Where Everything is All Right

Thumbnail image respectfully lifted from Patrick Benson’s illustrations for North: the Amazing Story of Arctic Migration by Nick Dowson

If I were there right now I’d like to believe that I’d be out, past the grove of oaks and up to the crown above it, where everything is right, and everything is soaked with light. Hummingbird sage is like the smell of getting out of cage, to be out in the light, free again to put your hands in the soil again. Where everything is all right. 

We made crowns of silver green moss and crowned ourselves the children of the forest. The best times of this earthly body memory. The best times of my life. When everything was all right.

Somewhere along the way you lost your child body. Somewhere along the way it was broken like the body of a soft guitar, its wood was broken in and the strings were taken off their wooden pegs. What kind of person would break your little body? Something that didn’t want to hear the sounds you make. When you knew that everything was all right. You held the keys to the light, you held the keys to the light. Your little body was a kingdom of light. Your little body was the light. They tried to smash it. They tried to break the sound of light. Didn’t want to hear you, didn’t want to know you, didn’t want to have you in their lives. But you held the kingdom in your eyes.

You know everything is basically a sphere. At the center is everything that ever was, at the center we’re here. Now that time has stopped and they’ve broken all the clocks, time will not go on. What they did will not last. What they did is now undone. We can assemble shattered glass. We’ll reassemble all the shattered glass. We’ll reassemble all of you dear love. We reassemble what they smashed.

Everything is all right.