Not unlike a miracle

The tallest fence you have ever encountered: magnificent in its enormity, astonishing in its might to separate this side from that. Where you are to where you want to be. The blocks that stand to build the divide seem impenetrable. Voices seep through, faint echoes of laughter, conversations that sound familiar, owners of words that remind you of yourself. The foot of this fence is filled with green green grass, with flowers that are in full bloom almost all year around. The foot is where you are, close to the puddle that reflects the clear sky and the blinding sun. Suddenly you feel blind sighted, suddenly ripped of the past you so strongly held onto. You are alone, nobody sees you trying to stand on your toes, trying to take a peek at what could be waiting. Looking for a crack. The heart is heavy, the memories burden the airy walk of these unresponsive muscles. The spirit devastated, with every second tries to build back its courage, tries to smile, wave, tries to find a tree to climb and jump over to where the journey must begin. But these boots are filled with lead, moving the unmovable is beyond any human bundle of fibre, sinew or force. The mind may wonder, yours does, leaves the useless body. Through the fields that hold your secrets, through the walls that keep your faith. Through the trees that hold you captive, the notes that tie you to the sun. Through the bricks that stand to hold you together, the air that involuntarily fills your lungs, the blood that rushes through your veins, your feet that shuffle your crippled body forward. Inch by inch. This is how you have let go. This is how you wait for someone to show you how to truly wave at the sun.

If only you were a sailor. If only you knew these bearings, understood the north and south. If only the water was a field and the boat rocked slightly less. If only these men of nautical knowledge, these slaves of powerful currents and waves could guide you better. Show you exactly where you can cross. The direction forward is no longer useful, the disappearance of everyone who accompanied you until now seems to make the situation even more desolate. Alone you dare not tread the waters that were a minute ago so unpredictable. But go you must, find a way to cross, find a soul to take you over. Lying on the petals of velvet flowers, waiting for the warm earth to offer a solution cannot continue. This you know as well, this you have suspected already from when you arrived. You bendable soul, you weak creature of comfort! With your dreamy thoughts, with your golden ideas, those threads that fly far and wide, those words that you have made and the ones you have borrowed to tell the story of how you broke then mended, blended in and bravely stood out, how you fell apart and watched your heart die, with these friends of yours that are fickle like morning dew but sturdy like an ancient tree, with these you find the first step to the ladder that stands to the height of the fence. Your hands are still shaky, your legs more hopeful than any other part of you, quickly you lift yourself up to no longer hold the ground but embark, thrust your moth-eaten soul off the ground. This may be the beginning you have been travelling through planets to find. The winds in the sails of boats you sat on, cried on, wished on are lifting your feet, placing one after the other, aiming higher, going forward without ever looking back. In these fragments you no longer see the black, the shades clear: but remember that all this is only temporary.

Some say to hold on with both hands, some say run up the ladder and jump off at the end. Some held the top, some held the bottom. Some saw the steps, some only assumed them. Some took weeks to arrive, some merely seconds. Some never looked down, some cried for the ones they left behind. Some slipped and fell, some turned around, some lost their memories, some became unable to love. Some arrived, some never made it to the other side. Some saw snow, some saw the sun. Some let go, but you must find your own way. This, after all, is your journey through past and future. Oh how the pearls of water arrive at your mouth. Resist the inevitable and you may never comprehend the reasons for this magical voyage. Understand that you are different now. Better at listening, better at feeling, capable of unconditional love, capable of swimming through past and present distinguishing between what is real and what is not. You have become the compass you relied on to get here. The floating slaves of the water drift aimless, you cannot control the direction but have the power to sway from this to that, from what was to what is to come. Many will turn to you, more will seek to unlawfully take what cannot be taken with force. The treasures of the mind are yours until you cease to be. Now look up or look down, you decide. Charge forward or call out the names of the nymphs that have betrayed you, halt mid-way or surrender to the pull of the journey, risk losing your heart or risk gaining your soul, these are at stake. But your eyes glisten and you know exactly, clear as daylight, white as winter snow: know that all the sorcery of the world, all potions of the scheming underworld cannot hold you back, cannot force you to stay where you are, cannot take your spirit or heart – you are the soldier of your own past, the hero of your future. You are what you have surrendered, what you are about to find. These pieces that define you, these fragments build your ladder step by step. Moving forward must be, even if leaving momentarily cripples the soul.

Once the fog clears you finally see. See it all. See it all in nothing. There in complete stillness, frozen from the cold, covered in snow, white ice and the ever present blistering sun, there firmly standing in the middle of the biggest ice plate the barren landscape welcomes you. A thousand shades of white, a million different blues. The sound of your heart beating cracks glaciers to tumble to the sea. You have arrived in the moment. The moment holds this everlasting winter, it is the haven of stillness and the kingdom of change. Never have you been so cold. Never have you felt so at home. Your feet never want to move, your hands reach out and try to touch the endless that surrounds you. This is where everything begins. This is where water turns from salty to sweet. This is where secrets from the mouth drop into black holes as rain jets to melt the ice. This is where the weary soul can rest, the tired mind can stop, the beading foreheads dry, the eyes water involuntarily. You look around. Never have you seen anything this beautiful. These endless flatlands like bed sheets for screens display the images of your past. The vision like a miracle. Your heart decides to stay. Never leave. With much courage you stump your feet and with a roaring thunder shout to the bergs and floating plates of ice: I am home. I have arrived. The echo welcomes you, the remnants of your words bounce in every direction, some find you still standing there. If this is the moment you choose, then this moment shall be. If this is where you have found your miracle, then it is likely to pin your navel to your soul. Be still now, these miracles come and go in an instant. I will leave you to enjoy for as long as it lasts. This is your world now, this is you now. What you have found is not unlike a miracle. Not unlike at all.