weeks pass

weeks pass and the body still pales with the reconstitution that perhaps will not take place completely as in the past. it seems the strength of good will alone is not sufficient to create a passage from sickness back to the robustness of the body before. the dazed sleepiness and exhaustion of the late afternoons, the weak stomach for appetite or spices. it is as if the body has decided its taken a step down from being alive and is descending into that tunnel that inevitably leads to the eternal slumber of times reward. to sleep perchance to dream, aye there is the rub. for in the end all is the dream of existence and life itself is an opera of indeterminate origin and species. and whether the audience is in the cheap seats or all part of the play there is only the recognition that one tires of the endless caterwauling and cacophony and longs for the simple whisper of the air in motion from the movement of the inexplicable wind driven spirits that live in the motion of trees. I do not wait for sunrise but begin my own day with the waking of the senses and allow some small victory to come from the ritual of breathing rubbing my eyes and breaking my caffeine fast so that I might feel if only briefly alive and in the grasp of faculties still working and actually performing small though dexterous tasks of the living persona creating a web of self deceit in the first few moments before the light of day dispels the illusion of inner and outer synchronicity. for the body its the elimination of yesterdays spent fuel and the intake of more and for the mind its some kind of alertness to the functioning of a higher order of consciousness than just the lower lizard brain awareness of the coolness of the rocks before the big light in the sky comes up. I lack any strength except to sit and work my digits in a slow frenzy of hope that something evolves every day that is not lost but awakens within like the planets continue their spinning around the big light in the sky. I gather before the stones of last nights offering and gaze upon the ashes and remnants of todays predilections and possible outcomes scattering the small bones and charred remains into unrecognizable patterns that free the day and let go the empty minded recognition of natural decay and destruction. let the coming dawn loose itself of the movement that creates its illusion of rising and falling and traveling lengthwise across a world that sees only itself as the fixed point and all others as the attracted followers of eternal beauty never ending always motionless and surrounded by the adoring and undying gods of time.