Candid Corvid Productions

Whenever I move, there is a physical cost.

One time, a heavy book shelf fell on the front side of my left knee.

It could have shattered it, but instead, the blow spread through the knee to bruising out the back side in diffusion.

The next move, bulky office privacy panels (which seem to be evil when no longer connected to each other) almost took out my right leg at the upper thigh as they fell onto me.

I couldn’t stop their weight, but fought it all the way down to my last seconf while backing up.

By Grace, Itself, something was there to stop the force from crushing or snapoing my femur.

I still have an indention in my quadraceps muscle from the impact.

This move, as I’ve twitchily moved around these items (knowing at any pivot’s second they could turn on me), I did not calculate for the trailer adjustment metal pole sticking straight up behind the truck once it was attached.

It hid under the ramp I’d opened over it.

In the dark, in the rain, in an empty parking lot where the truck was parked as I returned to retrieve some bedding, I exerted extreme force and forward momentum pressure on the ramp to close it.

The fore top of my middle finger collided with crushing force against the unmovable metal appendage – and let’s just say many loud f***’s were emitted into the air around me as the pain exploded and I hazedly calculated how bad the damage could be.

My other middel finger just split yesterday, causing constant pain’s agony.

This move’s price so far has got me “flipping” the toll collector elements both of my middle fingers!

Five days of packing items with three days getting them into the truck.

Truck Day 1 lent two moving hands for two hours. They got it started with the heavy stuff.

Truck Day 2 was all the miscellaneous, trying to pack in as tightly and space-saving as possible.

Truck Day 3 was washing all of the dishes and separating final items of what to take this trip vs. what to leave for the next.

When the truck was ready, it was time for the farm overhaul, making sure the hay arroving tomorrow would be secured behind tarps and all the animals would have adequate food, water, bedding, and shelter.

Afterward, we hosed down mud demons and found our hounds had been hiding underneath the grime.

Then, I had just enough time to drive into town to attach the trailer.

However, as soon as I began driving down the road in the rain, the passenger side windshield wiper flew kiltered-off of its mount, causing the mechanism to jam.

Thus semed a clear enough message to me that we wouldn’t be driving this evening. It’s better to manage the move when daylight aids visuals and emergency backup resources are more readily available.

I was born for something – only, I can’t remember.

When I was born, I was yanked from my mother too harshly.

In a way, this crippled me.

Not so the average person can see – but so that I couldn’t perform naturally, and other kids could label me as a freak.

They could ostracize me.

I mean, I couldn’t even jump more than a foot in those PE tests they gave us when I was a fledgling – I couldn’t get my legs to work properly under me until I was in my teens!

I wanted to scream at adults and children, alike, “Can’t you see that something has happened to me?!”

As I grew from infancy through childhood, I kept having head trauma from other people’s rough handling of me and my own tripping falls.

Impact against concrete conglomerate became pain’s chastizing message of obligatory duty to submit.

“Thou shalt not remember. Though shalt live a meaningless life and perish in obscurity like the rest of these cattle.”

It’s not that my ego minds so much that the world doesn’t know me, but that this severe migraine in my neck tells me something is off from what it should be..

The drive in my spirit ever pushing to keep moving, keep achieving – keep transcending beyond whatever I’ve recently learned – is blocked in its channeling, pounding at the door to my awareness.

Impulse is a part of my design – something that few others posses in their natural, daily functioning.

Therefore, I AM Unique – I was meant to be Something MORE.

If only I could repair the damage, I wouldn’t be stumbling forward – blindly.

I am not a prophet, though I understand their undertakings.

In similar fashion, my predilection guides me.

God has been ever silent, watching.

But, occasionally, an angel has visited by extrasensory.

Yeah – try to get anyone to believe me!

Luckily, I have no interest in preaching.

It isn’t something I can prove, just relate as things which happened to me.

Can I call one? I don’t know…

Would I want to? Are you kidding?!!

I’m smart enough to know they have their own agendas!

And I refuse to be a plaything

I won’t do just anything to gain love, but if I believe that I have it, I’ll do nearly anything to keep, nourish, and grow it.

You see, love is not a commodity – though now on the world market, too many buy and sell it.

It’s a fragile, near intangible state of being that extends its protection as shelter.

It gives hearts strength where weak before, and improves lives beyond any troubles.

It banishes darkness and carries us to better horizons, where we guard it like fierce tigers.

How many times did I lift my chin against the wind, believing you’d come home to me?

How many times did I push aside the doubt and fear to believe we’d have our new beginning?

How many times did I hold our children in my mind’s eyes – loving them, and laughing happily at how they were so much like you?

How many times did I come through against all odds – long after the darkness consumed you?

An alcohol swipe – just there, cool and gentle, carressing.

Setting up for the bite allowed to inject venom, promising black desire’s indulgence.

Ah, heroine – my dealer, sweet healer.

I’m your junkie.

Soaking up media transmission waves, claiming I’m innocent.

He sought me out in the canned cranberry and yam aisle.

A more boring aisle is hard to find – maybe the miscellaneous tool aisle.

Extras, on the side – but nothing main dish or savory…

I was stuck there, contemplating.

I didn’t want to buy any, but the association of Thanksgiving and Christmas with the Matriarch’s family cheer called me back to those many years.

Like a vestigial limb, I still received the seasonal impulses that my help was needed for ensuring everything was prepared.

That he would seek me out there seemed odd to me, and I would say in preference that it wasn’t my best timing.

I looked at him blankly, lost in reverie, not seeing him clearly and feeling just hollow: empty.

I had no facade to offer, no cheerful smile – and yet still, he wanted me.

Mithral trails extending across the atmosphere guide the mind into realms which stretch conscious fabrication.

As others stay grounded in knowns and numbers, one is drawn to expanding their possibilites.

Where once lay border of madness, now reside sparks of imagination causing plausible emanations.

It is important to me that people understand concepts of deeper psychology because I believe we are held back from truly healing as a species, and I am interested in finding out what we truly need in order to do so.

The letdown nearly crushed me as I braced and took the hit. We would not find acceptance, nor inclusive prosperity, here.

Our course had brought us far outside normal trajectories, and the inhabitants of this land were ignorant and hostile.

I’d already been in charge of forging income and housing, but now I’d have to keep us alive against nature’s elements and racism.

Why couldn’t I let it go – just give up, like he had?

Because if I’d done that, I would’ve stayed stuck on this mountain – turned to granite.