By Stephen Douglas
Inspirational, fresh, free flowing
Stream of consciousness plunges over the edge.
No cares, no worries to weigh down,
Off the ledge of Life into waters unknown.
Inspired by the lure of sound, activity,
Challenge of being free to do as I please;
No safety barriers, no limits to which I
Must confine my behaviour.
Here’s the sense of acceptance, to be whom I dream.
No one to monitor, keep an eye on me;
Asking how I am doing.
I place my-self-close to peer over the edge; thinking
Leap far out; out to the limit of being conscious
To feel the surge of motion carry me
On its powerful wings, so
I fly above, above the grounding limits
Of self-talk, behavioural put-downs, self-denial,
Shamefulness accusations of lies when
I try to be do my best.
Here at this spot I have the courage to
Ask the real questions of myself; to
Evaluate the facts as I see them
– Not as a parental guidance counsellor would speak –
The white foam, tumbling water,
The deep unfathomable consequences
Scream their possible purpose-ful-ness.
I steady mind and feet, get the nerve to let
Go of immaturity, self-doubt, youthful fantasies,
As the adrenalin of conclusive decision peaks,
I leap into the unknown of nothingness
Between what I know and don’t know,
Hoping for the best (pause) I put all my faith
Into this one decision.
In mid-flight, I gather knees up, put one hand around
To clasp the other and free fall into the white foam of
It comes, I sense the closeness, then it’s there;
A bomb-like splash is made as
I drop down, holding my
Breath, buoyancy is not possible, weight and speed
Break the spell of limiting my being,
A sense of new wrestling begins to emerge
Between shadowy past and
Conscious projection of unknown;
A collage of possibilities,
The what if’s and natural fawner
Explode like gun-fire shrapnel.
Then it’s gasping for H2O,
Eyes open wide and I’m laughing,
Screaming with excitement, as
Fresh gulps of air fill my lungs.
I kick my legs, strong and reach
For the rock faced edge to get a grip, for
The ascent to the track of Life;
Turning my head back to the watery spot,
I sense the shadowy image of
Youth slip, helplessly into its own watery grave.
With a heart of courage, and a mind of will,
I let the young wiser self-adjust the deck chairs,
So the sun becomes my light and
My shadows are just kept out of sight.
© stephen c douglas, 11 Jan. 18