Navigating around this place,
in this suit of many layers
of reptilian scales
and mammalian glands,
I follow, however reluctantly,
the robotic directions,
from a woman's
monotone voice,
not my own.
She echoes from within
a hidden circuit
of programmed directions.
The downloaded data tells me
to take that left and this right,
as I make my way
to the flag before me.
I am also instructed
to fight, to flee, to freeze
with each zap of current that
courses through me
from the exposed
and tender roots
of the electrical network,
humming on the outer layer
of this suit I think I am.
This entangled wiring,
with its preprogrammed function
to warn and protect,
makes the fleshy portion
of me within
jump and retreat
like a skittish fawn
to each bump, each change in atmosphere,
each misstep.
I walk carefully,
slowly,
feeling the weight
of mechanical
and social gravity.
Each foot I lift
is heavy and slow,
precisely calculated
to be acceptable,
just like those
of the walkers before me,
leaving a deep
irreversible imprint
on the ground beneath me.
I reach out my hungry
telescopic limbs
to grab what is valuable ,
collecting the moon rocks
and galaxial gems
that will make
this journey worthwhile,
placing them in the suit's
many storage compartments,
feeling somehow lighter,
the heavier the container
and I become.
I decorate my suit
in the beads of star dust
that fall around me,
making myself,
even in this heavy garment,
as attractive and unique
as I possibly can.
I display my hard earned titles
and initials on a well lit placard
that dangles around my neck,
making sure it is especially visible
as the light around me fades.
I am told by this robotic voice
that I must stand out
amongst the other walkers
and
at the same time
I must blend in.
I hear my breath
panting and heaving
within the confines of my suit
as I make my way
to the center of my Life.
I do my best
to heed the directions,
to avoid the zaps of pain,
to make my imprint known,
to take what I can,
and be as noticeable
and recognizable,
yet as similar
and unobtrusive
as a separate walker
can be...
But the suit is so heavy,
and the programming
so restrictive,
and the flag
that does not move
in the windless air
seems to get farther away
with each step
I take toward it.
Something within me,
some little voice
beneath the programming
and the installed
external reactivity
whispers..."stop".
I do.
I stop in my tracks
and remove the helmet.
I breathe
for the first time
without the need
of external support.
I remove my heavy garment
and feel the weightlessness
of unlimited space
as I rise untethered
into emptiness.
I watch from
an elevated distance
as the rocks and gems
that were once
tucked within the suit's
many pockets
roll away.
I am free.
© Dale-Lyn (pen) July, 2020
I can't help it okay? They just come out. lol
I owe this one to Tara Brach. I was listening to her speak in the below video and she said a few words: "space suit", "Navigating" , "reptilian", "mammalian" "nervous system wired" and a few others, close to the beginning of her talk. I had to write them down...knowing they were going to be a part of a poem...Whether they, she or I liked it or not lol. Just is!
All is well.
Tara Brach (May, 2020) Remembering Goodness; Three Gestures of Love. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EcjUw6fnkMY
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