, and

saying nothing silence speaks

speak silence, then; say nothing

nothing, then

but

silence

(voice of love)

and

each one, anyway

each one going on – his way – her way

far out and far beyond

and me, myself
just me, myself, too much

and be going, then
be quietly gone
be gone

away
away
away
away
away

but i
i too, again here still
still me

and why still me

and why – the darkness – still seeking

strangely

me

and, it’s as i say, again
i’ve got to go
just got to go
get myself out, away

birch-whip, at last, the wild-eyed devil from me
stop the suffocating
cannot breathe

so that’s that, that’s it, i say
i’m going out
now, and

got
to
get, myself – keep going, still – right out the way
away
way out

alone

alone
out on my lonely own
this – melancholy – mind

no way

and so i left, i went
and took myself off, right then, and there, though
thinking

to
myself
all the while, that
what’s, then, the point, of this – the point, to this – the point, i thought, to me

i thought
i thought
i thought

again
again
again
again
again

i thought
i thought

and all the while, meanwhile, time passing by

time passes by

time passes, passing, past, away

and yet, for that, which, secretly, my thinking, yearned, throughout this time
left me, still, in undecided, two minds, split, as one who, doubtful, doubled up, despairing, dared not call or give to it a name
yet think of it, for sure, split open, splintered, rendered, torn, i did

this time, this day, okay

but not a day like any other

not like any other day, but this

for think, i did
and think
again, again, and then
again, i thought, and now, for sure

for sure
for sure

this time

the will was there

and willing, i

and so, at close of day,

i went –
walked out – into the woods

as if

a last walk in the woods

and i, again, a child,
lost child, the woods

lost child, our time

lost now

and so

i walked out to the woods
the woods, from where, i would, i thought, once there, pick out – from alder thicket’s thinking thought – some quiet, secluded, spot
and some solitary, secluded, suitable, tree
from which

i thought
with heavy heart
and aching head, as if, too tired, to bed
my neck, to hang – God bless! – sleep tight! – into that final, forever, night

adieu
farewell

and yet
and yet
and yet

and yet

and yet, once there, then, suddenly
in trick of mind, my thoughts
of childhood days long past, returned
to turn black pages back – on leaves, of time
within the mind
mind’s eye, such that,
quite suddenly, there
i saw, in evening sky
somehow
some still, small, light
to light, I thought, a way

i thought
i thought
i thought

a way
a way
a way

to light

a way

i thought

and in this light, to my surprise, to my delight

I saw, in sky tinged crimson bloody red
through sudden, silent, tears
my father’s features
saw him
standing
quietly, calmly, gently, there
as if, somehow, beside me
near, and dear
so near, and dear, departed, glint of eye, and blink of thought, and
open hand
and heavens’ sky

and

no more loneliness in eternity, then
no more anxiety
no fear

i thought

i thought

please rest

please rest, then

rest in peace

i thought

i thought

and, deeply pensive, thought some more

and brief, too brief, i thought i saw him, silhouetted, standing there
as if, somehow, beside me, glint of eye, and blink of thought
and hand held out, the heavens’ sky, then gone
so swiftly gone, and gone again, and i

and i
as if
too swiftly
too abandoned, there, bereft, and at a loss, once more, my orphaned thought, alone, again

he’d left me, and

the grief
the grief again too great a pain
to miss him

now
anew

my father, once
and i, once more, a son
thy son

(and hast thou
heart tender, then
forsaken
me
condemned me, here
cut up, crossed, crying, out, and crucified)

and here my feet trudged on
the muddy track, the field, the trees, the woods
wind whispering

alone
I sighed

this life

(rest, then; and, be rested, please)

(please rest in peace)

and, sighing, seeing, thinking, that, I lifted up my eyes, again, and thought

what vision, then, is this

for what a beautiful sight, they were, i saw

these trees – this wood
the beech, the oak – the weeping willow, streaming tears – the ash, the elder, and the yew

such that, i
upon
consideration
considered them, one and all, for this, my quiet purpose, all quietly suitable

tall, and splendid, each, and every, one – magnificent, indeed –
such that my choice of tree from which to hang a rather tricky one
nor one that I could settle, then, so easily, or simply

simply couldn’t choose, you see

so simply stood, suspended, there, my thoughts
or, rooted, rather
in
perhaps
the woods themselves, the trees
and that soft, sunlit evening, streaming, through

the light,

i thought

soft, sunlit evening, light
soft, sunlit, evening, still
as if it were you, warm, gentle smile, somehow
still seeking
me

and i, myself, but of light
picked out, among the trees, as if
in company, and
here, and now, heart warm
in thought, dissolved
resolved

united
one

as if, the hanging harp, this song, in search of poetry, sings on

and

looking up, beseeching, heavenly

in last light’s sunset shadow

i saw, at last, tired eyes

and

recognized

myself

forgiven

bowed my head, quite simply, surrendering, then

and cried
and cried
and cried

and cried, this night

and cried, this night, alone

from love

to love

for love

and cried, this night, alone, my lonely heart

recalling home

© Bede Nix, 19 June 2020. All rights reserved.
www.bedenix.com

A Personal Note:

There are so many positive male role models!

I could easily name a hundred, just like that; too many to list here, at any rate.

(I have written about some of these men – teachers, sometimes friends – in other texts.)

Nevertheless, I would like, in the context of this text here, “Last Walk in the Woods”, specifically to mention the poet Edward Thomas, who is so very often with me in my thoughts, and on my walks; a troubled, tortured, melancholy soul, it’s true; to me sweet company, even so. And he accompanied me closely in the discovery of this text.
And for sure my own father, like my son, is always with me, here, in heart, and mind.

(Three men, in one – and this but only my immediate family; no need to feel lonely, then; no need to feel alone!)

And if masculinity is as toxic as some believe – it is toxic for us all, for men and for women alike; and toxic it also surely is, and will be, too, for any and all of us transitioning into present and future human transformations that, creatively, we may seek, and find, in discovering ourselves – and that in stark contrast to our long cherished, mutually exclusive, male/female binary, polar, opposites.

(Ziggy Stardust!)

Sometimes I worry that, as “men”, we belong to a long line of emotionally inarticulate, and lonely, misunderstood, despairing, raging, creatures, struggling for words, for breath, for air – and desperate for freedom from our various cages and containers – our mental and physical prison cells.

Allow me to observe, then, in this context, that I’ve a long-held suspicion that sadness – the consolation of sadness – is, in a sense, something infinitely precious, like an item rare and luxurious, and something achieved and appreciated only when we’ve access (as so very few of us have, in reality) to a reasonable level of physical safety, and emotional support, and healing time, forgiving time; and yet sadness is such an important mood and emotion in whose embrace we release, it seems to me, our deeper anguish, our anxiety, our fears of loss and loneliness, our real life traumas, real life grief, and real life tears; and this sadness – anger, loss, frustration – like any emotion, any energy – seeks expansion, and expression, surely.

And here in this text, and others, I try, then, to take all of this emotional material, the stuff of the earth, the ground, and turn it into poetry, perhaps, or something like. And yet, if I may speak, for once, as once a boy, and now, a “man”, how especially hard and difficult, it so often seems for us, as boys and men, to tune into our feelings, our emotions, and to do so in ways that afford release, allowing us to express those emotions fluidly and fluently, more or less, and to convey them, then, more or less coherently, to others, and to share, in a sense, the weight, and burden, of them, and then, through collective insight, perhaps, and some support, to integrate, and resolve, perhaps dissolve them.

And we often hear it said that men are emotionally illiterate, and that we don’t know how to express our emotions, and that often we don’t even know what those emotions are, indeed.

Please help us, then, to help each other, and to deepen our emotional insight, and wisdom, and to grow, and to learn; please teach us – and be to us as mentors, guides, fellow travellers, companions, and as friends.

And the words of this strange little text, “Last Walk in the Words”, I would wish to send out (in reaching out, a helping hand) to all our broken brothers, fathers, sons; it sometimes hurts so badly, I know; the hurt’s so deep; but keep on going, even so; emotion’s time is like the weather, after all, and always changing. And as my father often said, in simple, grounded, wisdom: “tomorrow is another day”; have faith, take courage, then. And if really you think of suicide, do it only as here, in words, on paper, with a pen; for anything else would be so great a pity, too great a sadness – release it, then, this thought, and let it go; for when we are once again questioning, and creative, and flexible, and open, and receptive – well, we soon see that there are good days ahead, my friend, most surely – and maybe many.

Last, and least, I should say, too, that, in the curious ways of the human psyche (individual or collective, I do not know), I felt, while writing this text, a little tired and overworked, it’s true, but that aside, I was entirely happy and entirely well; indeed, I’d never felt better; I’d never felt happier – personally speaking.

And now, dear friend, I wish you a little happiness, too; do recall your happiness now, and find yourself well.

All the very best to you, then
Bede Nix

(A few links, in case of need.)

www.youngminds.org.uk

www.calmzone.net
www.papyrus-uk.org

www.nspa.org.uk
www.prevent-suicide.org.uk
www.supportonline.org.uk
www.nhs.uk/conditions/suicide/
www.samaritans.org

www.befrienders.org
https://afsp.org/

www.iasp.info
www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org
www.spanusa.org
https://www.sosadireland.ie/

www.suicidepreventionaust.org
www.beyondblue.org.au
www.lifeline.org.au

www.thetrevorproject.org
https://www.translifeline.org/

I had a black dog, his name was depression
(World Health Organization)​

Yes To All

YES TO ALL
(For My Son)

Listen, my child, let’s see if we can’t just quieten our chattering thoughts, for a second, shall we; and set aside our oh so clever intellects; and lose our heads, as it were – just for a minute, I promise; and instead, just trust our feelings.

Animal instinct, we’ll call it.

And, if you like, and if it helps, here, take my hand.

(And I’d hold your hand forever, my dear child, if you wished, and if possibly I could; even then, the time would pass too quickly; for forever — never — ever — would be time enough, my child, to stand with you, side by side, and hand in hand. And, yes, yes, I know, yes yes, I know, and I know only, and all, too well. For you don’t need my hand at all, now, truth to tell, now, do you? And you’re already far too confident, now, and now too independent, for all that. And that’s only right, and normal, and natural. But I can still extend here, at least, in these words, and on the page, my writing hand, to you, and tell you that my hand will always be there, for you, to hold, to hold your hand, hold hands, for when you need that, or should you wish that, so, just so, and said, without, I trust, too much embarrassment, at least, I hope so).

And so, with a hand, or without a hand, with no hand, or hands, at all, that is, whichever the case may be, please just trust me now, on this one — no need to think, or fret — but simply take it easy, and breathe freely — and let it go.

And indeed, abandoning all control, let’s just close our eyes, now, shall we — as if, perhaps, to speak our inner thoughts, our truth, to pray.

And we’ll close our eyes (and, at least in my imagination, in my thoughts, sit hand in hand), and, simply, observing, within, we’ll … well … we’ll … well … we’ll … well … just relax, I guess … trusting … meaning … waiting … and waiting … and waiting … and saying, then, yes, okay — let’s wait — and see – let’s wait and see, then — shall we?

For the thought is evolving, of that we can be sure; indeed, we can take that on trust, if I may say so; and in confidence — total confidence — and on faith.

