Deep Blue Reflections
It’s the middle of summer, I’ve just finished lunch on the world’s deepest floating offshore oil and gas facility. Walking down the stairs to where-facility or faculty? Leaning over the handrail, looking first to the horizon, then lowering my gaze, infinite blue water. Reflecting, am I here for me, am I here for you, why here?
At this moment in time, I’m here for me, I’m still doing it for you. Gone for some time, clearing my mind, caching what no longer serves; substance. I never thought this view would return, the endless horizon, deep blue sea, fish in water, fish out of water. I’m able to see deeper than before, perspective shifted. Not inward, not outward, not left, just right.
The awakening began before I was ready, I thought. Turns out timing clocked my next step before the other shoe could drop. In a room filled with peers, ears, I heard nothing. In that moment this moment was penned. Capturing exactly what I wanted, System 2, deeper, going another direction System 1. System-less implementation was the call, ringing my bell. Off the ropes in a ring I wasn’t prepared to fight. Floating like the chrysalis, stinging everywhere within me. I’m ready to dance on the floor of life, first picking myself up, knocking off the dust.
Looking into the crowded space beyond the door of life I’d unlocked. Knock Knock, who’s there; was that me knocking? On Hell’s doorstep I’d stood, engulfed, no blaze of glory. Nothing cooler than the flip side of the pillow, except I flopped. Paralyzed, thoughtless, thoughts. I’d stretched, I’d ran, I wasn’t downward for this, dog.
Breathing onto paper through pen, etching a winding path far from between the lines. Scribbling it seemed, structure unbecoming, consistent and flexible. Grace moved in first, then all the friends of the Spirit. Old spirits decades past, toasting that life behind. Walking anew, this season I’d passed through. Thorns, thistles, briars, stumps, valleys and bush. Whacked underbrush of the canopy, I’m starting to see. Through movement, still I came to be.
The Way it was, Command + Option + Escape. Laying down what serves on an empty platter. Now my tabs have been cleared, forgiven, “the easels canvas yearns for the artists touch.” This picture I’m painting, hopefully you see, was it yours or was it mine. How will you be formed, painted or posed. I chose to walk back upstairs, there in the quiet I was found. Reflecting still, set in motion through waves, currents charting the course, no longer on that island. Sailing, the sun will rise and fall, the flow of darkness sets temporary. Right before dawn you will not see, then you will. The joy of new beginnings.
-Esoteric Johnson