I am strong, I said, and I like roses but alas my love I am flawed more than most. You have seen the worst of me, dark river of memory rising unbidden, down on my knees raging and weeping drowning again, struggling to break free to rise and breathe, to live and simply be.
I am a strong man in whom a dark river sometimes floods the hollow in my soul; and, no one but She sees the haunt in my struggle to break free, to rise above dark waters and breathe again.
I am a strong man; I am loved yet stand lonely with no peace in my heart. You have seen the worst of me, I said, down on my knees raging and weeping, drowning again in a cold, dark river flooding unbidden, of battered flesh and bone when I was young and the world in which I lived was deaf and blind; spiritual travail, afraid to close my eyes in sleep, dark river drowning young years rising swept away on the flood.
I am a strong man, I said, and I have striven to accord no censure no blame and never to implicate or use travail long past to excuse, condone or otherwise justify the right or wrong of what I have striven to shape myself to be, and yet; it would be a lie if I said past travail had no effect. I said, in that time and place no one spoke for the children, the world was blind and deaf.
I am strong, I said, and I like roses but alas my love I am flawed more than most. You have seen the worst of me, dark river of memory rising unbidden, down on my knees raging and weeping drowning again, struggling to break free to rise and breathe, to live and simply be.
You said, I have seen the worst. I have seen you lost, dripping with sweat in a haunt of old memory and I have seen the best. Love asks not reason why; I love you, that is all I know. Just love me, you said, and though it shivers you through when the dark river flows and I see you wild eyed and lost in shadows with old worn out ghosts riding your back, love is the burning lamp that will guide you home to me, peace in the valley where the shadow is not.
That is what you said, and as the years went by, one by one, the dark river flowed less, the burning lamp diminished its source flooding the hole in my soul with love.
I stand on the seashore watching the sun flare out in rose-gold light, charcoal clouds drift. A small, cool breeze comes in off the water ruffling the surface, the sun painting dragon scales in shimmering red and gold. I stand in silence holding her hand; she breathes not a word as we stand in mute wonder bathed in colour and light. She squeezes my hand; I hold her close and closer still. ‘I love you,’ I said, gazing into the deepening sky. ‘That is all I ask,’ she replied. We stood in contented silence, peace in the valley, comfortable and secure in shared love.
‘You have seen the worst of me.’ ‘And the best,’ she said with a smile, ‘and the best.’
The dark river returns to haunt me now and then, it tries to sweep me away but I don’t drown anymore, love is a burning lamp in the hole in my soul and I can breathe in its light, and in that light, in the very love that fuels it, the Woman-Who-Sings-In-The-Summer-Valley said, ‘love grows in God’s garden, find it anyway you can.’
‘I am strong,’ I said, ‘and I like roses.’
Because we have an opportunity to choose our attitude and focus our intentions in the present moment, the world and our own personal lives are a reflection of our thoughts. It is our 360 degree review on how we think. Put simply, our job is to fully