And it’s coming, this thought, this expression of thought; it’s coming …

And it’s like the seeds, you see, that begin, in spring, to shoot,
And the flowers, that blossom, and bloom,
And the trees, bearing in some cases such sweet, such succulent, fruit …

And all things in their season, that’s to say, for that’s the rhythm of the days, the sun, the moon, the night, lit up, by stars, in seeming billions, brilliant — galaxies, upon galaxies — bright, brilliant stars — and each, a little like your eye — and bright, blinking, and winking, twinkling, brilliant, each, and every, one,

And flower seeds, the birds, the bees, all watered, by the rains from skies above,
The oceans, and the seas,
The lakes, and rivers, and streams,
The mountains, and jungles, and forests, and woodlands, and trees,
And all the animals therein, the living, moving, breathing, being, body, cells, and things,
And that’s to say …

Well, let’s make a list, then, shall we, lest we forget; now let me think …

(Oh, and what a nincompoop; I just said not to think!)

(Oh Papi; Mamma mia!)

But here “I” thinks, again, and thinking, even so; oh no …

(For sometimes one just can’t help it seeming so; it’s just the way we’re made; as if it’s in our DNA, so to speak, or so, at least, I think, all those clever scientists, and clever doctors, seem to say.)

And it’s in any case coming, this thought, this expression of thought; it’s in any case coming …

For what we’re talking about here, lest we forget, let me think, are all those living, moving,
Forming, floating, flowing, rowing …
Rowing???
(Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream!)
Well, rowing, maybe not …
But forming, for sure!
And floating, too, maybe.
And flowing, and growing, and squiggling, and squirming, and wiggling, and waggling, and worming, and turning, and tossing, and flossing – flossing? – humph! – and crawling, and bawling, and screeching, and screaming, and calling, and falling, and stretching, and retching – retching? – and fetching, and talking and walking – well, some of us, at least – and skipping and jumping, and swimming and running, and leaping, and flying, breathing, being, body, cells, and things, like …
Like …
Like …
Oh, I don’t know …
Well, like …

The Aardvark, and the Antelope,
The Beetle, and the Bumble Bee,
The Cockroach, and the Caterpillar,
The Horse and Hippopotamus,
The Ant, and the Octopus!

And that’s not all, of course.

It’s just that, well … I’ve already got myself a bit lost, quite honestly … I’ve got a bit lost … distracted, perhaps … and … lest we forget …

Where was I?

Ah yes, that’s right.

It’s coming back to me now.

For it’s all coming — and it’s coming along, this thought, this expression of thought; indeed, it’s coming along quite nicely … so let’s not rush it, shall we?

And it’s like the seeds, you see, that begin, in spring, to shoot,
And the flowers, that blossom, and bloom,
And the trees, bearing in some cases such sweet, such succulent, fruit …

And all things in their season, that’s to say, for that’s the rhythm of the days, the sun, the moon, the night, lit up, by stars, in seeming billions, brilliant — galaxies, upon galaxies — bright, brilliant stars — and each, a little like your eye — and bright, blinking, and winking, twinkling, brilliant, each, and every, one,

And flower seeds, the birds, the bees, all watered, by the rains from skies above,
The oceans, and the seas,
The lakes, and rivers, and streams,
The mountains, and jungles, and forests, and woodlands, and trees,
And all the animals therein, the living, moving, breathing, being, body, cells, and things,
And that’s to say …

Where was I?

Where were we?

Where are we?

Here!

That’s right.

And so we were …

The Emu and the Centipede,
The Earwig and the Elephant,
Lemming and Ladybird,
Badger and Butterfly,
The Hamster and the Humming Bird and the Hen,
The Buffalo, and Bonobo,
And then the Ant – and the Anteater – OH NO!

And then the Bullfrog and the Alligator,
The Porcupine, and the Platypus,
Newt, and Nightingale,
Crocodile, and Crow,
The Parrot, and the Peacock, and the Penguin, and the Vole
The Wolf, and Weasel,
And then the Rat – and the Rattlesnake – OH NO!

And then the Brown Bear, and the Hermit Crab,
The Turkey, and the Toad,
Guinea-Pig, and Grasshopper,
The Lion, and the Kangaroo,
The Lobster, and the Lemur, and the Lynx,
The Slow Worm and the Glow Worm and the Jellyfish, and Giraffe – not half!
The Tapir, and the Tortoise
The Toucan, and the Termite,
The Walrus, and the Warthog, and the Whale,
And then the Monkey, and the Water Rat,
The Ostrich, the Chameleon,
Hedgehog, and Hermit Crab,
Chipmunk, and Baboon,
The Salamander, the Squirrel, and the Slug,
The Dragonfly, and Mole,
The Hedgehog, and the Grizzly, Grizzly Bear – Garrrrargh!

And then the Lamb, and the little Mouse, just over there,
Behind the Spider, and the Snail …
The Ladybird, and Hare
Yes, over there …
Over where???
Over there, of course!
Behind the Zorse, and the Zebra, and the Zonkey!
The what???
(Oh do try not, my dear,  to stare!)

But really, Papi; Mamma mia!

Talk! Talk! Talk! Talk! Talk!
Yak! Yak! Yak! Yak! Yak!

And yes; yes; yes; yes; yes, I know …; I know that’s not them all … the great menagerie! … and that’s not it all …at all … at all ……at all … at all …

For the list is not exhaustive, my child, I appreciate; nor even alphabetical, let’s admit, as in …

ABC …
ADD
AD HHHH D
Ola! Ola!
Olé! Olé!
Hoorah! Hoorah!
Whoopeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
For structure was never really quite my thing, quite honestly; but nor should it nor ever could it have been.
For life’s not a childhood picture perfect farmyard rural scene, my dear!
It’s not all cats, dogs, chickens, goats, sheep, donkeys, ducks, and horses, cows, you know; no, not at all!
Not even by a tractor’s mile; or apples, pears.
And all that’s mushy peas, and mashed potatoes; all rotten tomatoes, or to-mae-toes!!!
And what old cadswallop that is; what rubbish; what rot and nonsense; what pure make believe; what pre-school playground fantasy!
In short, what perfect oink, and woof, and baa, and quack, and squawk, and neigh, and moo!
That just won’t do, for it’s a perfect pile of manure, my friends!
Poo! Poo!
(To you!)
For in truth, all this natural truth, and natural beauty, it’s the natural world, after all; and we’re best enjoying it as it comes, I’d say, just as it comes, shouldn’t you say, and don’t you think?
But yes, you’re right; yes, yes, it’s true.
For another might have said, first this, then, that, first A, then B, then C, and so on, to M, to O, to Y, O, Y, and one day, and some day, there you are at last, my friend, you’ve made it, you’re at Z (and fast asleep, more than likely; dead beat).
But no, that’s not my style; that’s not me, at all.
And that’s the whole point, indeed.

For, starting with this thought, that’s still all’s coming — all’s coming along, indeed, this thought, this expression of thought, just nicely; and it’s all still coming along just nicely, you see … and … well …

Well, it’s just the natural world, don’t you see?

It’s nature. And, that is, seemingly all over the place, but actually following each thing its time, and its rhythm, its season, its reason, and its purpose …

And it’s like the seeds, you see, that begin, in spring, to shoot,
And the flowers, that blossom, and bloom,
And the trees, bearing in some cases such sweet, such succulent, fruit …

And all things in their season, that’s to say, for that’s the rhythm of the days, the sun, the moon, the night, lit up, by stars, in seeming billions, brilliant — galaxies, upon galaxies — bright, brilliant stars — and each, a little like your eye — and bright, blinking, and winking, twinkling, brilliant, each, and every, one,

And flower seeds, the birds, the bees, all watered, by the rains from skies above,
The oceans, and the seas,
The lakes, and rivers, and streams,
The mountains, and jungles, and forests, and woodlands, and trees,
And all the animals therein, the living, moving, breathing, being, body, cells, and things,
And that’s to say …

What?

To say what?

And should we go on with our list, or not?

Shall we, or shall we …?

Shall we then stop?

But …
No, but …
Wait!
Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait …
(Okay, enough of waiting!)

Where was I?

And where were we?

And where now are you?

Oh, there you are! Okay …

For it seems to me now that we’re forgetting someone, or two, in me, and you, for we’re here too, don’t forget, like so many animals, too – in – a – human – zoo, and also all of us a part, somehow, in principle of this, our natural world. For to us it’s rather like a zoo, I know, and yet it’s not a zoo, you know, it’s nature; and we’re nature, too; and seemingly all over the place, and especially me; but actually following each one his rhythm, her rhythm, their rhythm, our rhythm, and season, and reason, too, perhaps, and trusting … meaning … purpose …

So listen, dear child, let’s just see simply if we can’t just quieten our chattering thoughts, for a second, shall we; and set aside our oh so clever intellects; and lose our heads, as it were – just for a minute, I promise; and instead, just trust our feelings.

Animal instinct, we’ll call it.

And, if you like, and if it helps, here, take my hand.

(And I’d hold your hand forever, my dear child, if you wished, and if possibly I could; even then, the time would pass too quickly; for forever — never — ever — would be time enough, my child, to stand with you, side by side, and hand in hand. And, yes, yes, I know, yes yes, I know, and I know only, and all, too well. For you don’t need my hand at all, now, truth to tell, now, do you? And you’re already far too confident, now, and now too independent, for all that. And that’s only right, and normal, and natural. But I can still extend here, at least, in these words, and on the page, my writing hand, to you, and tell you that my hand will always be there, for you, to hold, to hold your hand, hold hands, for when you need that, or should you wish that, so, just so, and said, without, I trust, too much embarrassment, at least, I hope so).

And so, with a hand, or without a hand, with no hand, or hands, at all, that is, whichever the case may be, please just trust me now, on this one — no need to think, or fret — but simply take it easy, and breathe freely — and let it go.

And indeed, abandoning all control, let’s just close our eyes, now, shall we — as if, perhaps, to speak our inner thoughts, our truth, to pray.

And we’ll close our eyes (and, at least in my imagination, in my thoughts, sit hand in hand), and, simply, observing, within, we’ll … well … we’ll … well … we’ll … well … just relax, I guess … trusting … meaning … waiting … and waiting … and waiting … and saying, then, yes, okay — let’s wait — and see – let’s wait and see, then — shall we?

For the thought is evolving, of that we can be sure; indeed, we can take that on trust, if I may say so; and in confidence — total confidence — and on faith.

And it’s coming, this thought, this expression of thought; it’s coming …

And it’s like the seeds, you see, that begin, in spring, to shoot,
And the flowers, that blossom, and bloom,
And the trees, bearing in some cases such sweet, such succulent, fruit …

And all things in their season, that’s to say, for that’s the rhythm of the days, the sun, the moon, the night, lit up, by stars, in seeming billions, brilliant — galaxies, upon galaxies — bright, brilliant stars — and each, a little like your eye — and bright, blinking, and winking, twinkling, brilliant, each, and every, one,

And flower seeds, the birds, the bees, all watered, by the rains from skies above,
The oceans, and the seas,
The lakes, and rivers, and streams,
The mountains, and jungles, and forests, and woodlands, and trees,
And all the animals therein, the living, moving, breathing, being, body, cells, and things,
And that’s to say …
My child …

Let’s have no more then, now, of the aggressive and the arrogant, snatching and grabbing, resource rapacious, anxious, needy, and greedy, plastic-pooping and eye-screen-bleary, lung-wheezy, overfed, fools of the agricultural-militarist-imperial-industrial-capitalist-consumerist-profit rich, extractivist, age – all that, old hat, be gone! – and let’s put them out to pasture, as they so nearly did to what’s rest of the rest of human us – turning everything to grass, field by field, for their sheep and their cows and their tanks and their horses, to tramp tramp trumpety trump down, burned, bombed, cut, and felled, fouled, down, upon, for all their sacred profit blown up, maxed out, farm-fed armies, farting mightily, as one nation sheep, asleep, to slaughter, fight!

