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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2151295-The-edge
by lorI
Rated: E · Fiction · Drama · #2151295
the beginning

At the edge of rock above the water beneath, the moment lingers. Looking up at clouds gathering, moving purposefully above. The dark turbulence offers a poetic context for the trials and tribulations occupying my attention. Ominous and awesome, accentuating my powerless insignificance. My fears and tears mere dibble & drip. Sip the cup up, a cup run with sup, of complexity to satisfy.

The words move, changing faster than I can contemplate or consider. Flash in my mind. Touch...smell...physical sensations validate my existence and confirm the experience of I. My perception of those experiences, interpreted, decoded and locked away as a memory, providing pleasure and pain on demand. Those capsules of time changing, impact the direction of my thoughts in the power of thought. Got this! is bliss daily forward.

Mouth biting my flesh and piercing my heart with precision and persistence. Wounds of wanting beat and brawl, breaking and belittling a self particularly fragile from the get-go. Denied a safe context...environment to grow and get, gathered up as necessary for success. Doom and gloom worn like the garb of glory, out a gate gathered. With a deficit, a shortfall a stripping strike against me. Blame the sins of my father or mother, some sort of genetic imprint. That way I could justify giving up. I could let the bother of effort be passed on to the next willing participant in this weaving way we call life.

How long do I look out over the water waiting for the clouds to pass? There must be a better than this. Time negotiates and navigates its minds way and I submit willing, grateful for any and all offerings. I am sure of that, but with a silent breath, I hear my own the option of exclusion, as words of curse escape my mouth. I hold tight to the doom and gloom as a heavy blanket that weighs certainty on my chest. I am not young and foolish to believe in the lies of love promised in strategically executed word. Ripped out of my soul with a wanting too physical for breath, I swallow down.

Breathe deep. The water movement is where I go. Celebrate GREAT creation, One vibration, gets me back and blessed. Feeling touch divine, trusting beginnings to ends with equal weight and measure. The water dances leaf debris carried away... I follow, away on the angry whispers of rain. Whistle the wind to me, tossing my forgiveness carelessly forward and back. The weightlessness is magical mayhem. My thoughts lifted thinking about the times of delight. It is not far away but just out of reach. The jumble of moments warm my loins in places of delectable demands. How many times do I visit those thoughts and feel the tally of loss at my finger?

Health and balance propel me forward to heal the blocks. obstructing until energy flows with wellness and harmony.

Reminding me of my body, in this time and place, space, dimension, vibration, energy of thought...I am again purposeful to be present. Stretching and rolling my head with hands out, receiving what is for me, while offering my burden to the rushing rain. The clouds rage mightily as mentioned. I begin to consider choices as the wind whips around my flailing summer wear, as to negate the purpose of it. My body crouches to minimize the impact of resistance as I push through the resistance oppressing my way. Rain so hard I cant see my car.

Determined to secure shelter is foremost in my mind. I could conceive of this ending poorly. The rain is torrential now and navigation is challenging. Move to higher ground, consider away from the waters heavy coming up to take. Higher ground is the effort. I challenge the elements and resist my desire to fall all down into the ground. Thunderous cracks of lightning provide little light with waters ferocity dominating... relentlessly. With some degree of success, I find my way to the road. Lost but feeling assured by the possibilities and choices the concrete presents. Concerning the visibility on the road, I was rethinking my safety. With rain's gaining water pouring, building a rage down over the arrogance of man's will.

Which way should I move, knowing that standing still gets me got. Not on this path of destruction, there had to a somewhere better to be. That is what I must continue to tell myself, over and over, again and again. Even when life mocks that rhetoric. Water comes down and I need higher ground so I move against the water crossing the road. I see an embankment cliffside of mud across the road ahead and the water is pushing over it refusing to be thwarted in its mission to the bottom.

Okay, this is not good. No road, no way upward and nonstop relentless rain. I look back down the road for some way up and out of this increasingly dangerous predicament. My options are few. Flood is the word that is starting to be considered appropriate and legitimate and I cannot believe that things have gone from bad to worse so rapidly that I not sure if I am taking this problem seriously enough.

I believe I see a neon yellow and blue, yes...the rubber dingy kind flying in the air ahead. Is that for real? Is that for me? I pushed forward to walk towards it. Whipping in the wind, I caught hold of it and pushed myself against the cliff side. It was obviously attached to a rope, that I can only assume, is attached to the top of the cliff. I held on to the swinging chariot "for dear life", as they say. It took some effort to grab it and even more effort to hold onto it. Why? because it is a man-made contraption could be connected to another human being at the other end. I fought with the wind and wondered whether the weather would win. Maybe I should just let go if it and fend for myself. At this point, if I don't hold onto it, the wind to use it as a weapon against me.

I felt it being pulled on, tugged, yanked, with a message of someone on the other end. Not willing to give up my effort I threw myself into it, abandoning all reasoning that would normally have been considered. But really, how normal considered in this equation? I could not see more than 6 inches in front of me and definitely not up to the top of the cliff. With no idea how or who or why this thing to do was happening. Then there was, how safe this contraption is? What if? I look down. Bad choice as I feel the pulling jerk and tug. Look up to blinding rush, shutting eyes and hold on with all the muscles adrenalin can muster. Trying to make myself secure on this slippery blue bath, blowing in the wind, moving at exactly the wrong time and in exactly the wrong way. Swishing and squishing like a fish, I was washed out, left dangling at the end of a rope swinging into an immovable tree... I hit hard and then dark...or deepness...quiet. Where nothingness waits to return to time. What if there is no return. I stay quiet in my breath.

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2151295-The-edge