The reflection below this one
I am reflecting
sharing
my sadness.
This one is different to the inside me.
This young woman inspires me.
We first met in Norway in early 2012.
I was leading a Rolling Magazine
for hundreds of young humans.
She was a trainee journalist with the local paper.
She did a great piece and we collided.
We have met twice in London since then.
Monday this week ...........
Monday this week ...........
She inspires me.
She has agreed to let me publish one of her poems.
I hope, in the future, to share more.
I believe there is a book in her.
I encourage her to write.
+++++++++++++++++
I feel.
I feel like I'm climbing a hill.
And everytime I stop for a breath near the top
the hill grows and grows steeper.
And the ground beneath my feet suddenly slips.
And I have to climb on,
climb until my hands and feet are sore.
And when I have to stop, have to breathe I can feel my lungs screaming
before they fill up.
Sucking inn sweet bliss and I can feel,
feel solid beauty beneath me.
But only for half a moment.
Until the hill starts to grow and the ground shakes
and I have to climb on, climb.
Hold on to the moment and not let go of my goal.
Else I'll slip and fall.
Glide back down to the bottom.
Reaquaint myself with grey walls and wallow.
Wallow until the comfort gets painful and
I need to start climbing again.
So I climb.
I cling on.
I lower the pace.
I climb slowly so I won't miss a step.
Slowly, like a tiny ant with a pebble on it's back.
Slowly, so that I can breathe, so that I can relaxe my grip a little
and not fall.
I climb so that one day
I might reach a somewhere.
The place where ground is yet changing, but
where I learn to sway with it.
A place where I can see the view of what I've put behind me and
smile at my progress.
A place where I can see others and not feel a stranger.
Not worry that the sight of them
will push me back down the hill.
Not worry that I will want to jump.
How far have you climbed?
Do you need a hand?
by Mone