And let them then eat cake, then, if they must – or lab grown burgers and beans – better still – and best of all!.

Lab grown meat …
Yes, lab grown meat …
Yes, lab grown meat …
(Cultured, cell-based, cultivated.)
(The energy, renewable; all fossil fuels, divested.)
(The pasture land, rewilded.)
(The carbon grounded; stored in the trees.)
(And the skies and oceans cleared and cleaned.)

For I say to you this, dear child, let’s simply not … let’s not interfere any more … interfering, no more …but instead live on, and on, and on, and on, in all simplicity, upon a planet that’s soon, once more, again, to be, no longer farmed, and tamed, but wild, and free, and where, maybe, we, too, one day, wild, and natural, and loving, and free, and in harmony, at peace, at home, in our world, on this, our only planet, our so-called Mother Nature, our Gaia, and our earth, shall, blissful, be.

For nature knows what she’s doing, my child.
(Even if we, sometimes – often – most certainly do not.)
And with or without us, she’ll make her way.
And we, for our part – you – and me – well, what an extraordinary opportunity – miraculously – we’ve somehow, still – our great human greed, and stupidity, aside – been given ­– to listen to her – Mother Nature – Planet Earth – as if being read to, then, then reading from, and studying, this, her book, our world, whispering:

Yes. Yes. Yes.
Yes.
And …
Yes, my child, to everything she tells you; and to everything, whispering, now, to you, she says.
Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
Yes to all.

(James Lovelock, Sir David Attenborough, George Monbiot, and, above all, perhaps, Greta Thunberg – to name but three – oh, sorry, four – and there are more; I beg you – do please make us see – make us all see – and come to our senses, soon – and understand.)

© Bede Nix, 1 March 2014. Revision of 17 January 2020. All rights reserved.

It Began Like This

it began like this

i walked out to the woods
to choose a tree
from which
to hang
myself
and
it was a line of thought that
periwinkle-garlanded, seemed, you see
already, as if, bound tight, around, my neck
in word’s dark ink, to think
once more to it
again, and again, and again, and again, and again
weighing out each heavy word
obsessively
and
taking flight, again, these scattered thoughts, in treachery
and unkindness, those
twin ravens, blinking black
the thought, the memory
and the body, and the mind
the soul, if such there be
the me
and all the world as if accursed
and upside down
and damned
as far as I could see
and this, the search for knowledge
search for meaning, wisdom, truth
and justice, search
for understanding
inspiration
search for kindness
surrender, sacrifice
a pretty song, indeed
sing us, then, a song
from song of forest trees
sings sweet
the hanging man
i thought
sings sweet
and so
i walked out to the woods
to choose a living tree
some symbol, still, of life, and all eternity
from which, the living wood, at close of day, this line of feeling, thought, and word, to action, and to verb, to hang myself, periwinkle-garlanded, there, upon, this black night free
and so, at least, it was
in this way, that
i took down – writing, here – these few strange breathless thoughts, in words, as if, dictated, not by, but to me, frantically
this exhausted mind
or else, these thoughts, these words, as something – foreboding – on the breeze, and in the air
and there, picked off, just so, like heavy hanging fruit, ripe for rotting
simply
thinking
slowly, then, that i
must
go easy, be
easy
now
as anything, and
as easy as can be, and
taking it easy, take a stroll, quite simply, leisurely
smiling here, and there
to those occasional passers-by
upon the gentle, evening air
and do they themselves not say that life
all life
all life is suffering
secret, soundless, silent, anguished, suffering,
sobbing
screams
and yet
so what, i thought
turning shoulder to the turning wheel of time, because
life
anyway
must
end
life
anyway
must
end
life
anyway
must
end
and so, just then
the end, to thought, i thought, it was
this thought
too near
too near to it, indeed, i thought
thought thinking, tense, and tired, and
straining eyes, and shallow breathing
so near the edge, the limit, and the end
i was, of this
my cramped, confined, cooped up, curtailed day
(and, and; and, and)
and end of patience, too
too irritable, too cross, I was, the cross
to lift, to carry
all this time, so heavy
here, on me, i thought
like weight of all eternity
bound tight, too tight
the cord, the rope, the tether – tethered time –
as, all the same
the time, torn up, in tatters
tossed away
as if
i cannot breathe
and
perhaps, “too bad”
they’ll maybe say
while loosening the knot, maybe
or, then again
maybe
not
maybe they’ll not, and
maybe they’ll not say that
as if
i cannot breathe, and
saying nothing silence speaks
speak silence, then; say nothing
nothing, then
but
silence
(voice of love)
and
each one, anyway
each one going on – his way – her way
far out and far beyond
and me, myself
just me, myself, too much
and be going, then
be quietly gone
be gone
away
away
away
away
away
but i
i too, again here still
still me
and why still me
and why – the darkness – still seeking
strangely
me
and, it’s as i say, again
i’ve got to go
just got to go
get myself out, away
birch-whip, at last, the wild-eyed devil from me
stop the suffocating
cannot breathe
so that’s that, that’s it, i say
i’m going out
now, and
got
to
get, myself – keep going, still – right out the way
away
way out
alone
alone
out on my lonely own
this – melancholy – mind
no way
and so i left, i went
and took myself off, right then, and there, though
thinking
to
myself
all the while, that
what’s, then, the point, of this – the point, to this – the point, i thought, to me
i thought
i thought
i thought
again
again
again
again
again
i thought
i thought
and all the while, meanwhile, time passing by
time passes by
time passes, passing, past, away
and yet, for that, which, secretly, my thinking, yearned, throughout this time
left me, still, in undecided, two minds, split, as one who, doubtful, doubled up, despairing, dared not call or give to it a name
yet think of it, for sure, split open, splintered, rendered, torn, i did
this time, this day, okay
but not a day like any other
not like any other day, but this
for think, i did
and think
again, again, and then
again, i thought, and now, for sure
for sure
for sure
this time
the will was there
and willing, i
and so, at close of day,
i went –
walked out – into the woods
as if
a last walk in the woods
and i, again, a child,
lost child, the woods
lost child, our time
lost now
and so
i walked out to the woods
the woods, from where, i would, i thought, once there, pick out – from alder thicket’s thinking thought – some quiet, secluded, spot
and some solitary, secluded, suitable, tree
from which
i thought
with heavy heart
and aching head, as if, too tired, to bed
my neck, to hang – God bless! – sleep tight! – into that final, forever, night
adieu
farewell
and yet
and yet
and yet
and yet
and yet, once there, then, suddenly
in trick of mind, my thoughts
of childhood days long past, returned
to turn black pages back – on leaves, of time
within the mind
mind’s eye, such that,
quite suddenly, there
i saw, in evening sky
somehow
some still, small, light
to light, I thought, a way
i thought
i thought
i thought
a way
a way
a way
to light
a way
i thought
and in this light, to my surprise, to my delight
I saw, in sky tinged crimson bloody red
through sudden, silent, tears
my father’s features
saw him
standing
quietly, calmly, gently, there
as if, somehow, beside me
near, and dear
so near, and dear, departed, glint of eye, and blink of thought, and
open hand
and heavens’ sky
and
no more loneliness in eternity, then
no more anxiety
no fear
i thought
i thought
please rest
please rest, then
rest in peace
i thought
i thought
and, deeply pensive, thought some more
and brief, too brief, i thought i saw him, silhouetted, standing there
as if, somehow, beside me, glint of eye, and blink of thought
and hand held out, the heavens’ sky, then gone
so swiftly gone, and gone again, and i
and i
as if
too swiftly
too abandoned, there, bereft, and at a loss, once more, my orphaned thought, alone, again
he’d left me, and
the grief
the grief again too great a pain
to miss him
now
anew
my father, once
and i, once more, a son
thy son
(and hast thou
heart tender, then
forsaken
me
condemned me, here
cut up, crossed, crying, out, and crucified)
and here my feet trudged on
the muddy track, the field, the trees, the woods
wind whispering
alone
I sighed
this life
(rest, then; and, be rested, please)
(please rest in peace)
and, sighing, seeing, thinking, that, I lifted up my eyes, again, and thought
what vision, then, is this
for what a beautiful sight, they were, i saw
these trees – this wood
the beech, the oak – the weeping willow, streaming tears – the ash, the elder, and the yew
such that, i
upon
consideration
considered them, one and all, for this, my quiet purpose, all quietly suitable
tall, and splendid, each, and every, one – magnificent, indeed –
such that my choice of tree from which to hang a rather tricky one
nor one that I could settle, then, so easily, or simply
simply couldn’t choose, you see
so simply stood, suspended, there, my thoughts
or, rooted, rather
in
perhaps
the woods themselves, the trees
and that soft, sunlit evening, streaming, through
the light,
i thought
soft, sunlit evening, light
soft, sunlit, evening, still
as if it were you, warm, gentle smile, somehow
still seeking
me
and i, myself, but of light
picked out, among the trees, as if
in company, and
here, and now, heart warm
in thought, dissolved
resolved
united
one
as if, the hanging harp, this song, in search of poetry, sings on
and
looking up, beseeching, heavenly
in last light’s sunset shadow
i saw, at last, tired eyes
and
recognized
myself
forgiven
bowed my head, quite simply, surrendering, then
and cried
and cried
and cried
and cried, this night
and cried, this night, alone
from love
to love
for love
and cried, this night, alone, my lonely heart
recalling home

