“…someday…, we’ll medicate human experience right out of the human experience.” – Dennis Lehane
“Show me a sane man and I will cure him for you.” – Carl Gustav Jung
He writes a story in me, humming in words as he steps around our Christmas tree. Nothing of logic is key, though he answers the question of what it takes to be free. He builds a lion in me, hunting through the puzzles of his mind decisively, turning instantly, moving from mood to mood, nothing is broken if you can finally see. The picture of his sweet mind, the character of the essence that makes him love me undefined. For if, he should ever go away, I would weep without stopping and there I would die that day, my heart in darkness, blind. For he cannot go, while he stays, oh no he cannot go while he stays. He gathers from a different world he sees. Breaking down a fourth wall, dividing black out of white decisively. Fomenting conversation that draws mystery, he means everything to me. Oh, my son you mean everything to me.
The orbs of his eyes create a sea, a brown warm emotion that stops the worlds freeze. The mystic how it forms, layer upon layer over history it swarms, taking our discussions to the how or ever when. This world has many doorways let us open them from within. My son you are a fortress that no one ever sees, a stronghold of magic that forms a mighty keep. Weaving in and out of love like it is on a time release. The ways of G_D are strange to me. You whisper in my ear, “The pathways of faith are never free”. You say it while I sleep, “the pathways of faith are never free”.
He spins such ominous ghost, according to our dialogue they have established in his mind a host. Words a Psychiatrist plays, let us try this little pill just to get him through each day. For what is an interest to him, the opening of a beautiful mind, or the compartments we define them in. The days are passing quicker; before you know it, time will lose its way. So on the eve of winter when there is snow upon the ground. The sign of mankind’s judgment a line of demarcation all around. My son he rises holy and he points up to the winter stars, he swears upon his body, and he loosens his minds scars. He writes a story in me, and it will not go away, for in his own belief he seizes what is day. For nothing is of logic for in that is the key, to answer the one question that it takes to be free. Who is me? Who is me? For as we know, Faith is never free.
For my wife, daughter and especially my son, who has over paid the price of faith to gain the light. – 12.21.2018 – דָנִיֵּאל
- Over 80 million Americans took a Psychotropic medication in 2018