merriment in solace.
an exploration of self - alone.
(a story told in quietude)
A quiet sound of freedom
Silence escapes me
No longer do I seek to satiate these carnal cravings
Hands upon my chest rip away what was there
I was wrapped up in barbed wire
My limbs once previously intertwined
Now break away
Unapologetically i sit alone
I do not miss anything.
Crying on my own with no comfort in the air around me
I have become my own comfort
Making merriment in solace
With no need for another person to witness
I carry my sadness and joy
No one else could anyway
That is how i find peace
In holding myself
And loving myself in the way that no one else could ever
I make my own home in my tired hands
Expressions of rage freely loosened like the ties on my shows
I should not like to wear ties about my emotions again
Emotions do no good held captive in shoe laces
They are built to wander the earth
Feelings are meant to roam barefooted across rocky soil
The inner and outermost skin of myself shall toughen
The toes of my freedom of self shall feel the ground pushing up against
First it may hurt
My skin is tender and new to the sensation of friction against jagged worlds
But gradually the skin on my soles of my utmost feeling will toughen
I have felt the callouses begin their strengthening
Alone shall i traverse up the mountains
My feet now prepared to handle to climb
I shall grow strong in places of need
Yet i can grow tenderly and gently in places of light and softness
The hands of my heart are worn
Lines and scars creasing like valleys
These valleys course about my hand
Patches of light from recent wounds
Yet my fingertips remain alert
They have not undergone a process to toughen
I like to climb about this earth on my own
Barefooted
I discover my own source of sustenance
The ability to find it on my own rewards be greater
As a child i depended on another to find my food
I now gladly seek it myself
Happening upon bodies of water through my journey
They disturb the calmness and bring up a welling of joy
Selfishly i find and gorge myself on this private joy
A discovery of happiness I shall never share
Some pleasantries are meant to be hidden
I should quite like to keep some joy just for myself
No need to flaunt or flash the joy I discover
Carefully I gather the hidden joy into my lined hands
Drinking of it I find peace
Filling up the pail that I have let grow dry and empty of joy
Never again shall I search for joy in or with another
Learning to keep inside of me what another mortal can never give
Dwelling in a forest of my own making
Well, not completely my making
But it is made in such a way that no other can find it
Except for one
Watching over me He knows the paths I take
He delights when I find the solace and joy of life-giving puddles
He has placed puddles of light and peace throughout my forest
My soul my mind my heart my body are separate yet the same
And yet in the separate sameness they also are made up of the forest
My forest
I dwell in it and I am it
The details of the four parts of my being all walk the forest differently
But they all share the same feet
For a brief and singular preface, i should wish people to know
I carry this forest wherever I go
Giving out small puddles and the light crashing through the treetops to those who need them
Quite content in this solace
For it is not solace
For i have become increasingly good friends with my forest
My companions are quite pleasant people
They all chance upon various finding my forest
Seeing newness of life constantly
You already know my companions by name
But I know them by heart, by soul, mind and body.
Most people that meet my companions will never be able to tell the difference between them
Most will not even recognize them at all
Save for body, that friend of mine people know by appearance only.
The only friend of mine people perceive
But they will never know the hardships and tenderness that body has lived
That is alright I suppose
For body is quite content with their knowledge of self
Never requiring another to recognize or learn the marks made upon them
I like to lay upon the floor of my forest
Gazing upon the sky
Alone in this forest
I shall only let myself dwell here
Not one other person can be allowed passage
They should trample and kill the life i have cultivated
This cultivation of life i have seen blossom
It has become my source of quite pleasant aloneness
I rely on my life and that of the one above me
Fully aware I will not let another tread here
There is only one other who is intertwined
Only one worthy to glimpse my heart
He watches me and provides more life to my forest
See here my forest runs rampant with vivid colors
However these colors were not easily attained
Upon looking closer I find that the colors
Contain traces of blood
The colors of my forest contain all the niceties and harms I have dealt with
There is room in my forest for all of these
All the twisting vines and roots that carry me
This forest of mine is me
Parts of my forest show growth in rings
Trees that have shot up to the ceiling of the sky maintain old and new rings
This shows how I cannot leave behind the early rings
Although growing new skin of bark i do not abandon what once was
Do you understand?
I keep inside of me all that once was
Bark grows each year and the oldness becomes distant
But never gone
Words that are growth and past roots
I must recall
You may not know what they mean
Each sparks clear visions of a past once alive and present
Light purple robes embroidered of rich orange and yellow
White desk of repetition and nightmare
White desk of repetition and nightmare
Power-lines looming over my path of escape
Pedals and sidewalk merge with my blood
Immeasurable segments of time spent behind locked doors
Music consumed me and I consumed it in return
The melodies I took in I poured back out
Kneeling in defeat upon a carpet muddied with color and pigment
The greatest friend I knew was paper
Paper that shared my secrets in bright display
A muted story looked vivid
My forest has grown flowers from these words
These words I am learning to separate from thorns
Yet sometimes they grow in thick brambles that cut me
They lightly touch my skin and send prickles along my skin
My mind and body long to revert to hiding
They no longer want to carry that keen sensation of fear
Fear in a life hidden
It cannot be hidden anymore
I move about my forest and am dwelling somewhere new right now
Somewhere that provides more shade
A little cooler
Less pressure of heat upon of the bridge of my nose
Sometimes heated rays still glance off my cheeks
Cheeks that push up
Cheeks that only are full when in bliss
I am relearning bliss
Sometimes the roots and inner rings of my trees become uncovered
At times i am not able to tend to them
Weeds run rampant
Arms of mine grow in tiredness as I attempt to sow new greens
I understand the way of nature
However at times I ponder these things
Wishing in moments for my gardened forest to avoid such encounters
But i know that is never how it shall go
So while I may question why I continue my work
Work to make this home I dwell in habitable
I maintain a memory and knowledge that consistent perseverance
Along with constant planting of new life
Will pull the weeds up
I have placed a requirement upon myself to maintain these wild gardens
Never taking out the overgrown or strange plants
But taking out the harmful
I do not discard the weeds
Rather, let them dry up in the sun
Containing life no more
Only memories of the diligence, with which I removed them
I do not say this to dramatize, rather to maintain an honest face
But there will never be another who can learn my forest
No matter how I map out these trails
There is no other person who can understand
Why I have walked through or the necessity with which I carved my path
These hidden ponds and waterfalls tripping down stones
This forest comes with rich history
Battles fought
Blood split
I recognize all the marks made upon the life within
For the marks are made upon me
I would be naive to think another could comprehend
For I know full well
I was the only witness to this forest when it went up in flames
Standing in the smoke and burning along with it
No other has seen the forest as the wasteland it was
Only I have
I know the ways the cracking branches sounded falling around me
The smell was all consuming and blanketed me
Myself, what could I do?
