Here

It’s here that I get to go where I’ve never gone before. It’s infinite, magical, a wide open space, and empty of everything that doesn’t and shouldn’t matter. It’s wild and exorbitant. It’s here that dreams are made real. This place of the mind is static and unyielding until before long it’s speeding toward sundown on a long road that stretches over the horizon. A rush and a push and a shove into a cavernous vacuum. Time doesn’t exist here. It’s out of sync with what’s going on outside. It’s wild and distorted. It’s empty of thought. The ideas flow from here through me and out onto the page. Here there is no fear, no doubt, no holding back, or holding on. Here, dear life can go and fuck itself. Thankfully the words of others have no place here either. Words that carry no weight, unless they come from a good and honest place. Irrelevant, forgotten, ignored, nothing to push and pull, upset, or cut me down to size.

I lie back, let go of all inhibition, and wait for the magic to begin. It’s on the tip of my pen. I take it on the chin and soon I am soaring. Floating, head over heels up above. Here I can only win, even when I lose. Eloquent and elegant prose rolls off my tongue, it rhymes and chimes to the rhythm within. As I race to keep up with the out-of-control pace, I can feel a grin breaking over my face. I often wonder what it means, but I’ve learned to trust. Understanding is for later when I read over it again. Here I can feel a sense of place, an anchor that holds firm when the wind and the weather blows strong. Here I am captured by beauty, by the simple pleasures that are all mine.

No rules. No borders. No boundaries. No being seen and not heard. Nobody to fight with. No games to play. No pretending that it doesn’t matter when it does. No betrayals of the heart. Nobody to tell me what I’m doing is wrong. It feels right and that’s all I need to know. I’ve always wondered why they put windows in schools if we’re not allowed to look out. Here day-dreaming is not only expected, it is compulsory. Here I can be myself. I can follow my thoughts without unnecessary interruption. Here I am at one with source, spirit, and life. A perfect sphere of synchronicity. As dark as the light can sometimes be, this is lighter still. I thought I was all out of answers until I found myself here. Blinding. Fluorescent. Apocalyptic. Kaleidoscopic. Here the lanterns burn until the end of the time. They never go out. Whatever has been bruised and broken comes roaring back again.

I slip on my shades and stare straight into the sun. Here I even whisper sweet nothings to myself about the love I lost along the way. Gone but not forgotten, a reminder in the rearview mirror. They carry weight here. Here they can be confronted and worked through. Here I can forget what it is to hurt, to be frightened, to be lonely, to be sad. Here I am the only one. Alone and separate. Here I can breathe again. Here I see funny quirky things. One minute it’s an emotional fish, the next a boomtown rat, or a rolling stone. Here anything is possible. The seeds of creativity are unsown and thrown back onto the dusty dry land to grow again. Here the rain falls when it needs to. Here there is no science to fuck it up. Here I live in the world of the possible and the improbable. Nothing is counted. In or out. Here I can believe in love, again.

Here I am a dreamer high on romance. Here there is only sacred silence, a golden respect for what’s come and gone. Here there is no such thing as sin. Here we are born pure and unblemished, unhindered by education, religion, politics, corporations, or social expectations. Here we are allowed to learn through play. Here there is so much color that it turns black and white to grey. Like an old photograph, it’s grainy and battered at the edges. Distorted, it grows legs. A combination of images from before that define a life. Here nothing is perfect. In fact, the imperfect is celebrated wildly. Here the in-between is filled with what’s unique in each one of us. Here we go back to the very end, to the beginning when we let out our first scream. Here being the same is to be unseen. Here being different matters, because there is nothing else. Here it is always now.

Here I can scale Everest in an afternoon. Here I can see heaven before midday. Here I can rest easy even when I don’t have all of the answers. Here I know I never will. Here is what it might have been like if I had been allowed to run free in the wilds of my imagination from a young age. Here ideas explode like fireworks lighting up the October sky. Brilliant in their simplicity, ordinary, and straightforward. Here is where dreams come true. Here there is no autocue telling us what to do. The plot is instant and innocent, and once I’m in I can’t let go. The rush of inspiration is real and immediate. It comes in droves and it is only when tiredness hits that I have to let go, until I return again.

And when I step away I breathe in the rich harvest. I know I will go back soon. It’s too hard to stay away, even if its beauty reveals the crushing ordinariness of the everyday. Routine, work starting to bite. It pulls me in and exhausts me with its relentless rigor. Surrounded by those who think it’s right. But when I think of here it’s everything I dream about. It’s where I want to be all of the time. A place where it’s me and only me with the world, a place where I can be alone with my thoughts, my craziness, my time. Here there is only bright light, even in the deepest and darkest recesses of my mind. It is in the darkest places that the brightest light is to be found. It has to be strong to survive. Its striking beauty is stunning as it catches my eye, but when she stares back my eyes meet the ground. Except now I’ve learned to hold her gaze. I’ve learned to walk those streets at night, to hold her hand tight, even when they are at their most dangerous, and to come home safely, and the more I do it the easier it is.

It is here that I can visit trauma knowing that it will throw its arms around me and wrap me in its pain. It’s here I can listen to others do the same thing. Here I can let go. I can remember until I forget. At times it seems like everything I know outside of here is wrong. Out of kilter with what’s within. Out of kilter with the truth. Out of kilter with spirit. I’ve always felt like an outsider. Absolute. Upright. Strong. I can stand tall when I think it’s necessary. I’ve learned to choose my battles carefully and I have never been afraid to walk the other way. Here there is no escaping the mystery. It invites me in and makes me stay. It has a gentle touch. Truly this is God’s country. This is where rock and roll comes to say its goodbyes. It’s where the dreamers die. Here, is so full of heart and art that it’s impossible to tell them apart. Here is magnificent, majestic, wonderful. Here is to be free.

Here you go without if you don’t go within. Here the broken, battered, and bruised come to heal. Here is full of answers. Here is what really matters. Here I can finally stop running and stand perfectly still. Here nothing flatters to deceive. There are no bullshitters. No egos to get in the way. Here even the tightest of knots unwind. Here is an easy train ride. Here is a glorious mindshag. Here the tide is always coming in. Here is Hill 16. Here is Highbury. Here is Stephen’s Green if you’re a duck with enough bread not to need to give a fuck. Here is everything I need and more. Here are the good times. Here is beauty. Here is every city I’ve ever been in. Gritty, raw, dangerous. Here I get to choose my own destiny. Here I choose to live. Here my eyes are always wide open. Here I am wide awake. Here my heart is big and strong. Here I am armed to the teeth with love. Here is home.