coming up with air in my lungs

I'm breaking the surface.

Finally.

I've missed you. Missed our communion. Missed your witnessing. Of the co-incidences. The magicality that happens. The hope and resurrection that can only be identified in hindsight.

I'm wedging the nails from out my palms, wrapping tighter the adult, criminal swaddling, wriggling my toes and trying to figure how to get down.

Will I break my ankles if I jump? And what's a small fracture after all I'm been through?! What's a sliced through, clean through, so the light illuminates interior flesh, cut, after the epic hell of losing one's closest sense of self.

Ah, look, no question mark. Definitely rhetorical.

I'm breaking the surface and my hope, belief, deduction, money back guarantee that the sun'll come out (tomorrow) is proved dependable. A foundation upon which I can jump and reach higher. Jump and see over the wall. Jump and with new won wings, take off to be vaulted out of a past which (the words come slowly now) a past which includes complete and utter dissolution of Self, a re-building, not-for profit and an acceptance so deep and out the back of me that there's some relief in not caring whether I make good or just have fun and amuse myself from now on.

What is a Life for. After Tragedy.

?

?

It is used differently, let me assure you. Just in case you happen to pass through that slit second in which everything changes.

It is Lived. Differently.

More...preciously?

Who am I to say. To quantify. My ability to quantify and to stand behind my judgements has been rendered. Rendered down to. Rendered down. To a potency that can only make short term statements about the present moment.

"It is now"

"I am here"

"We are"

So career, planning etc., life purpose, etc., ambition (ha ha) etc., are all nullified in the face of "I can breathe. Deeply. Now."

Is this better?

Well, I type more slowly.

I'm happy with less.

I hope for nothing.

And I'm in something that has an unknown future but a certain present.

And for now, this is enough.

Something's come back. Parade please. And a welcome mat.

Something of me, that I hadn't identified as "gone", has ... re-surfaced.

Coming up from below and at the same time making anew, the top texture of the foundation.

I've broken the surface.

And breathing has never felt like such an opportunity for celebration.

Yippee.