Wading through treacle

March 11, 2013 by Sally Ann 1 Comment

 

Slow and sticky paces

Every day a kind of resurrection

Struggling to keep my feet

Stumbling towards another shot at life

While waiting for the whirl of thoughts to settle

Like mud in a pond

 

If I can just sit still 

Bathe in the quiet for a while

Refusing to engage in tasks

Surrendered to the weakness

Mind disengaged, waiting for some clarity

Heart open to the silence as in prayer –

Preferably with morning sunlight streaming on my face –

Things do eventually improve

 

My body seems to find new strength

The pain recedes – aided by the paracetamol –

And daytime order reasserts itself

I gradually know what to do

My diary of events

The grace to face the day 

Which item on the list to tackle first

 

How then to live?

External forces pressing in

Demands are made by everyone from children to the unknown caller 

What are you selling? What am I buying?

And (most importantly) where am I investing?

Without some clear choices we’ll all drown

The quicksand drags its victims inexorably down

And closes overhead

.

This world’s affairs – from facebook to the global news –

Conspire to shut down any inner life

Integrity is compromised, sense of direction quickly lost

As smoke screens blur our vision sirens lead our feet astray

The muddle of noise from a tangle of voices

A cloud of witnesses who are not watching

 

Daily life would seem to be a battle then

And I am ill-equipped

If I’m not still, how can I make my best response?

Without the time to think, to feel my way,

How can I know my mind, be true to who I am?

I simply imitate the crowd, swept forward by a mob,

Knee-jerk reactions to a million external stimulii

 

It seems it’s good I can’t keep up

My body will not let me run into the day

Perhaps there’s something to be said for getting older, weaker, wiser

If it turns out actually less is more