The things I’ve seen
That pop up as pictures in my brain,
And yet that’s how they remain.
The white snow over Beacon Hill Park.
The Big Basin Redwoods
And the sunsets over Santa Cruz cliffs.
The hummingbird floating a foot from my face.
The glistening salt lake swimming hole,
Where I floated and looked up at the Cambrian rocks.
Uluru from far enough to see
The colours change through the day,
And close enough so I may
Reach out and touch the red chalk clay.
But I don’t touch,
I just see.
I know the Earth is not for me.
It is me.
What else have I seen?
The stream in my secret walking place.
The greens and the reds and the yellows and blues.
Subtropical rainforests with magical ferns,
The coral reef caves in Chillagoe,
And the mangrove forest above Cairns.
Cassawaries so close I could see every colour,
The kookaburra singing in the gum tree
When I woke up on the beach in 1770.
The blue ice crevices where I walked
On the Franz Josef Glacier.
The dancing colours of the aurora borealis
That looked like music would if it was technicolour.
These are the things I have seen
That I keep in pictures in my mind.
They remind me of the magic in the world
So it doesn’t matter that
I have also seen horrors in my life.
A full plate of dinner fly close to my face
And hit the wall next to me and smash.
I’ve seen my baby turn grey and lifeless
And be taken away to machines out of reach.
I’ve seen the same baby at 4 nearly drown,
Along with my mum,
Whose mouth made ‘I’m sorry’ shapes
Each time she came back up pushing for air.
I’ve seen the same baby at 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
Endure hatred and rejection
That’s become part of his brain.
I’ve seen my other baby lost
And overwhelmed by the world.
I’ve seen him struggle and try so hard
To get it right and fit in,
Until he gave up
And stood at the top of the stairs
And talked about ending the pain.
I’ve seen teachers and doctors and
Too many others with expressions
That match their judgements and refusal to care.
I’ve seen once healthy relatives
In pain and despair.
I have seen photos of my mum’s abuse
When I was only 11 or 12.
But my brain refuses pictures
Of the other times before I was alive.
I have seen my mum take her last breath.
And I can see her laughing so hard
That her face gets stuck
And that makes us laugh even harder.
Stream of consciousness poem sparked by a line I heard on the radio this morning. It was my 48th birthday yesterday, and I’ve been thinking about the shortness and unpredictability of life. My mum was only 12 years older than I am now when she was told she had 6 months left to live. I saw her put effort into enjoying life more in the four and a half years she managed to hold on. Enjoy life now.
Life is a continuous balance of struggles and joys. Buddhist wisdom has taught me that there’s so much power in not attaching to either. Everything changes and becomes something else over and over. I keep my sensitive brain and nervous system level and regulated by watching my heart, my thoughts, my perceptions. The things I have seen are so vivid, but only pictures of the past. In the here and now I can see the clouds drifting across the sky outside my living room window. I can also see in my mind’s eye a fire in my belly, a pearl of light in my heart, and any reality I envisage. Live life now.
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