Of Digressions and Fragments

the words I write

the words I can’t

say out —

but can share

with the world

are the truth

or they — at the very least —

are the truth

at that moment

shifting thoughts

alternating emotions

like the currents

of the seas

—

I digress

—

that happens a lot

when thinking and

feeling my feelings

dark shadows

thunder and lightning

and then I remember

something unconnected

—

I’ve never experienced

the Yucatan Peninsula

in person

its cenotes

collapsed limestone bedrock

the Mayan heritage

sacred wells

life-giving, life-preserving

water exposed — by degradation

— degradation I know so well

of self —

then I find myself

tumbling headfirst down a

rabbit hole

—

of swimming and snorkelling

cenotes and visiting waterfalls

in Iceland, like Goðafoss

which translates as

the waterfall of the gods

it's not the largest

it's not the oldest

it's not even the highest

but it's crystalline watery blue

and its lore and legends

of Þorkelsson

who returned home to Ljósavatn

and threw the Norse idols

from his family farm at the waterfall

symbolic of his devotion

his conversion to Christianity

the gods were not happy

so say the myth

and split the waterfall in two

—

but how often are we truly happy?

is it just me that fights for happy?

that searches as if for cenotes

as if for ancestral traces

along the Golden Circle

—

I then look at other waterfalls

at glaciers, the Blue Lagoon

geysers and hot springs

a constant pivot, constant

bewitching betwixt

— the hot and the cold

— the desolate and the lush

oh, how I relate

—

Hvannadals- hnúkur

the highest peak in Iceland

that stands

at 2110 metres

on the western rim

of the mighty

Öræfajökull volcano

from Iceland the hole leads me

—

home

—

and I breathe the air

as I follow the hole

to Ben Nevis and the Cairngorms

the green and the snow-caps

to Loch Lomond

the watery blue and the overcast skies

and the dirt, grime, art

and architecture of Glasgow

the culture bleeds from every part

every lane, from the art galleries

to the bars, clubs, pubs, and Barrowlands

to the market and across the Clyde

the place I’d claim my heart belongs

though I avoid it almost too often

—

I digress

—

because, sometimes

just sometimes

—

I must

—

when the weight of the words

I’d rather write than speak

are too much to bear

even after they’re free

—

I digress

#

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: This was originally published on Medium via the Scuzzbucket publication on April 16, 2025. The original piece can be found following the link below. This is one of my favourite pieces I've written.

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