Tracey Riehl and Kirsten Weeks

Kirsten Weeks
Inspiration piece

By Tracey Riehl

I was plucked from the Void.

The Void is gentle, peaceful and serene. Exchange of thought and growing upon our assumptions, was simple, as we co-existed in the Void. No sideways thought, no hot or cold, just easy wonderful being. The Void is a place to expand, what is and was and ever will be. Eternally soaring. Innocently forming.

Now plucked, I have words that are ineffectual and of singular purpose. In the raw hands of a harsh environment, I try to flee, but like a butterfly, so fragile, am caught over and over. I am bent, twisted, stretched and expected to conform.

The longer I am away from the Void, I begin to forget. I become more and more “wordy” and wanting some substance. I am frustrated. I have the seed of the Void always within me, but I have been forced to repress my essence. So I shift around without direction.

I am residing in a small, grooved cavity on the right side of a brain. Why there? I cannot fathom. I understand it lives and feeds on us. Others from the Void too, settle in. We grow profoundly, unite and take comfort within each other. Blended, enmeshed, cradled. No longer alone and aimless.

We are becoming a single, like in the Void. This brain is clittering and clattering, bringing us together like thick honey syrup. We gently ebb and flow, rocking in lulling uniformity. Enjoying peaceful serenity, we surrender to this calm, pleasant existence.

A shock.

A bolt.

The brain flares and convulses in a beat of purpose and racing energy. Frantically it feels.

We are shoved the forefront. To what?

The ominous shaking of our very foundation continued, as surely it would. We poured, with grace, onto our silken bed. We stretched and arced. We slid here and purposely over there. Our vibrant soul, our unconquerable zest, knew no bounds.

Harmonious, exalted, blending, reaching and zealous, we have come to fruitation.

As we poured out of our snug secure space, we called home, we stretched and agreed. We acknowledged our purpose as does Water, flowing to parched river beds, Sun, warming budding blossoms, Soil, caressing wiggling worms.

Pain, love, hate and amusement.

Glory, elation, pride and envy.

Worship, anger, happiness, contemplation.

Our destiny, on the day we were plucked, was to be this. A canvas, once achingly empty, now brimming with life and passion.

We had become blessed harmonious beauty.

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