It’s All About Movement (for TW)

I have no interest in what might happen, if only….

I have great interest in the “and then what happened?”

Straining and self-flagellating oneself intellectually for false hope is

A pointedly pointless exercise.

Tell me what you are doing to make your invention possible or tangible.

Your sea of dreams is bountiful and the imaginings flailing about in the mind brine

Catch and release all too easily.

Keeping those dreams alive in the brain bowl requires constant stirring, whirring, and motion.

Neurons must fire, synapses must open and close—the heart and head must bob along

With the soundtrack of your life amped up.

People are actors by our natures. We take the shape of the container

That we most resemble.

I have no interest in what you might do someday,

I only want to know: how did it go?

I chomp at the leathery bit of what’s next.

There is a sun-faded van in a driveway that holds you

Holds your future

But has no hold on you.

Marie Rainier Rilke

Told us of the great space

Just a step outside our window;

It holds everything we need or want

But we hold the phone.

We speculate.

We question.

It is a step and then another

And then another.

We misstep and regret.

We stop in our tracks

And cover them.

Because why would we matter,

If we weren’t the matter that moves?

Motion is everything and we sometimes can’t,

Won’t,

Fear

To move.

We are tempted to pull the blanket over our collective heads and declare it over.

But, in so doing, we can marvel at the static electrical storm that we have created

And the ozonated, clean smell emanating from our rubbing hair against flannel.

We can rise out of the great space that is infinite and suffocating

And feel our backbone straighten.

We can move beyond the pain of the moment

And the irritating inconvenience of life yet unfulfilled.

It’s all about movement and we are moving.

Maybe in small crawl, sprawling steps.

Maybe in a dancer’s leaps and bounds.

Maybe over the din of hesitant hiccups of misfiring muscles.

Maybe under the power of a machine breathing light and life into us.

But until the stars in the universe douse themselves in our sweat and tears,

We are moving.

We are moving slowly.

We are moving at break neck speed.

We are moving in spirals and at a loss.

We are moving until we can no longer bend.