The Slow Song to Bethany

The sea echoes forth with its weary tide

slowing to lick precious salt from my toes.

Its beating wings build to a crescendo

in spray of white and wind.

The sea sings of carrying me away,

its retreat beckons me forward, to the

watery depths where Poseidon reigns

and justice hangs on a trident.

Cool ripples of watery hands clinging

to my warm flesh, their slippery fingers

struggling to find purchase whilst the ground

holds fast, planting my roots

in the yielding sand. The spray scurries back

to the jaws of the sea, relinquishing

its grasp in mock fear, gathering

reinforcements. To uproot me.

JC

I wrote this a while ago and found it again today. Thought this was the time to post it.

The State of Things

It was said of Van Gogh that life weighed too heavily on him. This seems a very apt statement at the moment. Everywhere I look life is weighing heavily on the people I care about. I continually feel like I am on the brink of buckling, that at any minute my knees will give way and I'll be face down in the pavement too weak to get back up.

Everyone around me seems to be feeling the same. Just as they feel they can't take any more another load is dumped on them and somehow they have to survive. There is an element of guilt over not being able to share each others' load. But in this time we are all floundering under the pressure unable to look to our left or our right, unable to really see those struggling around us.

We are together in this terrible time, but I've never felt so alone. The only thing we have to share is our own despair, which is something we feel selfish for doing. The world is shuffling along, crippled by the weight of our choices, forced to look down at our feet.

I guess we have lived through the lazy days where we could take in the sky, looking at the clouds. Basking in the metaphorical sunshine. We didn't see where our feet were headed, we didn't comprehend the true price of our leisure.

We pay for it now. And paybacks a bitch!