b'shert
“You are what you believe in. You become that which you believe you can become.”
I feel the thirst for passion in my body as a plant waits for water in the desert. Parched, perhaps, though not counting on the rain. There is an understanding of timing. The things I crave will not appear to me when I want them. The need will be quenched, eventually. An appreciation of the surrender that must come before the event takes place.
Do butterflies recognize when they are born?
Does the fox think before it leaps?
It is an intuitive sensation and not a mental fluctuation. The stir is so deep, it penetrates the nervous system and tells the synapses to move. Is it the intention that drives me forward? Or something else?
What would that be something else if not me? Who else is here with me in these long, dark hours when sleep will not come?
I was awake past midnight and dreams kept my being busy. I had been throwing up under a tree, my hands holding tight to its roots. My palms were filthy; my nails were full of dirt. I heaved on my knees until green goo poured out onto the earth and I woke up screaming. I shuddered in bed and fell onto the floor. Rolling sideways, I pressed myself up to my shins and set my palms on the flat floorboards. My palms were damp and cold. I cried out and silence answered.
Fear filled my body. Someone was in the space with me; a softness that stood to my left side. It moved a little and lingered as I stood up and slithered back in bed. I drew my knees to my chest and curled into the fetal position. The thing stayed with me until I fell into deep, dreamless sleep.
When I woke there were birds chattering and the church bells ringing wide and clear in the blue sky.
I have moved my purging to my dreams; into the latent part of my subconscious. I will never puke in the physical world as I have in the past ever again.
Photo source.
