Translate Me

There’s a code,

Written into the pieces of me

Mysterious and complex

It speaks in forms unknown

Turning this on, turning that off

Flipping genetic switches at seeming random

Lighting fires within, only to douse them later, with no explanation or apology

It’s a book, 50, 100, 1 million volumes thick, written in a language I cannot read

My own body and mind, a saga I cannot comprehend without another’s key.

“The Divine Mystery” some may call it, as they turn away from the puzzle to things they can digest. The depth and breadth of the conundrum too much for them to contemplate, they have no further wish to attempt the struggle.

But for me, I wish to delve deeper, to try to understand the whys and wherefores, the hows and whats of Me.

I seek, not only to understand for my own self, but to translate – to gain understanding, the internal “ah-hah!” from others. To see the light go on when they understand that I am the way I am because…THIS. And THAT. And THESE.

Logic and science dance seductively with emotion and faith, all swirling in their patterns together, intertwining in hypnotic rythmns, only to break violently & inexplicably from each other for no apparent reason. Then, quietly meeting again in the middle of the dance floor, to touch hands & make apologies, while agreeing to disagree.

Where does the dance begin? How does it end? And what is the meaning of that complicated bobble of steps in the middle? These are things I seek, words I reach for.

But first, I must decode my skin, my organs, my brain. I must Translate Me.

And that…might take a minute.

*written in response to the Daily Prompt*

Touch

I touch.

It’s one of the many ways I experience the world around me, and I have very sensitive fingertips. They transmit streams of data to my brain, constantly, telling me about smooth/rough, soft/firm, warm/cold, curved, straight, edged, sharp, dull, slimy, fuzzy, completely touchable, or never again.

I love sensuous fabrics- satin, suede, microfiber, fleece, oft-washed cotton, or high thread-count cotton. I love the way they feel when they glide across my skin, soft, smooth, pettable, as though I could wrap myself in it and float off on a cloud.

I am, what many would call, a “sensual person”. Not, necessarily in the sexual overtones most people use that phrase, but, in the fact that I use all of my senses to explore my world. 

Sight – colors, depth, symmetry, and that certain something that just appeals to my sight, makes an object, person, view, simply something that catches my breath, and makes me stare.  I stare at people I see in public, sometimes, simply because of the tone of their skin, or the depth in their eyes, the curve of their mouth as they smile, or the fall of their hair.  I feel awkward if they catch me, because I’m sure they think I’m some kind of weirdo, but, it’s just… something extraordinary… about them, that grabbed my attention. I’ve told people in the past “I’m an artist, and you have fabulous (insert cool thing about them here)”.

Smell. I revel in woodsy scents, warm smells, cedar, sandalwood, etc. Dark, inviting smells like musk; exciting and spicy smells, like cinnamon & cloves. That’s why carnations are my favorite flowers, they’re spicy and sweet, all at the same time, & when I smell them, I’m liable to just want to stick my nose in the bouquet & stay there. Pumpkin spice, apples & cinnamon. I love the “clean” scents, too, they’re invigorating & comforting. Line-dried laundry, smelling of sunshine & fresh air, and, yes, the smell of honest sweat can even be inviting. No, not the B.O. that happens after a really long, sweaty, rank day… But the fresh smell of hard work has never been a turn-off for me.

Sound. Drums. Oh. My. God. Drums. With a strong beat, I turn into a meditative zoned-out zombie. Drums can calm me down, or fire me up, depending on the tempo, rhythm and depth of the drum itself. Bass drums set my heart beating to whatever tempo they’re sending out… Thump. Thump. 

Taste.  Well, I’m a picky eater. But the things I like, I love to savor, indulge, linger over. Nuff said.

But- Touch.

That is my personal go-to.

Soft touch, rough over smooth, warm and steady, lingering, shaky, light, firm. I will often run my fingertips over my arms, just to reassure myself, to calm myself. 

Well, I’m too old to carry a blankie around, now, aren’t I?

I just wish there was more of it to go around.  

Touch.  

Essential.

To me, anyway.

Imagine

Imagine,

A world of only the compassionate, the hopeful, the thankful, the peaceful.

Striving together to achieve goals only dreamed of.

Competition – only for the sheer joy of testing your skills against another, to urge each other to greater heights. 

Scientific discovery – for the benefit of the whole planet, to make life longer, hope greater, love fuller.

Spirituality – fulfilling humanity’s fervent dream that there is a reason, a purpose for it all, coming together to worship, each in his own way, but sharing the common bond of Faith in Something.

Gratefulness – for the fullness of life, the abundance of riches, made available to all, out of the gratitude and compassion of a healthy, loving heart.

There can be joy in everyday things.  And with balance of heart, mind and soul, you find true serenity.  Imagine it – if we could attain this balance!  This hope!

Oh, to find this balance, even for a moment – this I think would truly be Nirvana – the Blessed Enlightenment of the Soul.

Imagine, moving beyond the grief, the pain, the rage.

Someday?