Reflections in Suspension. The Graveyards and the ghosts traveling through space, looking for somewhere to settle. I know it cannot be here as I am not settled, I am a traveler and I see how the rain falls and burns itself on the lamp lights of yesteryear. The smoke is rising like an electrical fire. The eye plays no tricks. There is no direction home. Lights installed ages ago, I don't have to wait to get my fix. I rise once again as I've risen before and this time I have not forgotten that there's something beyond waiting for me. A garden of bursting rose blossoms but still there's no way home because I'm already inside on the outside. I am already home. This is not a place where time and fevers run black, white and violet and home is not just another rainy night in Georgia.
My home is in things that are evident and have proofs and are repeatable and, if new evidence comes along I am allowed to change my view based on the new verifiable evidence. Faith, unlike a rainy night demands an adherence to dogma regardless of the evidence and proofs. Do I have faith? I'd say that I do. Faith in my continuance to write with abandon otherwise I stand with reality which allows me to move forward with balance and stealth into the arms of tomorrow which may (or may not) be just another rainy night in Georgia.
Words © Wendy Rose Watson
