I am the Fool traveler, treading on a thousand dreams, whistling to the Arpeggio of Sorrow and waking from slumber only to find myself clothed in yesterdays vomit-soaked garments. I hold the pride of being right and the guilt of being me; I wake softly in the undertow sinking more deeply into it than I can bare. I hold the Light of Infinite Mercy, the author of poems to everything, and at the end of my rope, I see it, the mighty and peaceful acceptance of not being enough. I see the young baby girl running mad, mad like a puppet for his our wishes, but the all the while, cherishing each step she takes without us. The father deep inside of me, the husband to adore, the son who answers lovingly and balks his words of horror, the soldier effervescent, and the gravedigger of the norm, the hopeful hanged man you find in America's back pocket once again. For after every silent whisper I hear, or picador imaginings, and lustful, gluttonous mourning, there is one who stands triumphantly upon the azure skies. And each hero that I've longed to be, they finally give their greetings, the well-wishes, banishing me to darkness that I may better serve the Light. And raise arms to the staged scenery and conduct the magic forever. I used to wonder what would become of me and lie to make it so. And dream of taking this bitch over. But now I just go. I just go and move and breath and cry if I need to. I just lose and gain and wander. And think of the stories to share again. Entertaining all of God's children and drinking with them too. Though alcohol won't touch my lips, I can give you fire too. I can be good to you, Oh Mother. And forgive you for the times you've forsaken it. And cheer you on like him, the hero with many faces, the poem with lines to forever. Thirty-three you find me now. Oh, Reader, don't stop now. Just give me a chance to grow and be the Writer you need me to be. "Give me that chance," I say. Give me that stage to speak. I promise you'll quiver with reckoning and shake to see our fate. One foot in front of the other. This is how you do it. Just one foot in front of the other, friends. We'll make it. All of us. The good, the bad, the beautiful, and fare. The priests and gods and kings. We'll make if we love ourselves and give kindly to our kin. The dreams we've longed for each of us are not silly after all. We can touch the living, breathing, dying friends and see it all unfurl. A shaking awaits and a reckoning awakes you. And what a world we'll have. What a world we'll have!
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