Blue Crows

March 31

BLUE CROWS

Blue crows streak across my dreaming mind’s sky; they take up their post in a line of trees. I stand at the edge of a burning field. I feel nauseous at the thought of glorifying an ‘active’ life. Everything is burned, scarred and crumpled; the flashy crows call from the hedgerow. I know it’s time to fly. The fire is out and I have work to do to keep the sparks and dormant embers from ruining another harvest. I must travel with these strange birds and live an odd but regimented life. I needn’t scorch my feet on this ground again but, like my companions, must spend some time in survey. If I do not fully assess this damage, I might not fully embrace this dawn.

Bury your dead issues.

*

Why is it so hard to be me?

I have everything I could wish for.

I have love and friendship,

I have talent and ability.

What more could I want?

I don’t want more,

I want to learn how to overcome fear

and live with disappointment.

Abundance is ever at the door,

but I have no room for plenty.

Reassurance is the thing I chase after,

yearn for, pine about, but it is an illusive thing

like taking hold of smoke.

Allusion is the gift-wrap of reality

the unwrapping often puts me off the contents;

regaining my composure and reestablishing willingness

is a difficult job requiring dedication and fortitude.

The barrier before the carefree me

is thought, the strongest of all substance.

I must heal the calcifications of my mind and resist rigidity.

My thinking is what makes being me problematic

without it I am nothing at all.