© Bede Nix, 20 May 2020. All rights reserved.
www.bedenix.com

A Personal Note:
There are so many positive male role models!
I could easily name a hundred, just like that; too many to list here, at any rate.
(I have written about some of these men – teachers, sometimes friends – in other texts.)
Nevertheless, I would like, in the context of this text here, “Last Walk in the Woods”, specifically to mention the poet Edward Thomas, who is so very often with me in my thoughts, and on my walks; a troubled, tortured, melancholy soul, it’s true; to me sweet company, even so. And he accompanied me closely in the discovery of this text.
And for sure my own father, like my son, is always with me, here, in heart, and mind.
(Three men, in one – and this but only my immediate family; no need to feel lonely, then; no need to feel alone!)
And if masculinity is as toxic as some believe – it is toxic for us all, for men and for women alike; and toxic it also surely is, and will be, too, for any and all of us transitioning into present and future human transformations that, creatively, we may seek, and find, in discovering ourselves – and that in stark contrast to our long cherished, mutually exclusive, male/female binary, polar, opposites.
(Ziggy Stardust!)
Sometimes I worry that, as “men”, we belong to a long line of emotionally inarticulate, and lonely, misunderstood, despairing, raging, creatures, struggling for words, for breath, for air – and desperate for freedom from our various cages and containers – our mental and physical prison cells.
Allow me to observe, then, in this context, that I’ve a long-held suspicion that sadness – the consolation of sadness – is, in a sense, something infinitely precious, like an item rare and luxurious, and something achieved and appreciated only when we’ve access (as so very few of us have, in reality) to a reasonable level of physical safety, and emotional support, and healing time, forgiving time; and yet sadness is such an important mood and emotion in whose embrace we release, it seems to me, our deeper anguish, our anxiety, our fears of loss and loneliness, our real life traumas, real life grief, and real life tears; and this sadness – anger, loss, frustration – like any emotion, any energy – seeks expansion, and expression, surely.
And here in this text, and others, I try, then, to take all of this emotional material, the stuff of the earth, the ground, and turn it into poetry, perhaps, or something like. And yet, if I may speak, for once, as once a boy, and now, a “man”, how especially hard and difficult, it so often seems for us, as boys and men, to tune into our feelings, our emotions, and to do so in ways that afford release, allowing us to express those emotions fluidly and fluently, more or less, and to convey them, then, more or less coherently, to others, and to share, in a sense, the weight, and burden, of them, and then, through collective insight, perhaps, and some support, to integrate, and resolve, perhaps dissolve them.
And we often hear it said that men are emotionally illiterate, and that we don’t know how to express our emotions, and that often we don’t even know what those emotions are, indeed.
Please help us, then, to help each other, and to deepen our emotional insight, and wisdom, and to grow, and to learn; please teach us – and be to us as mentors, guides, fellow travellers, companions, and as friends.
And the words of this strange little text, “Last Walk in the Words”, I would wish to send out (in reaching out, a helping hand) to all our broken brothers, fathers, sons; it sometimes hurts so badly, I know; the hurt’s so deep; but keep on going, even so; emotion’s time is like the weather, after all, and always changing. And as my father often said, in simple, grounded, wisdom: “tomorrow is another day”; have faith, take courage, then. And if really you think of suicide, do it only as here, in words, on paper, with a pen; for anything else would be so great a pity, too great a sadness – release it, then, this thought, and let it go; for when we are once again questioning, and creative, and flexible, and open, and receptive – well, we soon see that there are good days ahead, my friend, most surely – and maybe many.
Last, and least, I should say, too, that, in the curious ways of the human psyche (individual or collective, I do not know), I felt, while writing this text, a little tired and overworked, it’s true, but that aside, I was entirely happy and entirely well; indeed, I’d never felt better; I’d never felt happier – personally speaking.
And now, dear friend, I wish you a little happiness, too; do recall your happiness now, and find yourself well.
All the very best to you, then
Bede Nix

(A few links, in case of need.)
www.youngminds.org.uk
www.calmzone.net
www.papyrus-uk.org
www.nspa.org.uk
www.prevent-suicide.org.uk
www.supportonline.org.uk
www.nhs.uk/conditions/suicide/
www.samaritans.org
www.befrienders.org
https://afsp.org/
www.iasp.info
www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org
www.spanusa.org
https://www.sosadireland.ie/
www.suicidepreventionaust.org
www.beyondblue.org.au
www.lifeline.org.au
www.thetrevorproject.org
https://www.translifeline.org/
I had a black dog, his name was depression
(World Health Organization)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XiCrniLQGYc&t=2s

Sunset Skies

Sunset Skies

I

(And still I sing this song of mine – and still this song sings me – this song of time
The sunset skies, and silent sea)

And
You
Are
As
One
Single
Burning flame
My heart to melt within

And I
As one absorbed in you, yet
Blinded by your light, this light
Resplendent, bright, the
Brilliance, reaching out, to form and shape me, touching, concentrating
Body-animating, all
Embracing, us, all
Being
We

If, being, then, so
Swiftly, too, as if, within
Your orbit
Shadow, falling
Darkening, passing
Fading, parting
Leaving
Me, but
Feeling, fumbling
Reaching out, around, then
Falling, feverish, stumbling, broken
To the ground, and
Groaning, grumbling
Mumbling words – of
Wondering
Where, and
When
Some single, unified, unique, and all-absorbing, all-gathering, glimpse, again, of
Beauty, there, to see, in which, discerning, still, perhaps, some
Larger truth, some greater purpose
Inner light, and
Insight, listening
To, and hearing
Meaning

(Meaning)

Meaning
You, I feel, I think – believe, in
Fleeting, flickering, midst, of
Mystery

(This music of the mind)

While I, again, myself, alone, in

Mud-eyed
Misery
Ambiguity, too much
Confusion, thinking aimless
Mind unclear, and clouded, murky, dim, and
Not truly understanding one damned single thing, the
Truth to tell, the
Demon darkness dull descending
Shadows, spirits, meanly
Comprehending, nearly
Nothing, seemingly, of
This, then, life, the form, the function
Shape, and sense of it
(Which way to go?)
As if, such that, alone
Such misery, such
Despair

(Despair)

Despair
Alone, to me
Remains, for
What, but that, then
Could it be, this constant, anxious, niggling
Nagging, questioning
Worrying
Wondering
Who, then, this, and
Who, what, I
Who asks this question –
Why

And, following on from this
And following me
This lonely human, shadow
Search, for
Company
Where, and when

Who, then?

And

Who, then?

And

Who, then, my love?

And

Who, then, who rolls the dice, my love, are you?

(Love most mysterious)

Or are – you – only in the mind, formed here – the seeming abstract, appearing, animated?
A creature of my own creation – perhaps – perhaps a figment of my own imagination – pure fantasy, and, as
Perfect, only, and as perfectly conceived, as, only, purely perfect being, can then be
Imagined, and, that is, as
Ghostly
Otherworldly
Spectral
Spiritual, seeking out
The shadow
Of your mind, the quiet, quite, unheard, unseen
Your absence haunting
Here, my heart
And me

And I, in you, mind mirrored, as in ancient
Pale reflection
Reflecting, faintly, upon
Ancestor faces, tracing
Drawing shapes, and forms
And sights, and sounds
And words, and lines
The antic stories
Leaves, and branches
Rooted, intertwined
Entwined
Together, and
Forever
Recalling, calling, searching out, in seeking, and
Remembering, always
You, my heart
Heart’s longing

But how could I conceive
Imagine, think, of
You
And think that you exist, as think, I do
This thought of you
I sense, I feel
If not
If not
If not

And what if really, then
You did
You do
Exist
My own heart’s longing into
Thought, somehow, embodied
Here, as
You

If, here, so
Often
Out of mind, and
Out of sight
You are, yet
Somewhere, out there, anyhow, just
Waiting, waiting
Waiting
Asking, too, it seems, of me
My quiet thoughts, within
Maybe
If this is really me, mind’s eye, you see – or –
Seeing – seeming
Who, too – and what – and why
This human animal, then
To you, am I?

And I am listening for the rhythm of your heartbeat beating
And I am listening for the rhythm of your heartbeat beating
And I am listening for the rhythm of your heartbeat beating

(The sound, the world, within)

And, listening, quietly
Whispering, as if
To say

Say this, then, simply, silence, that

I am
I think, in faith
But light in blink of eye
And time, now, but
A moment, all too brief, to catch a sight
In fleeting glimpse, of
You
Heart swollen, fit, to burst, cry out – that
– I –
I cannot take it, cannot take it anymore, my love, you see
Each thought of you far off, away, too distant, and unreachable, untouchable, as
All the while, the
Sadness, sorry, stays
Remains, draws near, draws
Close, and, being
Present, persistently
Weighs
Heavily, down, on me, to
Break, the
Silence, sounding
Restless
Still, in endless, anxious
Teeth-gnashing, grinding, air
Gasping, grasping, throat
Tightening, throttling, thin
The voice, constricted, and
Constrained, curtailed, the pain, for
– I –
I cannot see, nor understand, and am, as
One, now, blind, you see, and
For this reason
I do not – find, my way, at all, to
You, as if
I sense, I feel, I think, entirely, now
As one
Alone, and so
Alone, then, now, upon this desperate rack, it seems, am I
The lonesome path, the road, the way – this trade, the wind, the fate
Off course, without direction, hidden, lost, for
Fear, and dread
The question, why here now, please God
I cannot, do not, understand
And do not, cannot, know

Why

Why

Why

Why
Strangely, still
This spring of love, like light, from this
My pierced heart
My head, fragmented, all
In bits, and pieces
Thoughts, my mind, in atoms, stars, exploded
Blown, like dust, to drift, dispersed
But breathed again by you, perhaps
Elsewhere – yet where
Who knows
Who are you?

(For to every natural form, rock, fruit, and flower
A moral life; all linked to feeling, and
In all shapes, too, a secret and mysterious soul
A fragrance and a spirit, strange
In meaning)

Distant beloved
Sun, and moon

And here, and now

My night, my day
My breath
My every thought

I do, and do not, cannot

Yet, yet still
To lose, again, another, and another, and another, life, in
Love, my love, from love, to love, for
You

And yet I would, I shall, I can, I will, I do

(And lose myself again, as if my life, reborn
Did ebb and flow, afloat, upon
A mystery, strange
The words, as if, recalled
In stream of memory)

And destiny, my fate
Eternal, then

Life’s beating heart – expansion – inhalation – breath – and
Oxygen to the mind, and
Mind’s attention, inspiration, so
Alive, to
Breathing, flowing, breath, of time – through exhalation – and contraction – beating heart – to death
Release me, let me go

And I, alone
All, all, alone
Alone on wide, wide sea
The solitude, too much, my soul
In agony

And day after day after day
No breath, no change, nor company, nor connection
No emotion, or belonging, no one to
Be loved by, besides
Or love, in turn, and no
Gut feeling, instinct
Authenticity, then, in
This, I feel, and
This, I can, and
This, I will, and
This, I do, and
This, I am, indeed, and
This, not recognizing, even
Who, this I
Who me, a mystery, to
Whom, then, too, too
Sad
Too sad, and
Sad as sad can be
The silence of the sea

(That silence, sinking, like a call, within, to this, my quiet music, broken heart)

Yet love, they say, the ocean – ocean, unceasingly, in which, unknowingly, unconsciously, we bathe
And love, they say, the ocean
Love, the ocean, in which
We
Bathe, so, then
Embrace me, ocean, love
Wash over me, submerged, to float
Far off, far out, far down
To darkness
Depths, in which
To hush these thoughts, and then, in
Quietness, drown me
Dropping, lost
I am
In
Time, time’s quiet
Ocean
Silent
Still
Shall be

And never breeze did breathe

My heart, no more

My heart, no more

No more, for love

For love, my heart, no more, and I

I
Am
One
Single
Burning flame
My heart to melt within, until

Bright orange sunset sky
Bleeds red the dying day, the
Ocean, barely moving, seeming quiet, silent, still
Its waters, time, in
Lapping, gently
Rippling
Rhythmic
Strokes, in rolling wave on wave
The soothing sound, the surf, the sand, so
Sheltering, as if
Cocooned, in well, of thought, and word, and world, and womb, so, seeming
Starry, boundless, vast, somehow
Somehow
Somehow enclosed, the lulling, distant echo – somewhere there
Mind’s music – ancient ocean’s shell
To sing that song, recalled
You sing, my love, so well, the
Chapter, and
The verse, the
Memory’s birth
Here written out, in me, by land, by sky, by sea, in lines
Upon my sun-kissed eye, and windswept cheek, and parched skin, paper, thin, and salty lips, to move, and murmur, sounding
Quivering, tender, this, the
Word, within, your
Voice, your
Singing, and
Your song, your
Gently rhythmic
Heart pulsating
Breath, afloat
Life
Streaming
In, and out – the ebb, and flow, so
Calming, reassuring, now, recalling, all
Life’s ups and downs, as if again in dream – of
Walking, there, beside you, father, mother, sister, brother
Hand in hand, in
Child’s small steps on glorious golden sands
Forgotten summers, sweet, the sound
To sail, on thoughts, adrift
To sing, once more, the song, of
Ocean seabed memory, dreaming
You, in
Dream
Here, now, of me, in
Timeless
Time’s
Tranquillity

And quiet music, sweet, such nights, and days, and happiness

For these are times together, times in unity, and then
The intimacy, warmth, companionship, of
Sharing food, and water
Bread, and wine, to
Drink the breath of nectar
Dance, divine

And sing to me forever thus, my love
Your nectar songs

I’m listening
I’m listening
I’m listening

(And sing to me forever thus)

(The voices here shall not be drowned)

(To sound the world within)

(I’m listening)

II

And love, says Shelley

Love is inevitably consequent upon the perception of loveliness. Love withers under constraint: its very essence is liberty: it is compatible neither with obedience, jealousy, nor fear: it is there most pure, perfect, and unlimited, where its votaries live in confidence, equality, and unreserve.

