the Tyger's jaws (temporary title)
What does it take to not be a lemming in the world?
To be free to be yourself?
To feel safe to speak, to see, to hear....
What does it take to inspire yourself?
Outside of parameters, systems, rules, myths, laws of attraction, protocols,
And all the rest of it?
What does it take to remember who you are?
That young girl who went to Canada with misty eyes full of hope?
They opened an entire world to her,
Full of Romanticism, analysis, kindred spirits,
Potential, never really actualised.
North America, for all its faults, has an ever expanding energy.
You go there, you feel liberated, like the eagle.
Nothing to do with amendments, laws, spying.
Just Earth. Mountains. From sea to shining sea.
A yawning canyon that swallows up whole the entire calm sky.
A drawl that loosens the inhibitions.
Fantasies perhaps.
Yet, pioneering in a sense.
I always think I've understood,
I've caught on to the elusive fabric of reality.
An eighth energy centre, sparkling clean.
They say I live outside my body too much.
I can't seem to paint upon this canvas,
nothing meaningful,
Droplets, squiggles, a half hearted pear.
I do not remember agreeing to this,
nor do I understand how I could be so blind and closed up, walled in.
Yet, here I am, this husk of a woman,
Breathing before you
Disoriented.
I have forgotten all.
"Where are my soul friends?
Where is the flint to ignite my fire?"
She asks forlornly.
Who are those who truly understand? Hopes, dreams, passion... ou-etes vous?
Sometimes, we agree to things,
To delay things.
To abstain.
To attain vertical height and levitation,
To do acrobatics in the higher realms,
at the risk of any horizontal progress at all.
We forget that both are possible,
And that self punishment and self denial,
and this unbearable sense of pining for that which has been lost,
Or for that which will is not to be.
Is futile.
Futility in existence...
And yet,
Lilacs bloom every spring.
And she remembers how Chicken Soup for The Teenage Soul
saved her life.
Continuously revived her,
After countless mini deaths.
The ones who artfully sliced her heart,
then mended it with cookies, milk and
a book for teenagers going through angst.
Poetically messy and artful in decimation.
When do we stop regenerating as lemmings,
and start Being fearless individuals,
unswayed by energies and stardust pelting down upon the earth,
unceasingly, cutting up into ribbons,
then carefully piecing us all back,
raw, bloodless,
Real?
Time and space do not exist.
The cycle is endless.
First, there was the Word.
And then,
Chaos reigned.
Such is the pattern.
There is measured kindness melted into
the Tyger's jaws.
~ Sukaina Juma, 6th February 2014
What does it take to not be a lemming in the world?
To be free to be yourself?
To feel safe to speak, to see, to hear....
What does it take to inspire yourself?
Outside of parameters, systems, rules, myths, laws of attraction, protocols,
And all the rest of it?
What does it take to remember who you are?
That young girl who went to Canada with misty eyes full of hope?
They opened an entire world to her,
Full of Romanticism, analysis, kindred spirits,
Potential, never really actualised.
North America, for all its faults, has an ever expanding energy.
You go there, you feel liberated, like the eagle.
Nothing to do with amendments, laws, spying.
Just Earth. Mountains. From sea to shining sea.
A yawning canyon that swallows up whole the entire calm sky.
A drawl that loosens the inhibitions.
Fantasies perhaps.
Yet, pioneering in a sense.
I always think I've understood,
I've caught on to the elusive fabric of reality.
An eighth energy centre, sparkling clean.
They say I live outside my body too much.
I can't seem to paint upon this canvas,
nothing meaningful,
Droplets, squiggles, a half hearted pear.
I do not remember agreeing to this,
nor do I understand how I could be so blind and closed up, walled in.
Yet, here I am, this husk of a woman,
Breathing before you
Disoriented.
I have forgotten all.
"Where are my soul friends?
Where is the flint to ignite my fire?"
She asks forlornly.
Who are those who truly understand? Hopes, dreams, passion... ou-etes vous?
Sometimes, we agree to things,
To delay things.
To abstain.
To attain vertical height and levitation,
To do acrobatics in the higher realms,
at the risk of any horizontal progress at all.
We forget that both are possible,
And that self punishment and self denial,
and this unbearable sense of pining for that which has been lost,
Or for that which will is not to be.
Is futile.
Futility in existence...
And yet,
Lilacs bloom every spring.
And she remembers how Chicken Soup for The Teenage Soul
saved her life.
Continuously revived her,
After countless mini deaths.
The ones who artfully sliced her heart,
then mended it with cookies, milk and
a book for teenagers going through angst.
Poetically messy and artful in decimation.
When do we stop regenerating as lemmings,
and start Being fearless individuals,
unswayed by energies and stardust pelting down upon the earth,
unceasingly, cutting up into ribbons,
then carefully piecing us all back,
raw, bloodless,
Real?
Time and space do not exist.
The cycle is endless.
First, there was the Word.
And then,
Chaos reigned.
Such is the pattern.
There is measured kindness melted into
the Tyger's jaws.
~ Sukaina Juma, 6th February 2014
