Stream

Hey there... I'm feeling kind of down tonite, and so, I wanted to talk to you... lately, I've been feeling bored... and a little listless... and I dunno if this is because the endorphin rush from my chriopractic adjustment is wearing off and now I'm experiencing "chiro-hangover" or if this is just kind of like me realizing stuff that's going on that I haven't noticed until just now, but there's this shroud of hopelessness obstructing my view... making everything gray and lifeless...

Color has always meant something to me... somehow, color tells its own story... Messaien certainly believed this... that color has personality... if I had a color right now... it would be a purple lavender that was run down by a sweeping steel gray and still carries remnants of it, scars from the battle... the color that the spirit of burnt grass carries when the roots are dead... the color that shines off the garbage can where a mother throws away her baby... hope for the world, cast aside... the very foundations of love, gone... like a storm riding across a violet field... a vision of sanctity on the back of chaos...

You never know what to do... sometimes, it feels like there is nothing you can do... to help others... to, in turn, help yourself... don't you know your heart always holds a place for everything you've loved? Yet, things come and go with the passage of light and dark, happiness and sorrow... and you will find new avenues... but will you forget the ones you used to live on? The ones that, too, took care of you when you were layed down and everything was purple too?

And really, what is the goal of the fly that lives and dies an existence in one day? If you lock it in a jar or a room, and it can't get out... what then? Is it destined to hit the jar forever until it dies? To try in vain to free itself? Or does the fly accept that purple sky into his veins? Does it become his story? Can he see that he has fallen from the top of the mountains? Or, being at the bottom, does he see only upwards?

I think so... I think that this purple-gray we all encounter in our lives... the kind that makes us cry... the kind of color that makes us want to stream breathless sobs... buries itself in time... if we look back... all we can see is the toll taken... all that lies in the field is fallen and broken... but... if we look foward... to see what happens after the storm... to see what can be, now... we are like the fly who tries to break out of that jar... with success on his mind and the sheer fragrance of damage in his wake...

So, I feel better... knowing that, like religion and hate, hopelessness can, too, be harnessed... whether our husband beats us, our g/f cheated on us, our child is missing, or we're just unsure about what we're all about... we don't have to let it get the best of us... we can look up, not down, ahead, not backwards, feel, not inhibit, and take in, not push out...