Too Much, Too Raw, Too Real, Too Quick

Too much, too raw, too real, too quick, Life bursts wide open, like a wound festering, gaping, infected. Life is like birthing babies, again and again, within seconds, never having time to recover, once. Life is a bullet breaking skin, hitting the heart deep within chambers of orchestras playing, sustaining lungs. Life is time, clicking the clock goes *tick tock* - in the deepest, darkest parts of my soul the bleeding is endless, like the ever changing faces of Mother Nature. Time is short and long, simultaneous, when attempting to maintain some semblance of sanity, in a world gone quite insane. And the soul takes flight every single moment of breath, like that of the eagle, yet grounded, on Earth. This mundane society is killing me, softly. The constant incessant chattering of tongues that do not recognize my speech stare at me - wild eyed in wonder, like that painting, The Scream - I stand, horrified and shocked, turning my back on millions of children screaming - millions of people hurting - billions of souls crying out - love, love, please show me love. Oh, but the birds, wildlife even the trees - the sky knows my name and calls to me at dusk, to show me its bright eyes and diamonds dancing in the endless abyss of the universe. The mighty hand of wind changes direction, in milliseconds causing my neck to crack, spine misaligned, a constant whiplash of my senses, reeling into dimensions, I have not yet traveled and have no choice but to stand and face myself. For I am woman, strong, born of the cracked and wounded hands of immigrants, who built this land we now reside on, stolen from others now sacrificed in vain. I am not the woman I was five minutes ago. Dear Great Creator, crown my head with great golden angels, and send me into places of peace, to meadows and sunshine, to deep waters of dolphins diving, and the vast free wilderness of Africa. For my body is tired, yet my soul is exploding supernovas of senses tethered in this human shell, my head feels like it is about to crack wide open, and all the secrets of this place we stand upon are to be known, yet my feeble human mouth is not enough to report my discoveries. I need ammunition. Please send recon, a backup, something to tell me that I am not alone, to tell me that my blood is not spilled in vain, to let me know that all of my breaths have not been wasted for nothing. I need a sign, Morse code, a telegraph, take me back to the days of trade, cover my body in pelts of wildebeests, and sit me down by fireside. Explain to me why I have chosen this path for myself. My dear Lord, I understand far too much, too raw, too real, too quick. Life is like birthing babies, again and again, within seconds, never having time to recover, once. Words & photo © Susan Marie