Papers on the rock face

When weighted, don’t wait: climb a mountain to the apex until the wind comes from all directions including from beneath you. Lifting: what could be flight. Take a piece of paper. Write down your holdings, your walls and restrictions, the chains at your feet. Write down what you want to leave, retract, release. Feel the mountain rocks as they form a seat at your back, a harsh, other-worldly cradling, a nomadic return to rootedness, to the sleeping giants that form craggy terrain and skyline topography. Take out your lighter: hold the flame. Know that man has come so far, and remember what he still carries even now. We develop all we can, but it doesn’t solve our limitations, at least not at first, at least not entirely.

Set it alight from below, like the wind beneath you lifting you towards wings and the sky. Let the flame curl upward, let it envelope what you want to abandon, what you don’t want to follow you home. Give it all over to the shrinking form, becoming the ashes of dead butterfly wings on a funeral pyre, and drop it down between the rocks to the ground beneath you where it writhes and dies and comes to peace. Let it release. It becomes ash, and nothingness… and then air. Which is what you desperately invite to fill your lungs, the expanse between your ribs. Let the space widen. Let the sky lighten. Let the ground keep you. Let the fire move you.

Goodnight, T.


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