Mindful of my madness

In the deep waters of half asleep there are shapes in the tides and spray
and the shapes grow and flourish and then collapse, day after night after day.

There are children in the waves, and monsters in the sea weed
and they both reach out for love, and they both reach out in need.

They ebb and flow and find their balance according to the season,
So I try to be Mindful of my madness AND mindful of my reason;

But I’m wary of the mad monster that lurks beneath my sensible schemes,
who grumbles in the daylight and thunders in my dreams.

Mindful too of the sensible, reasonable character that I must often play;
and the two of them dance, grow flourish and collapse, day after night after day.

And as they dance I try to function but my faculties take a beating
mindful of madness alright, I can feel the impending eclipse of reason.

And soon I shall forget that all this too shall pass, that madness comes and goes:
With all its attendant paranoia and moods miserable and morose.

And beneath all that is a fear that swells like the ocean, day after night after day.
a bottomless dread from when I get out of bed and it’s so hard for me to explain!

Down here it’s so hard to speak, to make words, to make sense of anything!
But if you fight silently, the silence always wins.

It’s further evidence that I’m completely without hope, I can’t even converse!
and everyone expects me to be so good with words; and that just makes it worse.

All the reassurances that “this too shall pass” are scarcely even heard
As I stagger beneath the waves, drowning in the watery twilight world.

An irrational ocean that rises and falls, night after day after night,
Full of strange creatures born from the depths, strangers to air and light,

Shapes like circling sharks, and tentacles writhing like fingers of despair
I’m dissolving in this ocean and I can hardly care.

And then a mermaid sings to this drowning sailor, with a voice of living water
Evoking new patterns out of the old, the gift of Ocean’s daughter.

Weaving a vision, moment by moment, she who is unafraid of the depths:
hope fights habit, fights to feel the wonder, fights to feel the breath.

And the stories grow, day after night, flourishing against the tide.
Salvaging treasures thought lost forever, a gift from my Mermaid bride.

With these gifts I can swim, and I can tend the wounds that might drag me under.
I will not deny the shadows; but I will not fear them either.

The patterns that light and shadow makes in the waters of existence
contains all the stories imagineable, and all outlined in brilliance.

Words don’t always work here, but that’s OK, not everything has to have clear meaning.
There is a whole universe beyond the boundaries defined by madness and by reason.

Blessed be the darkness and blessed be these wounds;
Blessed be the mystery and the wonder and the knowing;
Blessed be the stillness that is greater than any ocean;
Blessed be existence; and the coming and the going.

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