I was only a child
With dried tears upon my cheeks
No one cares about the story a child has to tell
They have not lived as much life
Oh but that is not true
For this child had lived through joy of ponds in the spring
Along with shivering in the barren winter
The heat destroyed my forest
I had carefully grown this forest with the joy and innocence of a child
Innocence that was stripped away
Like the bark burning off the trees
Or the way deer tear off parts of bark to eat during the cold seasons
So as a child I began to bottle my tears
I did not weep for my own loss
Weeping for the wreckage surrounding me
So i began to pour my tears back into the ground
From the ache inu my chest I gave my salty tears
My cries welled up and I did not exclaim
I carried them within
In silence
My own heart was burning
My mind tested by fire
Body succumbed to the falling debris
My soul was untouched, yet shrouded by the ashen clouds
At first the flames were small and I thought little of it
They would go out
But in my dreams upon fields of golden grass
Fire would take over
My forest was one of safety
But the heat of my dreams crept out
And into my world on a daily basis
I grew ever more tired tending to the job of reducing the flames
And eventually the flames grew stronger than my little body and tin pail of clear water
All I could do was watch in silence and not complete awareness
Of the wreckage that inflamed my home
I bottled my tears for years after that accumulation of fire
Constantly pouring them out where needed
I tended to the first new signs of growth
The ground on which I traversed was barren of color
So my blood gave color to the bleak display around me
Do not attempt to understand the way my forest has been sustained
Just know that my tears gave the ground a softness under my feet
I prefer my tears over flames underneath my feet
So i walk upon my tears and pressed them deeply into the surface
Through these walks upon damp tear stained earth I grew
It was in the absence of comfort that became big
A child became a woman while walking upon her tears
And so the forest of childlike was burned into oblivion
Years spent removing the wreckage and soothing the ground
Seeking comfort in my own being
My forest was empty of anyone else
The woman I became remains my closest friend
Knowing that no other will be such close friends with her
Out of painful burning and skin vulnerable to the unforgiving atmosphere
I climbed up mountains formed from dampen tear-stained ground
My sadness of the lost bubbling streams
I renewed the valleys by grace and contained oceans inside of my tear ducts
Soil churned inside of hills
I have simply been tasked with the job of rebuilding a once light-filled world
Smoke starting to clear
I am able cleanse my skin from ashes and blackened particles
Sitting by a pool of clear, slightly salty water
I filled my hands like cups and wash my face
My forest has been in revival and many cannot see how darkly it was burned
For I have worked eagerly and constantly to create new life to cover barren ground
The ground on which I dwell
The land in which I live is now becoming increasingly pleasant
My body covers itself in appreciation of all that its senses encounter
In remaking my foliage of trees I discover my heart contented
The flowers which I tend to grow in abundance
I was never one for gaudy displays
My heart has planted wildflowers
In accord with my very soul
They are delicate and persistent
No matter how you try to dig them up and destroy their growth
They always return
Some of my most prized flowers are those of lace and ox-eye daisies
Fields of chamomile and buttercups
Patches of clover and dandelions
However, in spaces where sun comes through most gently
There I keep sunflowers
I was never certain of sunflowers
Till one began to grow and and with its growth I grew to love it
Still the smallest bit wary of sunflowers
For they tower over me and I fear could overpower my strength
Still finding out how to take care of sunflowers
A part of me desires for it to take care of me
I must resume on my walk through my greenery
Vines drape across branches and form a ceiling overhead
I grow plants to use as tools for life in this space
Pruning trimming and caring for my life-force of natural beauty
Sometimes I recall the times when I have wrongfully allowed others in
They got lost in the maze of my being
And caused parts of me to be destroyed
Tainted
Learning from these follies I no longer open that door to my gardens
Perhaps I shall hand out handfuls of flowers
Even tell them about the brilliancy with which I see my surroundings
But there are too many careless people
Regardless of them meaning well
They have still burned parts of the trees and trampled through my fields of daisies
So I keep my gate closed and quite hidden by vines
Evidently not one other person can fully appreciate my wooded shelter
So in my own, self grown habitat I shall preserve its sacredness
No longer resenting the damage made upon me
Full understanding of others own turmoil in their worlds
But i shall not allow their turmoil to turn my work into ruin
For I am called to take care of my own being before another
I do so desire to tend to others gardens
But only if they so allow it
And I will not pour my tear-strewn oasis waters into anothers ground
If I do not possess enough myself as well
I pray to not be considered selfish
But I must care for my forest
I am my own gardener
This was the preface and brief summary of a soil covered story
A story lived and dwelt in by a child
A story told by a woman