 

And so it is, that, now, I take you, then, in love, my love, to be my wedded partner (wife, or husband), and to have and hold you, now, from this day forward, and for better, and for worse, for richer, and for poorer, and in sickness and in health, to love and cherish, till death do us part, according to God’s holy law, and this my solemn vow.

And I will love you and honour you all the days of my life

(Or so I heard it said – said so, perhaps, myself)

And yet
But still
And yet
But still
Not always so

Indeed

For many a heart storm, passion, body, lust, and mind, obsession, here, have I, now, too, like you, been often tempest tempted, turned, and tossed, upon, and tilted, rocked, stripped naked, blown away, heart, body, mind, a leaping, lusty, pleasure, wave, raised up, dropped down, my body, fully present, to, and in, itself, within, then absent, far away, each gasp a gasp of ecstasy, intensity, immensity, to seek, to mould, to press, to find, in stirring stillness, silent depths, your moving hands, your feet, your legs, your arms, your back, your chest, your neck, your ears, your eyes, your cheeks, your nose, your lips, your tongue, and all, entire, in you, your energy, shape, and form – your hardened being, softening, melting, milky, far, away – in your fluidity – liquid sex, forgiving – warm, and welcoming – mysteriously, converged, and memory mixed, and merged, one ocean breath, so breathless, now, redeemed
To form a third
Life
Energy, aflame, through which
To learn again
To sense, to feel
To dance, to play
Create, again
Again, experience
All the piercing, testing, proving, probing
Longing, all
The loneliness, of this, one single person, their
Desires, and lust for pleasure, and release, and satisfaction, safety, love, and liberation, each so
Ambiguous, and
Mysterious, and
Unclear, and so
Confusing, so
Confused
The pity, tears of ashes, tired, then –
And then the shame of it
The shame

(Go figure – sister, brother – friend, and lover
Go try work it out, n’ while
We’re waitin’, still, for answers – let’s
Get it perculatin’
Acceleratin’
Turnin’, twistin’, curvin’
Com’on, get up
Let loose and set your body free, so
When ya’ll open, be – now ya’s a’floatin’, so – then 
No more drama, now – now no more fightin’, ’cause
We’re gonna have some fun, and gonna dance all sexy night
Love up, love out, love down, love in
Com’on, com’on now dance with me
Now fast, now slowly – 
Good – God – feels it – just – like – WOW
AMAZING
SO, so, ahhhh … and
Yeah, that’s true, feels
Fickin’ sacred
Go’ darn
Holy
Turnin’, twistin’, curvin’
Baby, so
Com’on
Love up, love out, love down, love in
Com’on, let’s go, again
Turn up the music
Dance some more
Plunge deeply, deeply – go
Go far, far out – and
All so swimmingly
Far from timid shore
To float, again, to bathe, luxuriate, in ocean love for you
And you – and you
And you again, as if
This ocean – love – eternity)

Make love to no one, then – or
Make love to one and all – make love to everyone
Make love to you
Make love, my love, to me
Heart free, and generous, and delighting, open and exuberant
Joyous, and
Sublime, sometimes, this human life – divine

And who, then, gathered together, here, today, my dearly beloved, should we worship?
Pothos and Himenos, perhaps, or
Pan, Priapus, and dear sweet Hedone – maybe, if keeping it a bit on the safe side, aren’t we?
And might we not, then, prefer, perhaps
Aphrodite, Anteros
Hera, and Hymen?
Plus all the other tricksy troublesome divinities, provoking
Domestic disharmony, mostly – if sometimes – all too rarely – married bliss
But where, then, the Eros, here, in this?
And where the Agapé?
And whose name, then, in paradise, to sprinkle
Words of love
On earth below, and
Heavens above?

And what’s all this, in any case, to you, my love, and me?

For what’s it now to be, baby?

But only something swinging, jazzy, close up yet casual, maybe – friends fluffed up on benefits, excited and aroused – or is it, perhaps, rather, to be, an intimate, loving, and romantic, friendship, turning into courtship over time – cohabitation, then — and then committed, long-term relationship — engagement – civil union, domestic partnership, and fruitful monotony – or marriage partners, maybe, all so simply arranged, or otherwise – husband and husbands, wife and wives –  the midlife open marriage, something like, or else an “extra-marital”, one or two – and all the relationship anarchy – whole kit, and whole caboodle, damned shebang — the here and there, the wink, the nudge, the bit of cheating on the side, so-called monogamy – and why not make it, then, why not, an ethical non-monogamy – mating and dating perhaps more honest, perhaps more dignified – polyamory, if you will – or polygamy, why not , or why not — polyandry — polygynandry, even — heck, get your tongue around that – and, well, whatever rocks your boat, I guess – just no more patriarchy, please – because for me it’s modern matriarchy all the way, our power women celebrating among our gentle men our artistry, generosity, creativity, sensitivity, and shaming out the selfish, and the jealous, and aggressive, baser natures – all the male demons, red, puffy-faced, and angry, such that – each demon childless, pathetic, pitiable, and condemned to history, one by one – and, yes, that, maybe, maybe – maybe – who knows? – but whatever is your name for it, your favourite relationship cocktail, mixed nice and easy, and oh, so, so, so smoothly – in all its flavours hetero, homo, bi, try-sexual – I’ll tell you this, for sure I’ve gulped it down myself some long, long time ago, and been there, done that, something like, in any case, and all since ages, long before, so many suns, so many moons, my friend, long gone … So, better, surely, join me, now … embrace, with me, the cyborg gynoid future feminine … tame the future android cyborg masculine … and ying-yang turn the wheel, non-binary, transhuman, transitioning, transforming, and all and everything, and on, and on … each moment, new, the time, to change, anew, renew …

And

Each human life, unique, the truth to tell, if
All the storylines, at times, so similar, all
Too, too familiar
And all the threads, and patterns, passing back, and forth
Like this, as if …

Domestic cares afflict the husband’s bed (and hers), or pain his head  (and her head, too)

And

Those that live single, take it for a curse, or do things worse

And

Some would have children; those that have them none; or wish them gone

What is it then to have no wife (or husband, civil, domestic, partner, lover, what the hell, et al., etcetera), but single thralldom, or a double strife?

Our own affections still at home to please, is a disease
To cross the sea to any foreign soil, perils and toil

Wars with their noise affright us: when they cease
We are worse in peace

But why not, even so, declare
A truce, then, here, and now, my love, and
Maybe, be
Best friends, so that, no more
Of this eternal-seeming comedy
Wretched, romantic, love
This giddy sickness, where
Love stands, erect, mad master, ever cruel, and shows
No lengths nor limits, nothing out of bounds, the
Bondage, sadistic, the
Pursuit, perpetual, and
The punishment, pitiless, of
The poor, confused, defenceless, human heart, and
Sharp, its Cupid’s arrow – keen, and
Bitter, sweet, its tender kill, as if
The more the love, the more, bound tight, my love, are you
To this – to this damnation
This love tyranny

And if you love someone, well
As sings along the song, I guess
You simply can’t control it
Can’t tear the one you love apart, the human heart, so just
Release them, set them free, just let them go
And let them be

For all the family commitments, family loyalties – well, that’s truly fabulous, truly wonderful, and too true truly marvellous
And so important
And so much more than just “okay”
But okay, too, let’s say, why not – and if it’s going to happen someday anyway – when sometimes
Wild migrating heart takes off, flies, fleeing, far, away, and fleeting free, new longing, lust, maybe
New air of love, to breathe
A joy, again, in life, like
Feeling, well, like
Anything goes, for once – once in a while – again
Who knows?

(And much less chimpanzee, that is to say, perhaps, are we, and much more bonobo)

Or no?
Not I, my dear
Nor you, my darling
Sweetheart
Love
Not we
Enchained
In silence, then
We, precious, fragile, are, as if
A little less than fully human, now
Not living out our dreams, but living boredom – living death

And so another bites the dust

And another – one 

And another – one 

And another one bites the dust, so please

Don’t ask, my love
Don’t tell
Heart’s seeming secrets hidden well

But enough for now of all this cultural anthropology
Strange mythology
Gods of earth, and sky, and sea
Time touching eternity
The feminine divine
Divine, the masculine
Seeking you, and seeking me

For all this weight of sadness sticks still choking in the throat – a lot to think about, you see
A lot to chew on, swallow down
A knot, in short, of stress, although
The world, it’s true, a bubble, this, we know; go lightly, then
For life of woman, so to speak, or so-called real man, less often than a span
And this in our conception wholly wretched; and from the womb so to the tomb, my dear
Cursed from the cradle, then brought up to so-so many years, with so-so many cares, so many fears, so many tears

Who then to frail mortality shall trust
But limns the water, or but writes in dust

And what remains to us, but that we cry
Not to be born, or being born, to die

And yet
And yet
And yet

Yet not so fast, my friend, slow down – as wisely says, Nick Bostrom, professorially – just lighten – back it – up;
And just chill out, and take it easy, now, my sister, and my bro’, because:

All techno-hype aside, it’s striking, isn’t it, how recent, really – comparatively – they all are – the one-way street – the one great history – all events defining what we take and understand ourselves – the way to go – the way – to be – the so-called – human – heartbeat – human – condition – human – story.

(“This home of ours not ours alone.”)

(And)

If we compress the time scale such that the Earth formed one year ago, then Homo sapiens evolved less than 12 minutes ago, agriculture began a little over one minute ago, the Industrial Revolution took place less than 2 seconds ago, the electronic computer was invented 0.4 seconds ago, and the Internet less than 0.1 seconds ago – in the blink of an eye …

(Year 20-20 Vision)

(And, at seeming first sight, we fell in love, you know – but blindly)

(And)

In blink of eye

(Our love is blind, we came to see)

In blink of eye

(And)

(And how hopelessly, blindly, seemingly, we fell – at first sight, in love)

And blink of blind eye, the time, says I, because

– Indeed, as Bostrom says it, too, and not just academically – that –

Almost all the volume of the universe is ultra-high vacuum, and almost all of the tiny material specks in this vacuum are so hot or so cold, so dense or so dilute, as to be utterly inhospitable to organic life, so spatially, as well as temporally, our situation an anomaly

(An anomaly)

(Anomaly)

(In echo, then)

(A moment, time)

(And an anomaly)

(Gravitational time dilation – spaced-out mind reflection)

(And matter and energy
Space and time, but
Dimensions – perhaps perceptions – each to
Each the Other)

This, and so much more
In blink of eye

And, then, you see, since, we, in any case
With sorrow, here, live
Oppressed
What life is best?

