Light Energy

She looks drawn, eyes droop, her arms hang, weighed down with bags, but there is a twinkle in her eye, there is a surprise inside, a heavy heart will get a lift, the darkness will vanish, someone thought of me, that’s all it will take, someone remembers me. No longer alone, why, the hurtful memories will disappear, while the light energy engineers, brings to the surface, the sweetest of thoughts, the feelings that the darkness makes disappear.

Our reason for being, why do we exist, Solomon asked this question many times; it seemed so easy to put it words; to bring lightness to being, light energy. What weighs you down; the bills come to mind, the shape, the weighing scales, every time we measure, we end up at the extremes, comparing, well, that didn’t cost much, you have to get something better, is that all they could afford, meanies you imply, how bad do we need light energy, seriously.

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You saved a life today….

Are you listening, read on, you actually saved a life today, she shakes her head, this guy is looney, she is a nurse, he is a psychiatric patient, long term, she plays along, say nothing, this guy is nuts, his smile, she has seen it a hundred times, you saved a life today, he is repeating the same words, the look in his eye, the sooner she is out of the room the better, your meds, he takes the glass of water in his hand, closes his eyes. She watches him swallow the pills, job done. See you later she says, as she turns to leave the room. He is a long termer, no prospect of getting released, institutionalised.

She is about to close the door, he calls her back, I got a present for you he says. From under his pillow, he removes a plastic bag. He skakes it at her, her eyes widen in surprise, the red blues and pinks, she recognises them, pills.

Like I said he smiled, you saved my life today.

How did I do that she asks tentatively, while taking the plastic in her hand.

You said hello with a smile that’s all.

Feeling Sorry….

Tired day long night had too much did a bit too much stuff, head hurts, sleep unruly, facing the day, another Monday, difficult getting out of bed, I really want to get out of my head, the world is mean and I am feeling sorry for myself, what have i done to deserve this, crunch, the world revolves around me, cause all there is, is me, my problem, thinking about nobody but myself, the root of my problems. Reaching for the medication, it’s not prescribed, two pills later on your feet, thinking about going to work, is there something i missed. The coffee is sharp, the brain unwinds, do the teeth, thought of having a shower, a splash of deodorant will cover the smell, get me through to the evening.

The stairwell is navigated, soon your on the street, rush along, where is the nearest transport, you don’t feel like walking, then you rush across the street, it’s busy, you’ve done in a thousand times, rushed, you get a thrill out of danger, the white shit you suck up your nose, mixed with rat poison to get you a little higher, when did you last read the contents of any medical product, probably never, you just accept the doctors advice. The kids are unruly in the car, she turns around, the latest scream from the three year old, ear shattering, too much, she wants to give him a …bang crash, he slides into the path of the car, slipped on a banana skin, she is unable to react, you go under the car, crunch, you hear your bones shatter…. the light, they are all around you, you can see can’t hear, feeling sorry…

Solomon lazed over a coffee, it had been a tiring day, the usual suspects were at it again, selling fear and anxiety, as if trying to unhinge him, selling him their habits, as if trying to be helpful. He goes through the day, it was exciting in parts, he enjoyed the banter, the way a smart politician enjoys a debate, he was listening, adding bits and pieces, not trying to over indulge. The bathroom is busy, two no hopers sniffing their heads off, well, they started behind everyone else, education poor and their parents alcoholics, feeling sorry.

On the street, he is there, it’s been a rough life, over reacting to the abuse passed on, the sentence a long one, we’ll make an example shouts the judge, the domineering father, church sponsored most of it if the religious would only admit it, his bags with him, all his possessions, slept with those just as unfortunate, while 25 trillion rests off short, and five times that elsewhere; the old man smiles, Solomon asks for a light, he needs is buzz too, we are all in this together, walks on. Feeling sorry, no shower, no bed, no place to put your things, right in front of you, how many just pass and say nothing at all, afraid of contagion. Then the woman taking over the duties of the priest cause the priest did an elvis and never showed up, how things change so quickly, feeling sorry, do something about it, for someone else, amen, your deeds determine who you are, amen. when three meet in my Name, the Father is there with you, words of Jesus, you are not alone. Solomon sighed, the nights he spent on Knock hill with the two old boys, the stuff you remember, and all the big talk shit that means nothing at all, just as the Father said.

Park The Ego, you might learn something.

She enters the room, he is lying in bed, its’ time to change the nappy again. Move she says, her voice is gentle, she has come half way across the world to make a living. He made his wealth exploiting her people, now he is dependent on her, move a little left. She looks at the mess, her nostrils constrict, she has done it before, but it still smells like shit. She dumps the used nappy in the thrash, move she says, how did I get into this mess, she is giving me orders; I used to own the damn country. She leaves him, he has all the time to think, there is not much he can do, he has to suck it up. The stuff you wished you done; and I exploited her people, moved the factory to the low paying people, the profit was great, now, the epiphany is too late, but he has eternity to remind himself. Choices, worse that that, he is getting reminders of the life to come. How did i miss it, he used to think he was wise, a clever man, instead, he has a devoted mother cleaning him each day; He should think himself lucky, at least she has no intention of exploiting him, amen.

Solomon encountered the Great Spirit, and much more, there is loads to look forward to, amen.

He has an additional memory, damn it, I polluted the environment too!

The Gallery Girl

Nerves, a shake of the hand, the opening of the exhibition, will there be anyone around. She read the blurb, how they extol the works of those long gone, who didn’t make a penny from it, yet they praise them all around, for the cost of buying the art today. The Gallery girl has no such illusions; she has heard all the talk, knows a certain truth, nobody does it for cash, they do it to show off the talent, a form of Gift, amen.

In war truth suffers first, the latest blockbuster about the Vietnam war, another example. Then it’s the artists, did the Dixie Chicks…

Dixie chicks really complain about the war in the Middle east, a million dead and injured many years later, on account of the rush to the front, like all artists, those with minds of their own, they offer a truth of their own.

How will God judge the exhibition, she is a believing gal; her talent is obvious, a gift. Will he wonder from exhibit to exhibit, or just look at the price tag and decide. Imagine it, God and the price we put on everything, in order to justify doing something about it; Gallery Girl Hurry up, there is an opening there for you too.

That Hurts!

On time she wakes, presses the button on the side table, the news. My pills, where are they, her first thought, can’t do anything without them, so see thinks. She is hiding demons; not demons inside, but the demons she is actively fighting. Her Spirit is strong, has been known to confront, no one mess’s with her, one strong woman they all say. In the morning no one can see her, the struggle, the weakness, the admitted failure; she drops two morning pills, they will put her on a calm cloud; she is ready to think.

She squeezes her hand, balls it, is the pain gone. She was playing guitar the night before; after there was a long ache, worse than a tooth ache; she wasn’t a talker, she played guitar instead. Her leather trousers are on a heap on the floor; she looks around for another pair of shoes; least she didn’t take home someone. It’s like the mind thing, when you forget, some things she wish she could forget it all; yeah, she had those thoughts, but they never went far, she numbed the demon first. That hurts, it’s her knee, she needs to sleep with it straight, her memory is vague; one thing she knows for sure, Her Spirit must remain strong, and that hurts sometime.

She had it all, another life lost, another star gone. So the pages said, the talent lost. But was it really; didn’t the events give an added energy to her works, as a new generation became aware of her artistic output, and would be influenced accordingly.