Something about lightness

The last few months during lockdown has been a strange combination of foreboding and freedom. Never before have I experienced such space, not actual space (I write this from a tiny flat in London - which seems to get smaller by the day!) but space to be with myself, both with my body and with my mind. I have “done” very little, but feel I have grown inexplicably out to my edges. One of the things I have re-discovered is my love for writing. Collecting words and arranging them on a page has become a wonderful way to process the madness of the world outside, and the occasional chaos inside. The following collection of words was written after speaking to a dear friend in Cyprus,, whose distance is always felt, but never more so than the last 3 months.

Is there something in this?

Can I soar here, in this? 

Can I lift up out of myself, into expanse of space, in this? 

Can you hear me think in this? 

Does the sound of heavy minds laden with fear and guilt travel in this? 

Are you also thinking this?

What fire do I need to launch, to propel myself beyond

There is so little now, to use, to absorb, to draw upon

No unfamiliarity for inspiration, no familiarity for comfort

Just a gapping blue of unanswered questions and blind trust 

Are you being moved from our spaces too, I think?  

Is there something in this, at all, do you think?

Sometimes I worry there is nothing in this 

There isn’t even you… 

I am here 

I am somewhere, but nowhere near to nowhere

And I have no idea how our paths will now meet in this expanse of space

Reaching, expanding, soaring

I seep between the cracks of the downward pressing weight

You are nowhere 

You are somewhere, but nowhere near to me 

And I have no idea how our paths will now meet in this expanse of space

Are you reaching up, pouring through the cracks of the downward pressing weight 

Or does it press on you, compress you and pin you to this place? 

If you get pinned here, in this, and I escape, explode out the other side of this downward pressing weight

Will we exist in the same thread of time and space, or will we live in parallel?  

One half of me, of my heart, my flesh, immobilised, laden with the weight of chaos and mess Whilst the other moves swiftly and carelessly unbound, filling its edges, water spilling, escaping through sand.  

Oh what a feeling 

To be weightless, a form without form

Lightness filling my pores, and I float buoyant in stilled waters 

But what of us, two paths etched in stone, stretching forward in parallel 

Is there a point where our places and spaces in time can meet, do you think?

Is there something in this?

Can we stay here, in this? 

Can we find ourselves, in the expanse of space, in this? 

Can we find a new form in this? 

Does the wanting of my chest’s flesh, pumping with hope and love travel in this? 

Are you also thinking this?

Image shot at Tower Bridge, London