Hanging Ten

Today I am the fool
I am the fool I have always wanted to be
the fool I have strived for, worked for, prayed for, meditated for
wished for her lightened soul
smiling while hanging ten over the edge
meeting the cliff
eyes lifted
heart free
willing to risk failure, humiliation, pain
devastation - bring it
embarrassment - I'm ready
pain, separation, loss, grief, hatred, resentment, rancor,
sing me your siren's songs and I will come crawling no
clawing my way to you
I will wallow around in your darkness
and I will prevail
there is no place I would rather be
than here, in this terrifying location of my heart
She has destroyed me and I am utterly free

I set out to dazzle and destroy, and here I am the victim, the patient, the injured the devastated
My skin is rent from my body, my dance unhinged, my story broken, my cover blown
nothing is what it was, I am unleashed, unfettered, and yet wholly, entirely one

I know now there is no safety in this life, no story to be told, no lie to be woven into the truth
this ache, this pain, this suffering, this desire for some word, some gesture, some musing that will tie down my vagrant soul, pacify my endless bottomless echoing emptiness of self-doubt, despair, longing, lingering childhood desire, or secure the insecurity, it is not there. I am not there. This is my there.

I must float, roam, meander, mince, prance and run my way straight through but lingering long, sitting down for a rest, breathing in the grass, feeling the fallen log, the dewy wetness, the gloomy clouds, the mouldering leaves, the hot, wet, dry cold wind of that place. Neither moss, nor sand, water, nor rock, night or day. I must build a fire, collect wood, create a shelter, gather up berries, make friends with the night owl, shiver in the damp, count the shooting stars, mourn for the creatures, smile at the dawn of that horrible, amazing place. It is where I live now, on the edge of the wood, neither here, nor there, no discernible location, no knowable address. Where on earth do I reside? nowhere, and everywhere. I will unpack my things, make my bed, lie down in my new home, fold the linens, empty the dishwasher, and let the love flow freely, because the hum of the pain will forever drown out the light if I let it. Will forever be my soundtrack if I do not change the tune.

So now I sing the new song. The song of love and hope, the song of you, the song of me, the song I was born singing, the song of my heart, the song of my wild and precious, chain-less soul.