Wondering how I can iron out the wrinkles in my uneasy demeanour, knowing that I may have said too much. But there was never going to be a right time, not a right format or warning overture to steer the senses to a better understanding of events, though hidden, still very present. Strongly so.  I am a jumble of emotions and misunderstandings not least because I chose to say what I felt, to traverse the deep cavern below disappearing into a rushing river of deep-seated sentiment, too far below the usual skin of awareness that dresses this light with a translucency that reveals only partial things, distorted blurred images of something we may recognise but too unmanifest and unspoken to be identified. I feel like the victim of my own refusal; my inability to make real what my heart desires. Did I misplace my intent, and replace it with luck and wishful thinking? I guess it isn’t important what I feel and know, it never was and may never be. Life happens alongside me, while I jostle aimlessly with the giants that inhabit a world that I have little grasp or knowledge of. I admit my earthly incompetence, like a penitent widow of a system that failed long ago, that I cling on to because I know no other way to differentiate between patterns of behaviour, and images of self, the colours of an unbridled soul too espoused in common knowledge to look beyond the confining hedge and to the horizon at the edge of the comfortable world. From time to time I catch a glimpse of a flash in the distance, the charge of atoms that draws my vision elsewhere, and for a moment I know that I am somewhere new, with someone new yet familiar; a hyperactive jolt of awareness that scissors through my usual fog, and estranged reasoning. But it doesn’t last, it passes before I have a chance to absorb the atmospheric changes inherent in the whisper of change, the adjustment of vision, and the expansion of selfhood. Then it is gone, too quick to name or give reference to.

The wrinkles in my composure remain, falling upon me like a fine gauze of confusion and annoyance. Annoyed because my waking consciousness wasn’t made privy to the changes, to the things that I would become so attached to. But this is not all me, though it is the culmination of shared experiences and visions, dreams, fantasies. Of sparks that if left would cause irrepressible fires, and cause storms to engage the skies and the physical flesh of the land within my apparent but failing grasp. I can only ride out the storm and hope that I do not fail my senses; that dry land finds me, though be it an island out at sea, and that I do not find myself alone.

15 thoughts on “Bright Tongue

    1. Hi Viveka. It’s a tricky piece to read I know. It was something I channelled a while back, often just sensing the mood of the piece is the best way of interpreting it.
      I think of my writing, especially these kinds of poetic pieces, are like abstract paintings. You don’t always have to understand it in order to like it or dislike it [Smile]

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        1. On the contrary, I mean the kind of blistering sunshine and heat I experienced while I was in Venice recently, where your skin darkens significantly within minutes, and the name Jesus (pronounced ‘Hey Zeus!’) takes on a new significance, though more akin to bronze Goddess than God. Such is not possible in our wan English light that turns you a pale shade of lilac from too much exposure to cloudshine.
          😉

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  1. “From time to time I catch a glimpse of a flash in the distance, the charge of atoms that draws my vision elsewhere, and for a moment I know that I am somewhere new, with someone new yet familiar; a hyperactive jolt of awareness that scissors through my usual fog, and estranged reasoning. But it doesn’t last, it passes before I have a chance to absorb the atmospheric changes inherent in the whisper of change, the adjustment of vision, and the expansion of selfhood. Then it is gone, too quick to name or give reference to.”

    And the Universe grants whispers, but the shutter closes and the breath of light slams shut. Still, it is enough that the chorus may say, “Amen.”

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    1. That’s the thing with writing in the first person, it makes it difficult to discern whether it is a work of fiction or not. I like the ambiguity it affords, even though there is much room for misinterpretation, or lack if interpretation at all as I’ve discovered! LOL
      I like the imagery of this piece. For the most part I really enjoy writing these lyrical pieces because they are very emotive. Poetic license I guess 🙂

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        1. I didn’t think you were. I like your addition to it very much. I really love the idea of writing a lyrical piece with someone else, so that it becomes a much more organic and free-flowing process.

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  2. Love it Ishaiya! Your reflections almost sound like a prayer! I have often wondered myself if I am the architect of my own destiny, or if as you say “Life happens alongside me, while I jostle aimlessly with the giants that inhabit a world that I have little grasp or knowledge of” Still haven’t found the answers 🙂

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    1. I think generally I agree with the idea that we create our own reality and destinies, but sometimes it is all too easy to get caught up in the illusion of it all, so that we cannot tell if we are steering the ship or not. This piece was written at a time when I felt a little rudderless 🙂

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