The Inner Wood (Pt. 3)

“Scattered Pages”
by Charlie Young

Some days

Especially the days
when I’m most aware of my self
(and when the ego finally falls asleep)
I find my Self
in Story.

or, in a part of one.
a single page of it.
or something.

But, like,
smaller than a part
sometimes.

More like, at a page of one,
at a certain plot point, or
walking – perhaps – to a
theme or the beat of one
or….
reflecting a scene, maybe,
or… the moment acted out
someplace…

a point of reference
to…

some Thing

a small Thing, but so
Big though, so
weirdly weighty
that it
somehow makes
this part of the story
(or these lines on this single page from it,
maybe)
derive its very meaning.

or hint at it.
or what it is.
or what it will
be. or both/and.

and its like
any one of these single pages
or single song notes or –
any part of it at all
suddenly just
rings true.

starts playing its song
its catchy little tune again or
its line or movie scene moment or
I dunno.

Like, you start hearing it,

but not really.
you can’t “hear” it at all.
You just –
know it.

as if it was always on. the

essence of always.
Or somehow, just – remembered,
maybe. Or, just … like
how it feels.
that especially.

and you
remember.
deep down to the good stuff.
what it meant back then.
the hidden things, the
treasured. The underneath.
the fire-in-the-eyes- and
wind-in-the-hair kind of shit.
The truths that level things,
that render falsites to the flames
and strip houses right down to the
bare bone marrow of meaning.

Ya know?

And so,
on my best days,
I try to just
let the story sing
its whatever song
when its unexpected band truck
shows up to play in the moment
bc who can forget: its a concert –
they always introduce the new shit
at the end so
stick around

and so, when my body hears
the sound and knows it -the
vibration underneath- and, if I’m
able to go through my routine
and clear my headspace and
be courageous enough to
listen
then I –
I remember it.

And I let myself
connect with its
essence. That in
particular.
how it feels.
to touch its
meaning.

And it doesn’t always feel
good.
especially at first.

but
I can smile and
just remember
this is just a single page
written on a single moment
ripped from a much much bigger
single story

and that this
singly story
is a single part
of that small moment
ripped from a much
much bigger story.

And that much bigger story
itself a single story
within a much much bigger chapter
ripped from a  much much bigger book.

and this
small single book
was ripped from a
much much bigger single Volume
which was ripped from a much much bigger Series
which was ripped from a much much bigger Collection
which was ripped from a much mu-…..

….and all the pages
lie scattered in        the woods.

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