I recently had a bout with food poisoning in which your body finds every way possible to rid everything from inside your body, including your identity. It stopped at nothing, much like movers coming and emptying each room in your house before you leave. You realize there is nothing left to welcome you back. No safety zone or middle ground, no remembrances. A hospital-quality cleansing that suggests – strongly – a rebirth.
I’m maybe a shadow. Kinda here, kinda not. Not sure of anything. Contemplating a ‘rebirth’ but knowing there is not sufficient, blood, muscle, bone or know-how to even begin.
Of the few things I recollect, one was Magic. That profoundly and unexpectedly provocative occurrence of absolute elation. Why is that so important? It’s not really, but compared to the crap that most folks let linger in their mind – at least it’s different.
I love the idea of floating, drifting. With a little breeze I have no idea where I’ll end up. It feels as if all has been done. You have taken your steps. There are no missing pieces. Nothing to go back and check on. Nothing to correct. Nothing for which to apologize. No loose ends.
A birth, or rebirth, is suggestive of a plan to be filled. That is the exact opposite of what is felt now. No reason. Nothing to prove. Nothing to say. Like being parked in the last stall of an empty parking lot.
In some strange way it feels subtly erotic, as if some miracle of surprise may have been planned. And in absolute honesty I must say, ‘I couldn’t care, at all, one way or the other’.
No idea if or when I’ll be back. It’s completely not up to me now.
And that’s the best I’ve ever felt about anything.