The Peacock's Transformation

The space between us

The space between us

Feels alive

and full of

p

o

t

e

n

t ial.

Love is present here

with all its giftedness for

ambivalence.

Here is the sweet taste of sadness,

pressed against the warm body of joy,

That distant image of affection reflected back

against every surface

Human and non-human

Living and non-living

- I see it everywhere

The world a mirror to my mind's projection.

I find solitude amongst lavender and eucalyptus,

the smell of intimacy perfuming my spirit

through wild acts of self-kindness,

as I caress my body with freshly moisturised

hands,

the soft strength of a parent caring for their child.

Even the foul dust gathered in the corner of my bedroom

looks, smells and feels

like the scattered remains of cosmic beauty:

material exploding,

degenerating,

And re-settling into new form,

New material within this colourful story

of chaos and creation

Settling into rich compost

from which new narratives may arise.

Even as this monstrous dust stuffs my nose

with snot and discomfort,

Tugging at my nerves end,

Tugging against my insides,

Banging brutally on my chest like a wild beast

longing for escape,

Scratching at my insides with the nagging worry

of another chore left untouched,

unfinished,

undesired,

unfulfilled-

Even as this suffocating dust

pulls at my insides

I see flowers outside of all variety,

yawning as they stretch upwards,

reaching for the strong,

gentle embrace

of Spring's ephemeral arms:

Asking to be held:

Pleading for affection:

Yearning for intimacy:

Hailing their queen.

I. am. able. to relax. here.

strength. is. here.

So. I. Relax. here.

lonely. strength. of. survival. is. here.

Solitude. Is. Always. Here.

I can relax. here.

My home is. In this here. I carry around. with. me.

I am always home. here. now.

The red tulip is noble and intelligent,

The yellow daffodil is common as muck,

The white daisy is a hussy exposing herself across every

landscape in town and I'm here for it.

The pansies gather together as a big gang of fags

full of joy, colour and vivaciousness,

The sound of their laughter

is a splendid riot in the neighbourhood:

Can you hear it?

Their laughter is raucous and uncivilised,

Shamelessly uncivilised,

They are disgustingly uncivilised

And I am here for it.

There are buckets full of laughter to be found

here

In this being held

fed

watered

by life

young life opening curiously into the world,

which is as equal in horror as it is in delight

Dust waiting to be swept

Accumulating in the corner of your room

It is Beauty and Pain incarnate:

Non-living

Non-human

Non-holy

dust

accumulating in the corner of your room:

Discoloured of all pretence and self-protection,

Complacency or self-projection,

Despondency or self-correction:

I am ageing.

I feel it in my skin and bones

I smell it in my desperation for another sip of coffee,

gulping greedily against the bitter dregs at the bottom of my

cup:

I see it in the bleak morning mirror,

stained and uncleaned

I see it in the bags under my eyes,

and the laughter lines caressing the cheeks

of my bizarre and unusual mouth

one side larger than the other,

absent of symmetry,

I am ageing,

I can see and feel that I am ageing,

I am absent of symmetry

now.

I see it painted on the haunted faces of passers by,

frowning from A to B,

lost in the storm of their own projections:

Destiny a road map to a final end from which there is no

escape,

a landscape inching ever-closer,

its wicked smile teasingly revealing sharp teeth that

bite

crush

destroy

as you cross the threshold.

Dust is cosmic beauty

Coming full Circle.

Another. moon. cycle.

Full. Circle.

Unfulfilled circles do not exist,

Unfulfillment is a labyrinth

of which the moon has oversight:

Listen to her,

the moon,

She's a queen:

28

days

to live

So why not do it beautifully?

Thus for me

I choose to live

and thus this choosing is a love letter

to my sacred, fragile humanity,

my soft skin gently moisturised,

bathing in soft compassion,

from the most responsible parent

I've ever known to be relied upon.

I grieve for songs un-sang,

The loss of voice and self-expression,

I grieve for impulse repressed,

dance and desire

buried beneath dirt and debris,

a funeral for fun

one isn't aware they attended,

never-mind that they themselves

were the killer who stuck the knife

Deep

into

their

own

tissue,

Deep

beneath

the

muscle

and

the

bones,

Deep

into

the

fat

and

beneath

the

blood

vessels

Deep

into

the

internal

organs

the

very

heart

and

bloodstream

of

life

Thus I bury the killer of fun

and thus get on with living!

Grief is part of it

and grief shall accompany me on my quest!

Look!

There is a lonely wall lining the high street

begging to be leapt upon,

begging for spontaneity,

begging for my

impulse!

Your fun owes you nothing!

My fun owes me nothing!

My life owes me nothing!

Life has owed me nothing -

Just 28 days to live,

So why not do it beautifully?

A beautiful moon gliding high above her prison

Just 28 days to live

With the royal audacity of a free,

embattered,

yet free, nonetheless, spirit.

I am free now

A moon, a bird, an unwritten metaphor,

Free to fly by my own rhythm,

Free to express myself with my own voice

Embracing the splendid colour

Of my true, authentic spirit

Courageous curiosity to look and to be

Welcoming the moment with a brief smile,

As I take the queen's gambit,

Leaping forward into unknown waters,

Choppy and splendid,

The moon suspended overhead,

Her reflection pale and luminous

Upon the vast, untraceable waves of the ocean,

Forwards!

Onwards against strong currents and wild winds,

Forwards unto now

Look!

My wings are wide open in this playful embrace of the here and

now!

A brilliant peacock in full transformation

Proud

The Queen makes her strides,

lifts up her gown

and starts to dance,

Un-Dignified,

Un-dignified!

A student of the moon

and thus master of ceremony,

Honouring the fresh delight of sadness

entangled within the tender arms of joy

That

raw

beautiful

wildly

intangible

mingle

of

emotion

that is the hallmark of being alive,

Sweeping in and sweeping out,

Settling as dust,

in the corner of a cold,

forgotten room