Awakening By: Crysmys

Pencil to paper to ease my mind and express my

emotions. I am alive. I now know why people crave the ride, the thrill of the mighty Texan, Superman or Batman. The next great roller coaster to take them up, drop them, only to free their insecurities. They survive near heart attacks – the raising beat drowns the sound of all others screaming. The ride stops. They survive. I am alive.

You have awakened my Muse. I mean I was Snow Bright, frozen. My Heart was barely functioning. Only responsibility was to deliver oxygen. Service of responsibility is all I felt. Service, that is what you are here for, service. My purpose was simple – service.

I had not heard my pulse in so long I forgot I like that song. Damn, it’s growing exponentially. Smiling and twirling, stepping with the beat. No more drama. Life is looking for you.

Right?! Love is looking for you. Send out the signal to guide my Muse from the ocean of hurricanes that has had it surrounded. Seven storms, there was

nowhere to guide her. Drop the sails – kill the engines – seven whirlwinds surrounding my Muse and me. Lost at sea was the report sent by Morris code heart beat.

No one loves me. No one to love me, No one can love me. No one was in search of me. So hard was No one searching. No one calls, no one texts, no one emails. I started calling love – No one. First name No One, last name Service. This was the oxymoron that was my life. Love no one – service all with love.

That was the lyrics to my heart song. Yeah jammin’ to the beat “love don’t live here anymore”. Trapped in that ocean, the code rang louder. It was louder than all the storms. “Love don’t live here anymore” mixed with “no more drama”.

Stuck in the ocean, I began to dream. Emotionally abusing myself, self-mutilation, you do not deserve love. You are not worthy. You are not pleasing to others. You are not what others find appealing, comforting, joyful, pleasurable, “love don’t live here anymore.” My muse, she died.

She died. She could not survive without love. She needed love like we need oxygen. The tornadoes

sucked all the wind from her sails. Stranded in the ocean, her heart beat slowed to a minimum. Rations, if we are to survive, we must ration.

No One Service was the name of my new best friend for the longest time. I began to interpret, understand that to mean there is not just one thing you are called to do. Services required. Services are mandatory. There is no time for love. Your life is to be sacrificed for love. No love so that you may love. No love so that you may love. Sacrifice love so that you may love.

I lay in the eye of the colliding storms. Lightening dancing on the water around me, my piece of the ocean was still. Rage surrounded me. Dancing – jerking – stepping. The lightening was gigging – thunder beating – lyrics mixing a storm of parties around me. My waters were still as cement.

Dead to myself, I awake only to serve. That was my purpose. That was all I heard. My senses were damaged and lost in the storm. The sense of touch was the first to go. No feelings. Feelings are not strategies. Shortly after, smell departed, smelling is not a service. Taste was the last to go. Without smelling I

felt no hunger. No cravings for sweets, spices, no …. Feed the body and mind. The heart will survive, but not …. Your heart is not a strategy. Hope is not a strategy. No one – Service all – there is No time for you. The pleasure principle successfully removed.

Racing – Raging - Racing – Raging – Awakening! Inside the roaring rapids, I see trees. I hear the birds sing. I feel … I feel … I feel moisture on my face. Rapidly my heart beats. I feel. I can feel.

I smell the freshness after it rains. I can smell. My life raft settles on the banks near a patch of strawberries. I taste them. Their juices slide from the corners of my mouth. My mind tingles from the pleasure. My heart begins to race, raging rapidly. “Free your mind – the rest will follow” using words like fairytale again. I can feel her, my Muse.

She has been kissed with new life. Awakened from the abyss, unjustly imprisoned – she feels … she feels … she feels. The possibilities, she feels.