The fragility of the past 24 hours has passed. The acute agony of emotions scattered across the minefield of my soul have left me exhausted. I stroll past the television and catch a glimpse of a student proclaiming the brutality of their early school years. Why do kids do that? How do they get away with it? Don't they realize that these misdemeanors will work in one of two ways: one, they are going to get walloped from someone more sinister or two: they are procuring an enormous karmic debt.
Of course when I was at school I met up with the ugly grunters snarling in my face – wanting to punch my lights out after school. It was a tough start for a fragile little Princess. From the safety of my grandmother's lap swaddling me in kisses and hugs to the rough end of a knuckle sandwich – reality check overload! Anyway, I figure that these bullies don't have the smarts to "get it" they toss out their Dunlop volleys and grow into higher heels and redder lipstick.
Anyway, why is that it when you feel red raw the spiky little rats come gnawing at your self esteem, undermining any semblance of credibility? Their tiny little claws of criticism and sharp gnashing teeth of venomous insecurity strip away your confidence and well being.
The rats are city dwellers. They live in tiny overcrowded holes with masticated remnants of others lives protecting them from their non-compliance in a creative and innovative world. They come out at night to soothe their screaming inadequacy and dose their conscience with mind altering elixirs and seductive lines of powdery regret. If I don't think about it then it just doesn't happen. At some point the blurry line between regret and responsibility dissipates and an inkling of memory emerges and they are lost in the forest of no-hopers. What then? That is the millisecond I would like to confront them and say, reality sucks, doesn't it? We all must live with our conquests, lies and demons. Enjoy the battlefield of revulsion.
The demonic day dream has past. The master has been bedded down once more. A trip into the fresh air and a stroll past the flower boxes dispels the fear of inner rage. Order is stored to the caverns of my emotional doldrums and I am able to sit and smile answering questions and type "appropriate" responses coated in saccharine and polite buds of nicey nice.
What is it that drives us from an intelligent being to screaming banshee? Is it the fingernails clawing at the blackboard in our classroom of life? I entered the birth canal with a skin of vulnerability and now it's as tough as Bessie the elephant's backside.
Somewhere on the underbelly I find a soft spot – it's hard to reconcile. It is a reminder of a delicate heart that resided beneath the cage of my skeletal armour so many moons ago. The fringe of the lotus flower – soft pink and green blossoms beneath rungs of protection in a sacred space – unseen.
Head back, shoulders proud – demeanor in check – yes ready, my Lord I am back into it – a glance over my should and I look at the pathetic reflection of my regret. Shrugging I claim, "All things must pass, here we go again".
Peace and Love,
Julia Ashton-Sayers
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