Your Body // Wake up. // Take a moment to feel // Before you even open your eyes // Feel what's inside your body. //Rest your awareness on the pain, the tension, the stress. // Notice if you're holding your breath // Now open your eyes. // make your way to the mirror. // Look at yourself. // Notice if something's different // You're seeing something // Something that wasn't there before // Something underneath your eyes. // Observe how it makes you see yourself // Touch it. // Draw your attention to how it feels // If you notice that it wasn't here yesterday, that's ok. // It's here now. Notice if your skin looks different // It may just be the light // or not. It may be nothing. // And in any case your life as it is is already too full. // Too many things to remember. // Too many things to take care of. // Too many responsibilities. // Too many obligations. // Too many commitments. Understand that in the end it's your body that gets you, one way or another. Draw your attention to a feeling of anticipation // That's your body // waiting // Waiting for a moment. // A moment when you aren’t looking. // Then it comes .// To silently put its hands over your mouth // You can try to get away // Waiting until it isn’t looking. // Waiting until it isn't expecting you to sneak away. Better to keep your plans a secret // Take your time. // Be natural. Early one morning crawl out of bed. // Feel the floor underneath you // Crawl down the hall on your belly. // Observe the door in front of you // Reach up. // Now slowly open the door. // Rest your awareness on the change in temperature // Crawl onto the landing. // Down the stairs. // Onto the street. // Crawl to the gutter. // Open the drain. // Crawl inside. // Now keep crawling // crawl all the way back home
A Number // I'm thinking of a number, a sequence the length of a phone number, which is what it is. Imprinted, but the last time I dialled it, forever ago. I can choose to recall it, or it just comes. So, it's never gone, really. Let … me… see… 0 - 7 - 5 - 9…
Over The Sides // It's coming now, rushing. Racing over your skin, in waves. Your shirt flapping. An animalistic howl, or a siren scream. Fasten your seatbelts, nail the tables down, nail your children down. Catch your breath before it folds inward. Over the edges. Over the sides. Into the centre. Remember that lake in the park. The appearance of still water and ducks drifting. They drift toward that circular disk, a ring of water running over the edges. Falling. What do the ducks know about nothingness? They could swim away - if they had a mind to. Or a sense of self preservation. Like at the threat of being eaten. But can you swim away? Where is the centre? Turn away. Walk away. Swim away. If you weren't already nailed down. Over the edges. Over the sides. Over the edges. Into the centre.
On this Day // One day the sun didn't come up. We knew the day would come. Well, technically, it didn't. But we still had clocks. We still had watches. We still had other time-keeping devices. So, we pretended. We accepted another fresh coat of night and said: actually, this is perfectly normal. It was harder for the birds to engage in this wilful act of self-deception. The silent ice of a sky empty of bird call would have been enough to have us all slip into a deadening depression born of endless night. But, calmer heads prevailed. All it took was a small adjustment. A shift in perception. All the weeping masses lying prone on the pavements. All so much unattended, heaving laundry up and down the streets, In fact: magpies. Just will it so. Birds never sounded that way before, you say, but, can you be so sure? This age of new perception, where night is night and night is day, required a settling-in period. But the human species is a highly adaptive one. Some examples of the species were more akin to the proverbial duck to water than others. It's a greasy art for sure. But shine a light at just the right angle. Call it the sun with enough conviction. Sooner or later. Nearly everyone gets on board. When's the last time we had a full consensus anyway? With birds no longer providing a soundtrack we find melodies elsewhere. The revving of an engine carried across a concrete and iron bridge is enough to put a spring in your step these days. Only the smashed face of a broken clock might have the whole facade crumbling into dust. No need to fear for that day to come though. Days no longer come at all. We make them. On the spot.
Lose Control // When I lose control I need more than a time out, catch your breath, decompress, go to your happy place, reset, find your centre. When I lose control you'll all know. You, you, you, you, you, you and you for sure. Conversations peter out, music stops, heads turn, silence, near enough, you can hear the electric hum. When I lose control I don't suppose I'll know. But you can bring me up to speed with the uploaded clips an hd audio What he did, what he said, where we were. When I lose control.
All In A Day's Work // I wouldn't last a day in the jungle. I'd give myself 12 hours. And that's being generous. No fresh water, the suffocating humidity, being constantly wet, the relentless clouds of buzzing mosquitoes amongst the din of a thousand other jungle inhabitants, great and small. Just enough of each setback to instil an overwhelming sense of helpless dread, tied to an anchor of desperation. The desperation of being lost. I'd be the one, hanging over the side of the canoe. Limp as a wet rag. Head and one lifeless arm hanging over the side, trailing through the water. He just gave up and let himself die. He looks like he would. A lack of fortitude and will. Weak of body, weak of mind. Why pretend? Why act tough? For who? For you? Oh you'd be fine, naturally. You'd take it all in stride, no doubt. Walking calmly past every waiting calamity. Collecting rain water with leaves and bamboo stalks. Finding all the best branches for shelter. Setting animal traps in just the right places. If you hadn't already navigated your way out in the first hours. All in a day's work, you'd say for the cameras, dusting your hands off. All in a day's work.
My House // Someone’s in my house … and in my BED My clothes are piling up in the corner of the room. I hear water running … in the bathroom Someone's been using my phone. I'm looking at the calls, I don't know any of these numbers! The front door was open … yesterday. It was raining. I saw footprints … coming into my house. My shoes were by the entrance … all muddy. Someone's here. In my house. Where's the letter that came this morning? The empty envelope is in the kitchen on the table … with MY NAME on it. I TOLD you, someone's here. I KNOW that. The front door's open AGAIN. And the water's STILL running.
Nothing
This is the Place // This is the place A nice place? Some kind of place for sure Familiar anyhow It will be Peace Is that the word? What does that taste like? What colour would it be? What’s the overriding sense impression? This place This familiar place There’s still time Time to collect your thoughts (Whatever that means). Stay here Maybe an hour Or till tomorrow The next week, the next month, year Stay till whenever. The leaves are swaying The rest is still, it seems. But underneath 100,000 rotations Evolutions Deteriorations Shocks, chills, calls at all hours of the day And then Expirations Into the unknown No stillness A blinking star On a pitch black canvas A gaze cast across space Faster than anyone That’s for sure Cast from way out there to here And here by the trees and in the breeze You’re long gone. This is the place.
Real Silence // It's ever so hard to feel real silence. When you cover up your ears with your hands that's not real silence. That's hiding. That's hiding from the world around you. Like a child putting their hands over their eyes thinking the world doesn't see them. Real silence is when there’s not a single sound. What do you hear now? Birds? Dogs? Do you hear cars, trams? Do you hear voices? Maybe only sounds, yelling, calling, laughing, shouting. Layers of sounds, machinery, vehicles, people. How would it be to get away for a while? Somewhere deep in a forest far from the city sounds. A place where you can only hear the trees and the birds. But if you want to feel the real silence, you can look for it in a cave or down in a well, or deep underwater. Then you can feel real silence. Try it. Take yourself there. See what it feels like. Just pause. What’s there? Something. Whistling in your skull. White noise. You hear it now, faint but constant. You can't get there. You can’t quite find it. You can’t quite reach it. It’s ever so hard to feel real silence.