Wilderness

The cow is dragged across the barren field.

It tugs against the leash,

Constricted feelings

Frustrations of being stuck

Being forced

Overwhelming.

Heels dig into the ground

Mud flies up in silent protest

Resistance reigns:

“I will not go.”

The journey takes twice the time

but eventually the place is reached.

Glistening water for a parched soul

but the ugly horns of defiance are still intent on wreaking havoc.

The cow stands still.

Brought to the sanctuary of water

But still not drinking,

The sun sets on the lonely silhouette

Of the stubborn cow.

I am a cow.

Definitely metaphorically.

[Sometimes literally.]

The water, the refuge, the discipline of life is what I so harshly fight against.

I am a free, spontaneous spirit delighting in the joys of life.

I will

Not

Be

Tamed.

But in my resilience,

I miss out on what is good for me.

Thirsty in an Evian factory.

Dying barren inside.

A death of the good within me.

I love to write.

Since my toddler years, my childhood was littered with countless hours  spent creating stories with stylishly dressed protagnists.

I dreamt of being a librarian,

Drowning in books,

Delighting in the adventure of whimsy and folklore,

Of lessons learned and regrets embraced.

This little girl, wearing a Michael Jackson ‘Bad’ tshirt from 1988 looks up to me

And wonders why I have

Strayed so far

From what brought rhythm and life

To my aortic valves.

The busyness and hectic anxiety of May

Left me yesterday

But the residue clings bitterly dry and weakening.

I miss my words.

My dissection of society.

Exploration of the world my eyes can barely fathom.

Reaching out with dictations of hope.

This skill,

My gift,

Will be lost

If I don’t work on it.

Discipline.

She will save me

from the flabby arms of laziness.

So here come June.

Every weekday,

Yes five times a week,

I will be here.

Writing.

Musing.

Speaking into both of our lives.

This month I will haul my butt to the water,

Whatever my state, or frame of mind,

and say to my soul

“Drink.”

Deeply.

Richly.

Take what seems like pain

And realise the refreshment.

All May, as I read Isaiah 35 over and over again, You Father said:

“Strengthen the weak hands…the wilderness and dry land shall be glad.”

I won’t pull back.

I won’t resist.

For in the water,

I will see my true reflection.