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Tuesday May 10, 2016


Navigation.

Finding our say.

Wayfinding. We don’t find our way that way. Or lose it.

Each morning. Wait, first bird wakes us early, and we’re off. Up, moving in some direction toward something – or away from …

Like runners. Starting. Blocks, anticipation. Gunfire. Gun smoke. Holy smoke. I’m shot. Done. Not dead or left for dead. Left behind. Raced past. Passed. Passed over. Passed by. Might be living still, but what life is that sitting, waiting, giving, giving up, might be living, still, but for how long?

How could that happen so soon in life when I’ve scarcely begun to understand possible, not stoppable – don’t stop me, just mop me, wipe my sweet sweat, don’t hold me like debt, let me be, set me free, I must fly before I die and I just got my wings …

Are we pawns?

Kings, queens, bishops and such, who know so much, and so little, are we navigating this board – and what is that for?

A room, a boardroom, ballroom. Or a rest room. There is much from and to, dreamt and dreaming, scheming for living but we all live small. Aren’t tall, at all. There is so much to be stretched but we don’t stretch. There is so much to know, but we don’t know. Don’t know, don’t glow, don’t show what we want, who we are or why we want to go so far.

Go, keep going. Keep showing. Work it. Chase it. Fight it. Be larger, sure, be better. Better be. Why not try to know why we try. Try no more, do some more. More. Better. More better fine …

 

Mark Kolke

written / published from Calgary, AB

morning walk:  2C/46F, overcast/inky dark, stiff breeze, chilled – empty streets, just the sound of the wind, Gusta doing her duty, and I mine, and back again. No rain,  none predicted …

 


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