as I proceed with daily life,
I observe that life is goo.
Goo is good for adhesion and plenty
Of life’s blessings and life’s difficulties
Have adhered to this old body,
Like the baggage everyone talks about
But more like detritus from daily life,
A crust, if you will, like barnacles on a boat.
Layer upon layer since the beginning of memory, my memory.
I don’t even notice anymore as something new attaches, good or bad, happy or sad.
So I plod through each day pretending I don’t see my crust nor yours .
Until I meet someone who’s crust is so obvious,
Brightly colored, noisy, smelly, alive and discomforting.
In looking only at the surface of her protective shell,
I tremble as she denotes the major trauma which has brought her to me in this shape at this time, and is full of woe.
As I watch her trying to shuffle pieces around, I try to understand how I can help.
And then I notice my own crusty self and that of those around me.
Even as the children near me rush through their day, I can see pieces of their life’s flotsam and jetsam sticking out here and there.
Can I deal with mine as well as she deals with hers?
Can I name the chunks of life stuck to my spirits skin? Can I hold them up for observation and examination?
Can I rage at the residuals forcing me down a path not of my choosing?
Can I identify the pieces of my jigsaw puzzle of happiness and put it together, edge pieces first?
The more I interact with people different from me, the more of me I find out about.
My road to self discovery is along side of those with difficult, trauma filled, anti social, crazy lives.