Open? Me?

*This piece is from my Writes of Passgae writing process – a month long adventure that myself and about 12 other adventurers are currently exploring… And yep, I’m facilitating and participating! Ah the magic of the internet! 🙂 *

Open?

Me?

Darling, I’m the open, rolling, verdant green hills of rich, royal estate.

Land as far as the eye can see, and not fence nor gate nor armoured military in sight.

The doors are open, and there’s no fear of stealing.

Oh my self lands are open.

I am open.

But I am far.

Far from the madding crowd.

Far from the cardboard cutouts of blue skies and open windows painted on cement cells.

Oh I am far.

There is a wild tundra between me and them. Brutally, exquisitely revealing. Wild winds stripping everything.

I am far.

There is a staircase of a thousand tomes between there and here.

Is it a distance of days and days and days… And nights.

Nights alone.

The path here is singular.

My estate is abundant playground, feasts the norm, famine long gone.

And you’re welcome.

If you can find the way.

If the lemon juice on the secret message burns and browns in the just the right way, you’ll find me.

Antithesis of hiding, but you’ll get here riding no beast of burden, no contraption carrying extra weight in search of absolution.

You’ll find me on your own two feet only, and you’ll have spent so much time in the presence of life that you’ll have absolved the fear of being lonely and embraced the only-ness of being human.

Open?

Oh, darling, I am open.

But for ships that have never ventured from sight of land, I am far.

For sailors who have read about siren’s storms in books but nothing more, I am far.

For those who have learned by rote the alphabet, but never sewn together a piece of their own story to keep a lover warm at night, I am far.

For those who have never thought of thinking, I am further than distance.

For those who have never thought of thinking, I am further than the click of magic red shoes could ever, ever take you.

For those who have never thought of thinking, I’m a cake in a glossy magazine that, once in your hungry desperation, you tried licking.

I am far.

Darling, I’m here, I’m open…

Meet you for tea and cake at 10, come via the tundra.

 

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