So this blogging thing seemed to be a good idea, until I remembered this week I hadn't posted since my first because I'd been so busy! And this week was less busy. But I was reminded tonight of a passion I had for writing, so I thought I'd share with people something I wrote a number of years ago. Next time I post I'll put some reflections of life up. I just need to find time to reflect!
“We are a wasteful nation” a dry suited politician tries to interest me before I hit the red button. The soft, rubbery button on my remote, which enables me to send the boring, old, elected by a minority member of parliament, into darkness. A silent nothing. My newly black screen stares quizzically at back at me, as I mumble “tell me about it” to myself walking out of the blank room, checking my battered phone to make sure that no one loves me. With the inevitable conclusion that no one does, I settle down to browse the enormous internet for my love.
Its strange how you always visit the same sites, maybe its because your sure to find someone to love on those sites, or maybe its because your sure that if you visit somewhere else, somewhere with no one you know, you’ll be kicked out as soon as you start to enjoy it. With the inevitable conclusion drawn again from a different source, I’m left to face the facts; No one loves me. A horrible, yet familiar darkness falls over me, the sun hides behind clouds, and the rain starts to fall. Ironic how it always rains on sad days isn’t it? As if the weather mourns with you.
But then, the sun weirdly peeps out over the top of the fluffy cloud it is sleeping in, as if playing ‘Peepo’ with a baby! A sliver of light shines through the darkness. Enough to blind me, but not enough to scare away the darkness. A flashing light alerts me to the new message I have received, a message filled with love, but not the right type of love. I recently found this, the world is full of love, you need many variations of love to survive, like variations on food, but there is a main type that keeps you going. That main love is the bread and water of life.
But sometimes you change which type of bread you eat, one day it might be ‘Mighty White’, but then you can’t buy that any more, so you eat ‘Hovis’. The same with water, Southerners have hard water, Northerners have soft, and some even take it straight off the moors. So one day you’ll drink hard, clear water, other days you might drink soft rusty brown water. Both are the same, but different. In your early years you might depend on the love of your family, later on your friends, and the possibly you might progress onto the really grown up love, where you take the love, and give your love to just one person. All are the same, but different.
Do we know when we change which we depend on? We can see the difference in our bread, we can see the difference in our water, so can we see the difference in our love. Sometimes we can, if we ate bread that was given to us, would we be able to tell if it was different from the bread we buy ourselves? Maybe there is a slightly different taste, or a different colour, the same happens with love. Love is a bright light which guides us and shows us the pathway of life. Brighter than any other light that maybe shining, trying to take us off the easy path. When that light goes, when we let it go, our life is dark, we don’t know where we go, we stumble around, arms out stretched taking tiny steps; not big bounding leaps we used to take.
That darkness, or dimness if we stray off the highway, can be brightened by others on that path, or around it. And our world becomes that bright, rainbow coloured world again. The disco continues, sometimes we might even get a new, private disco again! That’s when the lights are brightest, the music is loudest, and happiness flows freely like a river, reaching its mouth. Though some never experience this disco, others seek lots of them, the music and lights are different, but the feeling is the same, some even go back again, and again, to the same disco, no matter how many times it breaks. Others will find one, and stick in it, crashing other discos for awhile, and then returning to the one they have spent so long in.
Meanwhile, other people are dancing in large rooms, that have long been emptied of flashing bright lights, music no longer rings out, just one lone body, trying to carry on the party, failing. Slowly realising and slouching out, or just slouching to the side, sitting down and waiting for the next party in the same room. A room so dark that you can’t see your own hand scratching your nose, a room so dark you can’t see anyone else approaching, music still rings in your ears so you don’t hear them.
Then the ringing fades, the lone body runs around the room trying to search out the music again, “WHERE ARE YOU” echoes round the empty room; a moth flies up in shock, as another sounds echoes round the room. The banging of a locked door, no door will open, all locked. Loneliness locked into a room with itself. Others try to rid loneliness from the room, but none can get close enough to the body to rip out the pounding heart, a heart that yearns for the disco to restart, to lonely to even look for another disco.
But those who try to rid, and those who almost succeed are all lights along the path, lighting the way. Some are brighter than others, and some lights lead you out and along the path, only or you to regress back, those lights show the love of family and friends. The most important people, the most important variations of love, even if you are locked into the empty room, waiting for your favourite disco to return to it. But what happens if that disco doesn’t return, if that was the only stop here on the tour?
I think back to the dry, ‘I don’t actually care about my constituents’ politician and think out loud “Yes we really are a wasteful nation aren’t we!” but I’m not talking about refuse and recycling, I’m talking about wasting feelings, discos are no fun on our own, so why stay?