Meantime We Shall Express Our Darker Purpose, or, Can You Feel It Through the Glove?

Time and treasure have been unfolding. What and who holds me these days are constant: A well-worn and wooden boat creaking and continuing in the sea against the strength of its slams.

Reality, recently, has been a constant recycling of the first scene in King Lear. 

I was born last and was not able to do the dance required of me to be viewed as a child worthy of the crown they are insulted I have no interest in. 

It is not borne of malice nor resentment.  

Simply a love heftily anchored somewhere between the lands of honesty and sadness.

I love your majesty according to my bond - nor more nor less. 

Save the opulence for my older sisters, right?  

The jewels of our father with wash'd eyes. 

 (pause)

The tides have been interesting as of late. 

That which is sent out to sea; that which washes ashore.

There are those we will let go of forever, surfacing only and reluctantly in our strangest dreams.

Then there are those we are forever tied to - only to resurface as if the strangest dream has been conjured 

right in front of our waking-life eyes.  

be well; be loved,

k.

(via summerbummr Tumblr)

(title: taken from King Lear "Meantime, we shall express our darker purpose")