There is tension, more often than not it’s your lonely personal tension. You wait, and wait and look again at the gap and the water. They’re laughing on the other side, at you, the joke is on you and the gap and your fear. Their short trouser sniggers cut deep and you look again at the yawning treacherous chasm filled with snapping crocodiles.
But it’s not that, it’s not about the other side.
Tall tree, same smirky fuckers shouting down that it’s easy as you clamber looking for safe branches on which to climb up with your fat pudgy legs. In a rain forest, they’re now above the tree line looking down on an early spring green, and you’re still staring up at dappled autumn, alone in a golden balloon, tree hugging for the first time in your life.
It’s not about climbing trees.
There’s a fight, lunatic madness mayhem of broken jaws and bloody noses and you lay concussed on the ground with a compensating injury which means that at least, you were there and that you tried and got stuck in. The percussion rings in your head.
Not about fighting either.
Comes a time for fear and demons. And you draw on those short trouser moments when you jumped, climbed or fought and you come up short, cause that courage don’t get you where you need to be anymore. An old man looks at thrushes and crows and paranoia creeps as he walks across the green becoming half ash, sinking into the black ground. Darkness settles, but the others in your life go about merry tasks and you watch TV on your own, and watch them watching you.
It’s about this.
It’s about settling with your ashes, not embracing but settling with your ashes and sitting. Walking downtown and saluting her respectfully, knowing she‘s not there to meet you for a final coffee, not just yet. It’s about joys that rise, about sunrises and the moment. It’s about thinking with your stomach and settling.
And it’s okay.