And how might we structure – such as they are – our expectations, dear Professor, then, if ask, I may, at present – and – what futurology, then – what sense of things to come, supposing – someone, still, poor soul, to see them – someone, somehow, someplace, somewhere, there, they call still home?

(Amidst it all)

(And)

(Volatility – Uncertainty – Complexity – Ambiguity)

(Turbulence and Novelty)

(Catalysts – Disruptors)

(All the great game changers)

(And imagine, if you will, a song for falling Queen, or King, heart-sinking – where you yourself the minstrel, you, the troubador – you, the storyteller – you, the bard – and you, the poet, if weighed down with weight of worry, deeply melancholy – and you the rebel, too, hip-swinging, heart-still-singing, but always over-thinking, revolutionary)

(“The best way to predict the future is to create it yourself.”)

(Abe Lincoln, dude!)

(So please, just be yourself – no pressure)

(Evolutionary)

And now I ask you, fellow – human – being, if now too glibly, too rhetorically

Imagine, this, then, here, and now: IF YOU could change just ONE single thing about our human world – society, culture, grouping, bonding, mating, pairing, family – self and other – matriarchy or patriarchy – potlatch and gift-giving generosity, revelry and carnival festivity, orgy and sacrifice – kinship, gender, sex and sexuality – magic, and religion – part sacred, part profane – the all and the everything, all you know, and know not, all that for which you care, or do not care – you get the picture, well, and so – what change, then – what – change – would that change be? What would YOU wish to have done differently? And what improvements could you then envisage and bring, maybe, to life, perhaps, to realize, here, some kinder, friendlier, happier, healthier, more harmonious, and more loving, fulfilled and flourishing, stable and sustainable, greater, human, being; in short, a better world? And what, to this end – at least, in your view – could, or must, be done? And what, then, would you do, in absolute and total honesty? What really and truly would you wish then our world to be – big picture questions for humanity, most certainly – the fundamentally important, time running out, put simply?

And that’s to say, well …

Where do we come from? What are we? Where are we going?

And what, then, in your view, should be our coordinated collective consciousness groupthink, hive mind, uploaded, neural networked, psycho-future, action plan?

Or is this question too abstract, too hypothetical, too blue-sky research – just so much pie in the sky, perhaps?

(Question not recognized)

(And pigs might fly.)

And yet …

(I hope for nothing. I fear nothing. I am free.)

Well yes, maybe.

And this, then, the reason, why – I’ve no reply

“No reply?”, you say

Nor I, my friend; nor I

And, here too – if but a touch, now, too, too, too, too, too rhetorically – sitting alone, no answer
Why
Am I
In need of so much peace and quiet, and
Total solitude, even, if
In need, sometimes, too – entirely true – of company, and
Some
Echo, sound, and shape, and sense, some
Conversation, communication, some
Community – some common sense, and some – consensus – reality 
Some cap “S”, small
“Society”, solidarity, and such, and so, perhaps
Our
Human
Dignity – Opportunity – Community, and
Our
Intelligence, amplified, maybe, through which
For now
I’ll try myself – essay – an answer, mind uploaded
(If maladjusted, maladapted)
And now, placed resting on my nose – augmented virtual reality artificial intelligence optical devices – glasses, googling – through which, in short – VR – AI, then
Gazing, deeply, down, into
This magic crystal ball, through which, I see
Not much at all, quite honestly, as if
Through – glass – too – darkly, now
No matter – for, I’ll
Simply make it up, then, just
As others do, I do believe, and say, proclaim
Eyes squinting, shrewdly, that, yes, indeed
Indeed, I do see something, there, and so
 – I –
Spy now, with my little eye, that little
Something beginning with the letter

Eh?

I?

Oh!

Ah …

And this, the planet
Earth, a world where
All your most terrible, and
Terribly
Many
Anxieties and fears, potentially
All worst nightmares, possibly – perhaps –
Maybe, could be, quite probably will be – do
Yes, do
Indeed
Come true

And
Am I, I ask, therefore
In earth, now, or
In heaven, or
In hell?

Is this Utopia, indeed – a dream fulfilled, a sort of Eden, or Atlantis, or Arcadia, or Elysium – in short, a perfect world
Or is it, rather, a total humanity-hacked Dystopia, and quite possibly the end of human civilization as we know it – not to mention Planet Earth – a terrible algorithm bias – deep entanglement – utter nightmare

Time horizons – time unlimited – immortality
Humanity+ – transhumanism – post-humanism – post-identity, and
The Omega, and
The tipping point, robocalypse, of
Checkmate humanity
Math destruction
Quantum supremacy
Singularity, and
All together, hand-in-hand, now
All the song and dance, until
Tick-tock, the doomsday clock
Rings out the bell the final time
Ding-dong
The end of time

So what the hell is happening to us all?

Who knows?

‘Cause still you’ve no reply, it seems

Nor I, my friend; nor I; nor I

No wonder, then, I can’t be smiling, cheerful, happy, anymore, these days
Or is there something wrong with me?
(Let me google it again, and through my doom-scrolling google-glasses, maybe see)
But sorry, no

For all I really see, in
Fake-believe and plastic trees new normal, now, is
Overpopulation
Poverty, corruption, not to mention
Intensive agriculture, acute deforestation, land erosion
And the road less travelled, once, becoming, then
The beaten path, the track, the lane, the country road
Main road, then motorway, such that the hidden ways now lost
My way or the highway
(Search for parking)
Such that, nice friends, nice neighbours, for a while, it’s true, we are, but then
Swiftly squabbling, tit-for-tat, thumb biting, cheek slapping, nose-punching
Sneak attacking, ambushing, trapping, lethal midnight raiders
Group-bonded male invaders, waging love-bashing battery, and never-ending
Self-righteous, high-minded, cultural –
Village, gang, and party mayhem mob mentality – drum-beating, fired up, screaming, tribal, nation –
Ethnic – religious
Wars, fought, blood, bullets, tooth and claw
And fanned, enflamed, in turn, by such
Short-sighted, distracted, anxiety-driven, alienated, angry, polarized, prejudiced
Populist politics of complex group allegiances, and simple identity, and then
The ingroup, and the outgroup
The outrage, incivility
Acts of hostility and aggression – the music, screaming – violence
Drug-numbed, cut up by dagger – shot down by gun, my
Self, and Other – Sister, Brother
Me and You, becoming
Dark side
Deindividuation
Evolution
Revelation, such that
It’s blinding obvious, now
It’s Us V Them, as
Each well knows, in soapbox isolation conspiracy paranoia – and echo chambers chasms wide
In rabbit holes, dark, dim, and grim, where
I can’t see you
Can’t hear you
Cannot trust you
Cannot feel you – don’t
Give a DAMN, each atom
Absolute, in total, utter
Loneliness, such that
What fools we are, quite honestly
Our collective intelligence collectively dumbing down, meanwhile, and
Downsizing, and relativizing
Truth
Shared truth, and values, MEANING –
This outcome, meaning, now
A shortened attention span, shrinking, shorter – shorter, still, to nearly
Total, all-out idiocy – an almost total ignorance, while
The military-Industrial
Global surveillance
Dark irony complexity, machine, extends still farther, still
Its attention-extraction clickbait contagion news’o’tainment experiment, whereby
Bad actors, loss of meaning
Growth-hacking and evil “profit-at-all-costs” economic empire
Grows still more choking, great, and advertising-rich, above us
Barbed wire fences, all around us, the
Blood washed clean away, and
Bricks in walls, the
Physical, worse still, the mental
Barriers, making, of
Us, all – us all – but
Anxious, stressed out, angry, and insecure
De facto, f***ed at birth, gig economy, eviction proletariat precariat – no social security
Alienated from nature, each other, and ourselves
In work – or, far more likely – totally – out of it, if
Wired for connection, compassion, love, and empathy
Hearing, holding, listening, caring, yet
Destined, depressed, instead, to programme, develop – “mature”, one day, into
“Engagements”, maybe, and to be but little more than
Programmed Data Items, or computer nodes, or else, at best, if promotion beckons –
Well done! You’ve made it!
You’re now IT
You’re there
You’ve made IT
To the TOP 
No other place to go but down, and
From the pinnacle, to fall
Name now upon the suicide watch
Shareholder slaves wake up, my friend
The masked machine, it seems, stuck

Fixed in concrete jungle – set in stone, the heart
No longer human, fully, curious, queer, weird, wondrous, quite, but only, rather
Quiet, now, and too surrendered, and subdued, by far, in
Fear of freedom, all
Life’s subtleties, flexibilities, ambiguities, and
Uncertainties, all the
Night-time terrors of the seeming real, such that, all that now I know is this, that
The machine, and robot, and AI, and I, shall soon exist here, quite simply, as anthrobot, as we, an
Artificial life form, a little human, still, but somewhat biologically enhanced, and 
Large part, automated, now, bionic, and robotic, which
Big Brother, only He, will see, will be, the one, apart, who understands, knows best, controls, the system, what it wants, with us, with
Speech, language, face, touch, gesture, emotion, meaning – recognition, all
Scanned, and read – profoundly understood, the
Thumbprints data-tagged for DNA, barcoded living cells, locked safely up, for now, for
All eternity – seeming identity continuity
A seeming immortality, stretched out forever, across
An infinite time horizon, or else, that is, until
The dying earth, and all its hungry, thirsty, washed out creatures, great and small, gasps out its starving, drowning, final, last –
Whichever’s sooner, that’s to say – until, this moment – GASP!, in
Time, the human brain bomb dropped – so simply brilliant, bright, in
Not decline, so much, or sudden flight, as –
Stall! Stall! Stall!
And sudden fall, the
90 billion neurons
10 trillion cells, then multiplied, that is, by – well, what is it, now?
7.8 billion human inhabitants upon this planet earth, they say, this day, or something like, and counting, up
Up, up, now, and away, and so say I, I too
And count, now, please, with me – please do, for
Where
When
What
Why
Who, my friend, is
Counting, now, your needs, here, too
As if you’ve simply not the right to (human) count
From one to 7.8 billion souls, all
Just a number – some simple, basic, formula – just some statistic, just like
415 parts carbon per million in the atmosphere, or some such thing
And all the wilderness remaining,  35%, or thereabouts, they say
Raw sewage
Cannot breathe, in all this data
Black, and white
Year 2020, masked – or unmasked, finally, to be
In charge now of our destiny – take back control – and all such bluster, heavy irony
Yet, after all
Who cares, you see?
For all
Life, soon, now, so, so suddenly, to be, abolished, surely, anyway, the
Sixth, they say, and greatest extinction of them all – the last! – caught live on eyeball camera – well, well, well – and
What do you know, now
What a swell event, quite simply, stunning, simply, awesome – quite extraordinary!
And yet, I’m still not sure what now to make of it – how quite to understand and wrap my mind around it
(Escaping reality)
And so I reach out and turn on the eyeball-burning, touch screen, suck yourself in, unblinking, thinking, wristwatch, flat-screen, smartphone TV
The zapped out rolling news clickbait click-here coverage, for

