Who ever thought I’d find therapy in driving.
Okay, so my blogging experience actually did start back on DeviantArt three years ago, with me finding more wisdom and symbolism in my driving instructor’s words than in the Bible.
So maybe…this makes even more sense! That I was slipping reeling falling
and instead of the usual concoctions of coffee, smoke-squat sessions and tear-drenched pillows surrounded by friends and hands
made a playlist of songs that speak to my soul
and i got into my car
at 10PM on Sunday night
(when the church bells have stopped their beauty, their racket, their reminders)
and I drove out into the mist.
I had no set paths
I just knew this reeling was too close to my old illness
and at this age and point in time
i really cannot go backwards.
so off i go, in my little box, streets nearly deserted, the mist scaring me at first, then challenging me
Underoath, As Cities Burn, Brand New
I started to scream
primal, high-pitched, throat-burning screams with no words
knuckles white gripping the steering wheel
slowing down at every stop street, braking at every robot
not a reckless loss of physical control
but in those screams comes out so much of the repressed state
eventually the tears come
and then the words
all my questions, all that sickness.
Mariana’s Trench, Death Cab For Cutie, City & Colour, Owl City
screaming to a pitch black sky and a foggy grey-white horizon
out of which suddenly appears a massive church, a school, a house
my own voice rings back at me
keeps ringing in my head today still
i realise more than i can write here
but when i come home, it is visible (at least to me)
that i am calmer.
i twitch less and in the bed i rest
journalling my thoughts, discoveries, and this one line,
not from any song, this is mine:
MAKE THIS MOTION COUNT
As my readers will know, I’ve been thinking about motion for ages. I am in motion, I am a speck of almost static insignificance in the great motion of the universe. I receive and feel motions, I give out motions. These motions are never eternal, never always the same. But what is the meaning of these motions?
I will never forget a quote on Mrs Nicholson’s wall. History classroom, Grade twelve.
“It’s not enough to be busy, so are the ants. The question is, what are we busy about?” – Henry David Thoreau
There are more changes to be made, but this is a good place I am in right now. Solid enough, yet vulnerable enough, so that I have both the strength and the urgency of sorting my shit out.
I have five long nails.