Get back in that body. Get back down in that body. Come out of the clouds, the air, the houses you maintain in the places where you are not.
Get back out the ice pick and start swinging at this fortress of solitude, these walls of glass and ice, these vines, these briars, thorns and all.
Get back on that horse even if it’s eyeing you ruefully and aiming for its feed bag (this is probably awful advice because the last time I did it I got clocked on the forehead when the horse decided she’d rather eat than have little me on her back for a walk – I think was probably incidental to anything the horse wanted). Get back on the wagon. Get back on the Sunday Night Express. Tell the same story but mean the words more this time, don’t leave anything out. Don’t let it fester. Pour the bleach, dig the weeds, bend down and rattle the solipsism where it lives. Detoxify the shame of past failure, throw everything out into the fresh air.
Push back on the poison that calms, what pacifies, what stirs up all the doubts oxidizing below the surface, brings their sharp and rusty edges and drags them down my throat. Say no, no thank you to the idea that things simply are. What bullshit.
Turn back on that clock. Set it right in front of you. Listen to the metronome and know that your life is in every tick and every tock regardless of a noise or movement. It is spending even now.
It is always impossible. Laying in bed, slipping in and out of one plane to fall through another, never quite or total. Always elsewhen. Waiting for someone to turn around the corner and say, you, yes, you, I have snuck into the locked places of your heart and I have seen that you are my one and only. And none of any of this matters.
The Faithful Light says, without judgment, that will never happen. That cannot logically be. So, she lays her palms flat, and faces you, “What do you want to do?” Avoiding elsewhen’s clutches, its always grasping reach, I say, I want to do. And she nods. It is a shared approval, a shared self-knowledge, and we start with five minutes and we leave the realms of possibility and nail down five moments of productive action.
Not writing does not produce better writing. Not driving does not produce reduced fear of driving. Not talking about my worries does not eliminate my worries. Not putting things out of reach does not ease my addictions.
The thing that must be recalled is that I am the common denominator, that the change I seek can only be reflected in the changes I make. Everything else is a fool’s errand. For the first time, in a while, I thought about you and what you could offer me on an evening like last night and I felt your absence profoundly, achingly, physically. I thought I needed your distraction and not the computer’s soporifics. So, today, tomorrow, more.