Memoirs of power dribble down the rear mirror; it rains.
Reminders of a recent past, of duties upheld, contracts signed, unspoken promises, inheritance of protection, while we watch the world outside unravel; a command to nurture the connections made with those stewards of the machinery, the great providers, the decision makers, the game masters; at all costs.
Don’t mind the back door and the one silouette standing at the threshold of farewell; the end has come to what we did to secure our standing, the intricacies of control.
A hand ushers to close it shut, for good; the ways of power to come are a new breed unheard of, and they have no use for brain strategy and sleepless nights.
Reminders languish on the rough outskirts of ugliness, stretching for miles; meanwhile, the telltales about wealth glisten on the streets as symbols of joy, the next big thing smiles broadly, and the road to success has its own advertisement. An old energy calls out on the radio to retrace our steps into nostalgia, they want us back, they preach: our previous order should tame your confusion.
But we know better now, and won’t be fooled; they only makes things worse with each try.
We’ve changed, the door is almost closed, power suffered a metamorphosis and is barely coming out of itself, trying to understand its new, softer body. Don’t let them in, they won’t understand!
The creature breathes, frail still in its newborn tenderness. Let us watch over it, nurture the new ways of power embodied, our hearts animated in wakeful presence as it takes it’s first steps; let us wait in the potential of fresh observation and witness our fullness, a creature in bloom.
