16 March 2009

Untamed Beasty

There stood beside me a grove of yellow mango shrubs, each the size of a small boy.

In each moment I stood motionless watching, the weight of it all pressed down on my head, shoulders, and feet (burrowing deeper into the dark wet soil). An increased burden of helplessness; an impotence in its purest state overwhelmed as I heard the waves upon the shore somewhere behind me.

It was as if I could intuit each moment (not seconds, not time, but the single idea or notion of an individual and distinct nano event) as they passed by -- or rather were lit then extinguished -- one by one, like wood matches you get from a steak house, a half-empty box, rattling around. Each of them as important as its predecessor or successor, lined up like lemmings about to migrate to some eternal judgment that they surely would not pass. Each one wanted, yet wasted.

These moments pressed in on my conscience; the box never emptying, just rattling with fresh moments to be shaken to see if there were any left, then pulled hard against the box, then dropped down to the earth like manna from Heaven with a fleeting trail of smoke and a last gasp upon impact.

Over.

Wasted.

Again.


3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Hello? Dude .... Deep. Very Deep. I was forced to ask myself if the very nano moment to write these very words were being wasted. But, no. It was a match worth striking.

m

JGregg said...

Thanks, m! Good to see you in the neighborhood; when are you getting your own blog?

You have lots to say ... don't be intellectually obese!

Jg.

Drunk Love Poet said...

Thank you always for your heart felt responses to my posts over the past months - years? I love this post for many reasons... but mostly because of the depth of my love for matches and mangoes. Moments. Here is my counter response...

Happy New Year!

http://drunkloveheart.blogspot.com/2009/10/playing-with-matches.html