Leaving Home

I wrote this about, well just read on and you will see... (April 28, 2008)

I began my morning pages today and only got two lines...
Today I leave for Munich.
Today I move to Munchen. Stop.

It feels as there is nothing there after this. I imagine a bunch of thoughts are swirling about that include timing and luggage details and driving and sons and friends and each fighting to come to the surface - sort of like the race of sperm to be "the one" to fertilise the egg and yet, they all seem to be pushing so hard, that not one concrete, specific thought is allowed to come through. So I am left with, "Today, I move to Munchen," and then a large pregnant pause.

I wonder if the analogy I had before of sperm racing is the origin of a "pregnant pause."
Interesting. Breathe. Nothing.Breathe. Nothing still. I breathe and search for the story that fits this blank, this pause, this emptyness.

A man comes to the edge of a cliff
or is it his life.And he peers
over the edge.
It is cloudy beneath him, yet
not completely.He can
see some details through
small breaks in the clouds.And
what he sees is not entirely
clear, but he thinks
it looks safe. Safe
enough.
He feels through the soul
s of his feet, Solid ground.
What appears to be
solid ground. He has
traveled far enough to know.
He knows this too
is illusion. Even
the ground he stands
upon is not solid, But
a swirling mass of chaos
But a chaos he is
comfortable with or
at least used to.
But peering over
the edge
This is a game
of concentration where only
bits of the puzzle are revealed
and who knows what lies behind
tile 17
Tile 17?
He remembers another
time similar to this
one, When a younger
version of himself stood
on a similar cliff,
Looking out into a world
he had so little experience at
at 17, he stood on the edge
at 17, with no one to guide him
he leapt off the cliff.
He forgot this brave version
of himself the one
that has walked with him
in him, ever since.
This version that leapt
without a push.
That leapt
without coaching
That leapt
without a self-help book
That leapt alone..
A tear, one
lonely tear appears
on the edge of his eye - holding
tightly to its place
not wanting to be spent,as he turns
and looks back across the landscape
of the climb that brought him
to this very spot
the tear rolls down his cheek
"Wow. What a hike?"
There have been many.
Many - too many to name.I
wonder is each struggling
to reach their own clif.
I wonder
does everyone feel this
same gnawing inside,
when they come to this door,
this edge
And do they know,
what I know right now
That leap or turn back
It matters not.
For me, I am this man
at this very moment,
And I am this boy of 17
A seeming lifetime ago.
And I am ready.
Knowing I will climb again
to another cliff
And today I leap.