O waly waly
I leaned my back up against some oak, thinking that he was a trusty tree… O waly, waly. I leaned my back up against all that went before. Against all those I thought would know better, who would shelter me, who would prop me up. Perhaps you thought because I had come after, that I was the one with more energy, fresher legs, a substitution at the half time. Perhaps you thought you were leaning your back up against some oak, thinking that I was a trusty tree. First, I bended and then I broke, and with me the pale hope that things would get better by the passive passing of time. But I enter the field blindfold. As do you. All you trusty trees. Trusty in your capacity to hold yourself up, hoary in having grown strong. But not strong enough for us both. Not strong enough for two.
No passengers here, she said. You must carry what you need for the journey, she said, as she sent us forth. And I’ve prepared everything you need. I’ve lovingly packed for you. I’ve thought of everything. I know every doubt you’ll have, every pain you’ll feel, every blow that’s coming. I know how you’ll feel and I’ve packed for that with all my love for you. I allow you to be, I give you what you need but I can’t make you look within, I can’t help you find what you’ll need. I know it’s there. After all, there’s nothing I don’t know, and I stand anchored in the ache of loving you, of watching you struggle to find your own feet. And I don’t give up on you. I watch you.
I will you to take the time to stop and unpack, no matter how dazzling the headlights seem. Look what you have, memorize your entire capacity and repack it often, lovingly handle every skill, every new lens, new tool, every angle, every possibility before you put it back. If only you could know that you can transform all those heavy things by learning to love them, by carrying them with pride, by treating them as treasures. Your pack could feel light. All those awkward angles smoothed like pebbles on the beach, running coolly and gently through your hands, at every resting place until maybe you’ll pack them in such a way that they can be sifted, sorted by touch alone, subtle differences grazed by softly probing fingers, while your feet maintain the pace.
Maybe one day your tools will be so quick to find your fingers that you won’t even need to stop along the way. Perhaps you’ll find yourself juggling these cool tools, watching the play of light on them, as they sail back for debriefing. ‘Will you need me again, do you think? Can I rest here now on the milestone pile for others to see as they pass? Do you wish to leave me, old friend, now that I am smooth and unrecognisable? Do you wish to place me, to show me off in all my rounded edgeless transformedness? Is my place here, or do you carry me on? Will I stay smooth and round, or will I go on through further handlings to become shiny, perhaps, or translucent? To have a hole where I’ve worn through? Could I be threaded and borne, a talisman or a jewel? Or eventually, a handful of dust, giving up my nature entirely, joyfully as I create space for further movement in your pack?
‘Use me, I call with joy to you! I am made for use! She made me, fashioned me perfectly for use, for you. I am hardy and rugged but don’t take the word of my awkward angled starter shape. Don’t judge me on those appearances, take me out. Handle me reverently, robustly with respect, or reticence or in rage, all riled. You can’t break me. She made me just for you, knowing what you’d do. You’ll find my qualities emerge only for you, however you choose, if you learn how to look. I’m always here, waiting my turn. I am the tools you need. All lovingly packed ready for the road. All the sustenance you require, made ready for your readiness.’
But you don’t want to carry these. You’d rather carry so much else. You’d rather rush to throw down your beautifully crafted bespoke tailor-made tools and run to prop up some other trusty tree, who’s thrown down her own bespoke pack, rushing to prop up another. Who has your pack? Your back? Where are your tools, my love? I made them just for you. They are all packed and balance you perfectly. You can grow strong trusty tree. Lean on you, lean in, stretch down your roots and drink deeply. Refresh yourself with care at the way stations on your way through. Find your way back to me by going on. Go, with laughter, with love for all the careful customizations I’ve made for you throughout all the ages of my being. I am in every moment of the journey.
Don’t you feel my love for you? I pour my love, my longing into you until your heart is overflowing. Flow on, flow back to me. Keep going on and you’ll find your way back. I am lonely for you, my love. I’ve done everything I can to equip you. You have all you need in your own hands. I can’t do more. I have looked into your heart, your fears, your doubts, your hopes, your weaknesses… All your longings. I’ve seen your pit stops and who you’ll meet and who they’ll meet. In my all-seeing eyes, my all-loving heart, I see you in every moment and my arms are wide. My heart so big and you in there causing me all the limitless pain of loving you, all of you, and wondering if you’ll be able find the tools you need on your way, the tools I’ve packed for you. I wish you could see the preparation station with every bag lined up for every moment, every soul who ever was, who is, who will be. And my soul, the night sky, full of holes, every one unique and bleeding my love and my longing until you find your way.
You don’t need to lean your back, little trusty oak. I made you to stand.