I need to know, you see
(Big Brother, breaking story)
And I need to know, and understand
Why everything seems a catastrophic rage, and all on fire
The earth, my mind, one overheating, melting, meaning, mess
And sweat it out, I thought, the best, although
Don’t sweat the small stuff, so they said, in school, to me
But stuff as big as this – great, stinking, shitstorm, cosmic collapsology – too late for crap apologies – holy moly – no damned way!
(A gasp, again!)
No wonder I can’t sleep at night – the nightmare just bad dream no longer – really happening!
The ice caps melting, and
The tundra releasing age-old methane
Like an infinite herd together farting, sacrificing, for our holy worshipping, countless BBQ and burger chains, flat fields cow driving, parking, everywhere, and
All the oceans, now
Acidic, and the coral reefs so nearly grilled and BBQd, too, like all the fish, all dead, or almost
And all the rainforest, too, hacked off, sawn down, to fall
On soils, exhausted – insects not pollinating
Land uninhabitable, weather too unpredictable, and
All these seriously suboptimal outcomes, so , that, then, there, goes
Another million more expelled from this our so-called, could-be “Eden”
Planet earth, our
People
Hungry

Helpless
Hopeless
Homeless

Desperate, and
Damned
Or blessèd dead, quite simply
Such that, scared stiff, I need, now, please, in sparkling, still
A drink
So very badly, if
Not even water left, it seems, for thirst, and thirsty, so
Please – grant – me – this, just this, at least, a little whiff, a
Sniff, some sense of hope, one
Thing, again, to
Live for, something more, that is, than
Checkmate humanity, draw down the curtains, in
Extinction, or I’d accept, at best, right now, even
Recurrent collapse, or
Simple plateau, simply – please give me that, but if now
Plateaued out, and if a prospect – thought – not already too far past – way past – its sell-by date
Redemption, so-called
Salvation, seeking, simply, even, well, just this, you see –
Some modest sense, some little hope, for
Status quo, if seeming now a crazy
Genie-back-in-the-bottle
Santa wish-list
Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho! and
Well
Well
Well

My friend, get real

And how it’s endlessly exhausting, and all too much, as you too must also see, of course
Heart-pumping adrenalin, angry testosterone, toxic cortisol
Too much, for me, by far – as now for all of us – and it’s no
Wonder, then, we’re playing up, malfunctioning, binge-eating
Sugar, sweets, cake, chocolate
Drinking coffee
Alcohol, downed by the bottle, drunken, scoffing, fizzed up, fired up, and puking up, the
Burping, slapping, slopping, burgers
Slurping, snorting, cokes
The rolled-up old-fashioned paper notes, and
Pill boxes, toxic
Pharmaceuticals
Big money
Botox injected
Stomach pumped
Scream cream
Skin stretched, and spread out, wide, on
Pouty, pumped up, photo-shopped, plastic, micro-sized, flickering, time-bits, of
Junk-tech TV-advertised
Retouched, tits-up, bum-lifted, waist-corpse-wafer-thin, in
Swollen out, fluffed up, one-click, non-stop, pain-gagging, gang-banging, hard’n
Stress reduction relief adjustment
Masturbation
Seeing everything
Feeling nothing
(Frigging)
Porn
Self-medication, mostly, last
Few pumping intimations of what once were maybe meaningful positions – possibilities – perhaps
And human connection, shared mortality, if
Little more, now, here, than this, a crazy, collective
Dopamine death, one nervous twitch, one anxious, cramped-up jerk, through which, to
Shoot off, spunked out, and all, alone, one last and final time, the joyous agony – and the agony – the ecstasy, much like
I guess, train crash
Survival horror, video
Gaming fake realities, taken out, and
Blown away, the
Lonely grunt or groan a minute, hear it
Miles off, struck up, in chorus, singing
No hope, fat chance, to this, the
Bonkers
Face the music
Fallout
Zombie nation
Mother-***
Bombing out, and
Going down
The shelters, underground
For one last massive meltdown final bang

But now please quieten down, my friend, be calm, okay
For even now, it’s not yet quite all doom and gloom – not yet – or need not be, at least, for
We’re only simple creatures, at the end
A little wonder, little romance
Dance, and song, and
Sense, of
Story
Purpose, poetry, sense of
Goal, until, then
We feel, and find, and reach, achieve, some
Solace, simply
Meaning
Heart, here, beating – for
The family
Home, a
Happy childhood
Education, and
Career, then, one
Day, family
All our own, maybe – and something
Truly positive, possibly – a legacy, perhaps – to
Share, hand down, pass on
Next generation
Children’s children
If, and when, that is
To say
We’re not quite done away with – or not quite all of us, at least, just yet, and
Not quite yet all gone
Goodbye

Why not delete, then, all this nonsense, dark and ugly
Wipe clean, afresh, the slate, start over, start again, and then
Begin, to do
Our very best, or
Try, at least, to
Change our foolish ways, work
Out, and
Understand, at last, maybe, the
Balance, eventually
In society, and in
You, and
Me, and
All of us, between, the
Virtual, and, the
Real, the
Individual, and the digital, the machine, the
Natural world, that
There could one day
More deeply, fully human
Heavenly, be

And see, here, too, a brighter future, for
All, indeed, may
Well be meaningful, if we wish, and
All so beautiful

And think of all the extra dopamine – the oxytocin – the endorphins – the serotonin
Even the anandamide, the PDMT, thank God, for
God’s a Gamer – no brainer
Isn’t He? Or She?
Or are They?
Or We?
My friend, just let your brain float free
For once, just breathe, and – again, relaxed
Creative
Be

Then dare to care, and dare to dream, for

Post-humanity, well, yes, maybe, and
Post-work, almost certainly, in
This, a Golden Age, of time-unlimited leisure studies, nurturing and exploring
An abundant – seeming boundless – human imagination, creativity, and play, and in
A world, that is, of smart specialization, where
Jobs mostly automated, already, anyhow, anyway, now, and
Intelligence artificial, reality augmented, yes, and then, the
Medical cover, basic income, childcare, education, human rights, and
Basic liberties, and freedoms, individual, plus
Universal, meaningful
In youth, what’s more, for all, until, at least, the age of twenty-five, a
Quality education, free for all the
Reading, studying, cultural activities, language learning, exchange programmes, and smart transport virtual travel, you could wish for, for
There’s so much still to learn, and so, to
Each a little taste – world’s rich diversity, and then
For grown-ups, adults, elders
One hour free, twice-weekly, deep tissue, fascia-smoothing, full body massage, maybe
90 minutes’ professional tantric yoga meditation relaxation, and
Fullest satisfaction, sighing
Orgasmic, guaranteed, in
Ecstatically happy ending, blissful, naturally, plus
One hour psychotherapy, or psychiatry – time to talk professionally, and
All the yoga, sport, art, dancing, music, storytelling, you could ever wish for – life
Expectancy four score years and ten, or somewhat more, much more, indeed, a quiet
Euthanasia, sweet painless end to it, this precious human life
When done is done, at last
Life lived, as art
So beautifully, and
Then, so
Smoothly, and so painlessly
A death, in dignity

And this, then, a calmer, more egalitarian, communal, pleasurable, thoughtful world, more politically engaged, more interconnected, more fulfilled
Standards of living raised with no additional negative impact, and
Our relationship to the environment, to debt, each other, all changed, and different, and
At last, in balance, and
True, too, to
Our biggest ally and greatest inspiration
Mother Earth, and Nature herself
The world re-wilded, deforestation halted and the forests restored, the trees replanted, as
One of countless carbon absorption, capture, and storage aims, to make us carbon neutral, with
Biodiversity, returned, again, and
No fish zones, and plastic-eating bugs, and algae
Deep sea grassy meadows, vast, and oceans healthy
And a plant-based human diet – a little lab-grown meat from time to time, a special treat, and
All our cities clean now so quietly, beautifully green
And all our clean, green energy sourced and harvested from nature’s great renewables: wind, water, solar – geothermal
And all our future trade a trade in upcycled goods, and healthy commodities, and meaningful, beneficial services, between ourselves, our human inspiration, creativity, craftsmanship, as public knowledge, public goods, and all for
A commons-based economy
The sheer pleasure of it, and perhaps, sometimes, too, if secondarily
A little extra prestige
Honour, glory
Credit, comfort
Time, for
Further innovation breakthroughs, and
Foresight projects, to
Blossom, and to
Flower, for

As nature knows
Where you help the world around you in all its rich diversity to thrive – well, then, and only then, my friend, shall you thrive, too, one day

And could that day be soon, I ask?

(And YES, I say; and what say you?)

So let’s ask ourselves this question – and many others like it.

What here is probable? What possible? What predictable? What plausible? What merely fantasy?
What here is aspirational? What inspirational? What devotional?
What here is, let’s say, constrained?
And what here unconstrained?

Courage
Conviction
Confidence
Trust

And a little faith too, perhaps – blind faith, if needs be
(If blind faith finds no other)

For we, as human “monkeys”
Playful, sometimes smart
Should
Ape it
Fake it
Make it, or something like
(No time to lose)

Or start, instead, like this:

My neighbour, and
My friend, and
My companion, and
My lover

I open my arms, and heart, to you, and
Bless your hands, and
Kiss your lips, your eyes, your forehead

Do please be welcome and at home here – do
Let’s sit, together
Eat

All as if around one single table, all
One family

(I’ll do my best, I promise you)

For wasn’t it someone wise who said that, “For infinitesimally small creatures such as we are, the vastness of the universe is bearable – only – through – love”.

“Only through love.”

“Only through love”, is that it?

Ah yes, sounds easy, right?

But what is love?

My friend, let’s talk …

III

And let’s return – get back again, in any case, now, feet down, and grounded, here, upon, this earth, my love, you mean, to me – stop dreaming around, then – what’s it to be?

Love as attitude – or love as action
Love at a cost, and love for a fee –
Or love generous, and all our love for free, maybe?
Love finds you, spontaneously, sooner or later, anyway
Fullness of time, right here, right now
Why legislate, or force it?
Why try control it – why try so hard?
Instead, just be, for once
Now, present, here
To me, and
Touch me, simply, then – skin, to skin
To smile, a breath, sweet word
My love, and
Love, again, my love
Make love to me again …

But still the question, how, how, how?

(There’s too much tension and responsibility – too much worry, too much stress)

Mating, married, in captivity, maybe- male and female, caged, afraid, and sexless, exclusively, for all eternity?

Or ours a love of freedom, rather; a risk, a chance, an act of coquetry, word of dalliance, and wait and see … birds of a feather, and wings to fly; and what will be, will be

An either/or?

Or neither/nor?

Or what?

What else?

Some other marriage arrangement, maybe, and rather daringly modern – if no doubt ancient, actually, and
Convenient
Don’t ask, don’t tell
All well?

And all the apples and the pears
The swings, the roundabouts
The
I’m just not sure, you see; I do not know myself, nor, hopeless, understand
What’s really best
And why can’t I be like the rest, and always smiling, much more cheerful; and so much fitter, brighter, happier?
And is there something wrong with me?
(Let me google it again – once more, to see)

But, certainly, I don’t understand what a marriage should – or could – or might one day – maybe – be; not sure, that is, if ever I’d tried to picture or imagine it, blind, before, when so much younger, and less worldly, and so little experienced, and so naive; but so much distance, so much absence, so much being alone, and loneliness – in love, and out of it – not that, surely – surely – no, not that, not that

I thought

Living apart together; home alone

But then again, hope springs eternal, seemingly

And soon, someday, anyway, we’ll once more be together, won’t we? – or so at least we’ll say to one another, at a distance, then – if not today, tomorrow – better believe it – don’t call it if, but maybe, and perhaps – and – when not tomorrow, then, then, maybe, tomorrow’s tomorrow, why, most surely, then … why won’t it be?

And someday, somehow, somewhere, anywhere, anyhow, any day, anyway, even if, God knows, in any case, where, how, when, except …

Do you love me, still, as even, now, I am not sure, I ask?

And did you ever really love me, then?

And did I love you, too?

And do I still?

And what does it all mean?

What’s it all about?

And if you’re anything like me, you’ve not the first, nor faintest, idea; you’ve not a clue, no doubt, except that

All this goes, you see, to show
We’ve just got, from this planet, somehow, now, to leave, to go – or else, on pain of death
Advance, evolve, mature, move on, and quickly, so that
We, lost children – fallen, far – from paradise, and
Mother Earth, my love
The final word, and
Final mystery
Final resting place
Last hope, we
Once
Called
Home

Yet I, meanwhile, alone
All, all, alone

Alone on wide, wide sea
The solitude, too much, my soul
In agony

And love, they say, the ocean in which we bathe
And love, they say, the ocean
Love, the ocean, in which
We bathe, so, then
Embrace me, ocean, love
Wash over me, submerged, far out, far down, the depths
To drown me now

My heart, no more

My heart, no more

No more, for love

For love, my heart, no more, and I

I
Am
As
One
Single
Burning flame
My heart to melt within, until

Bright orange sunset sky
Bleeds red the dying day, the
Ocean, barely moving, still
Its waters gently rippling rhythmic
Strokes, and lapping wave on wave
And soothing sound, the surf, the sand, surrounding
Timeless
(I)
In time
Cocooned, suspended, thinking
Whispering, words, to me, to music, mind, mind’s echo – breathing
Sound, subconscious
Sensual, soft
Caresses, kissing
Sky, on silken sheet, about
My shoulders, shivering, small – too tiny, and, too trivial – inconsequential – lost, in
Anguish, doubt, equivocation, ambiguity
Too much shade, and too much shadow
Too much thinking, over-thinking, too much thought
The fading sky, bright mirroring moon, and me
My body, water, breadth, and depth, recalling
Recollections – and reflections
Unfathomable, maddening, mostly, in
Their strangeness –
Wild, impetuous, instinctive, bestial
Insanity, or simply
Human
Animality, and
All sense slipping silently away, while seeming, somehow, subtly
Still, serene, the surface, here, so light, so bright, upon, my eye
As if, in waiting
Not comprehending, understanding, yet
Not lost, entirely, at the last, the
Sentences, at the story’s end, one
World, and
Single verse, the
Layers, rich, in mystery
Sea breeze, breathing, soothing
Ear, to hear
Inspired, a song, once more, within, to sing, so
Magnificently, as a dream, of some wild, distant
Far off, other place, and
Other language, world
And tongue of land
The salt
And weight of earth, to lap – on ancient ocean’s memories
Mountains, breath, of
Sky
A spectacle, seeming, all
For me, alone, to see
My purpose, wondering
Awestruck, blink of eye, upon this scene
This beauty
Time

This time, you see

This time

(A dream, divine)

(Too beautiful)

And so it is, I pray

Heart nourish, please, the eternal in me
Heart nourish, please, the eternal in you
Heart nourish, please, the eternal in everyone – all living things
Heart nourish, please, the eternal, everywhere

Life’s beating heart – expansion – inhalation – breath
And all the oxygen to the mind, the
Mind’s attention, inspiration, so
Alive, to
Breathing flow, the breath of time – through exhalation – and contraction – beating heart – to death
Release me, let me go

And now I ask you
Day turned night, and
Naked moon, unveiled, full white, revealed
I gaze my upturned eye upon
Is – she – too, now
Gazing, down
On me
These same dark, starry, skies
In moonlit eyes, reflecting, lonely
Light, of
Memory

And, if so
Accept, then, please, wherever you may be
My love, these songs
I sing for you, and
Sing them, too, if once they reach you
Music, sweet
Red light of evening, drawing
Thoughts as if adrift upon a lake
So seeming calm, so blue
Or quiet walk, alone, on ocean shore
And sunset sky beneath the moonlit night
To sing, again, what I sing now – sing still, in
Heart, too full, my love, for you
Of longing, only
Longing, here
To sing these songs again, as if they were a spell – a magic spell, and
Word, enchantment, whereby
To shrink the distance, vast
Between us, thereby
Leaving
Only, love, and
Loving heart, a gentle lullaby
In sound, in space, and song, sung
To seek, and find, and reach, and touch
Some heart, again, one day, perhaps
In love, indeed, and true
No longer me
No longer you

And what a strange and marvellous journey – this day, itself, the last, too beautiful

And wherever you are – here, now, in thought
I beg you – draw now near, my dear – my darling, hold me close
The dark seems sometimes scary – lonely, even now – unless
That is, in thought, in mind, I sense you’re somewhere here, still
And always, somehow, by me
Hand in hand
In case the night proves long
And comes too soon, too suddenly

And one never really knows the time, the truth to tell, to
Turn out, at last, the light
Embrace the night
In thought, in mind, in heart, prepared, just if – in case
It’s time to leave life, breathless, now
Our each and every second, dying, anyhow

And how I loved you, once, so passionately
And, how gently, now, I love you, still
These seas, indeed, are calm, a dream
On which to sail far, far away
Sleep tight, my love, a kiss
Good night
My heart, adieu
Farewell

In death, perhaps, together, now
The future, present, past
At rest, at last

(c) Bede Nix, 17 January 2021.
This text has been “received” – maybe “generated”, by way of GPT-3 poetry (just joking!) – with all the superfluous and extraneous material removed, as best I could, as much as possible, and the expression, too, cut back, as far as could be, to its bare bones, to leave the rest, as it were, in silence – the unspoken, the unsaid – if thought. In any case, the final and definitive version of this text shall be delivered only upon my absolute and final death, as authored, and as certified. And only then, the end.

Our History Here And Now

Our History Here and Now

Our history here and now. And looking to the future, we try to be free from the past – to survive it, at least; learn the lessons when we can. Yet no peace for those that died so seemingly in vain; no rest yet for the restless, forgotten, dead – singing songs of sadness – resistance – liberation; in chorus, calling out to us – calling out to me, to you – to listen, understand – sing too; and if only it weren’t at times so hard for us to listen, and to hear – so easy to forget – not find – our voices – our voices to be sounded, crying out, and heard. Turn to one another, then – and lift your voice, my voice, our voices – lifting hearts and hands and heads up to the sky – and sing this song together – it must and will be heard, and shall – this day, this night, this time. Our history here and now.

© Bede Nix, 19 June 2020. All rights reserved.

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time
some long, long time ago
I’m sure that once I’d heard – I must have heard – recalled, most certainly – on whisper’s breeze of heaven’s breath
that sound of silence, sounding out – sound of silence, sounding me
yet still I don’t recall quite when that was, as if it was
pre-conscious memory, perhaps
and just a feeling, then
like sound of distant seas, maybe
as if I knew you
yet left to sound my own way
i would
i think,
sound, so, and, be, so, sounding, still
and sounding, silence, somehow
quietly
to this day
and sounding
simply
well, and
true
for you
but no, this was not to be, because, at birth
that sounding quietness lost
as others swiftly gathered round
to smell, to sense
skin close, and
tender warm
this
human
being
formed, and
from
one heartbeat’s breath into another born
to be
for me
too tired and troubled, often
nervous, noisy, anxious, agitated
sometimes aggressive, and confused
sad – angry – jealous – frightened
foolish – often fooled
and seeking, always, restless, change, in blink of eye, and screaming cry
for it’s exactly as they say, or something like
it takes a village, after all, to kill a child – child’s creative spirit – joy in life
takes a village, after all, to murder me
smothering quietness, stillness, contentment, calm
in so much human bonding, human grouping
blind human groping around, like
blind men in the dark
dark human quibbling, human squabbling
so many human hierarchies and societies
sacrificing all
upon the altar of the centre
on the sacred middle ground
the curled up calming stupidity, so seeming safe
from where
huddled up and hid within – the herd immunity
to worship – tinny din –
the endless tedium
tiresome tyranny of the normal – and the standard – the acceptable
the drumbeat all together now
step up, then – shout – for one, for all – it’s all the same – the same, no difference –
don’t stand up, stand out
sit down, shut up
in other words
and fake it
take it
total idiocy
hammering down the heaviness
any quiet residual human dignity, quiet nobility
abandoned, now, and lost
on ocean torrent, wave, on drowning wave
the beating hearts, so few, to hear the sound
the human heartbeat sound
breath of humanity
(breath recalling you)
and
such life, at any rate, I know, is not for me, for
i seek the silence – and the songs not sung, or heard, before
for which,
leave me please alone now
in the solitude, and the company
of the woods and forest
birds, the
singing
songs
of trees
and,
imagine my surprise, then
lost, as I was
in wild and windswept word
and howling thought, upon
that solitary, stormy, evening walk
all thunder, lightning, pouring rain
when sudden stillness, equilibrium at the crossroads
rose suddenly, and fell
reached out, from left, and right
to meet me, to embrace, and hold me there
in sound of rustling leaves
soft, evening light
between the branches
and the trees
and there, in that one wild embrace, in time, I, rooted, stood
stood sudden straight back tall
as if,
at last, to recognize, myself, like
some solid, splendid tree, somehow
grown up, from here
the earth
the ground, of memory
sky of mind
and sudden clearing ray of light
and forest thoughts at once like birdsong taking flight
I did not see a soul, you see – felt free
just you and me
and walking on, again
in evening woods, alone
a quietening, calming, restful, stillness, silence, seemed, once more, to sound, from me,
like distant church or temple bell
stone dropping quietly
mind of rippling memory
well
as if, just then, deep down, I could, somehow
recall, myself, to me
not only ancient, archaic, ancestral memory
someone – who knows – from sometime way back when
but here, now, too, as me
and, as really
I was, or could, or should be – there – for no one – or for all to see
and
in calling you
recalling you
i find
i see and hear
i understand
i am
again
as in a dream, perhaps
perhaps a wish, perhaps desire
perhaps a destiny, or fate
or prayer, perhaps
a prayer
maybe
and songs not ever heard before, quite simply
or not, at least, by you, and me
together, here, alone
together, here, as we, and
always all together in our thoughts; and in our thoughts always alone
all sing together then, my love; for
change contagion’s coming soon, somehow
change contagion’s coming anyhow
right here, it’s coming
it’s coming now

© Bede Nix, 13 June 2020. All rights reserved.