The beauty of silence and living with Citisystis

September 3, 2015

The city is one giant kryptonite rock to me. It is constantly radiating it’s death rays and wearing me down. Whenever I visit the city, I have to be mindful to take precautions. In the city, I am not so different from an astronaut in a hostile and strange environment.

I have to be mindful all the time of over exposure….crowds…noise etc etc etc.

Fortunately, I have a network of ‘safehouses’ dotted around the city that allows me to be alone far away from the ceaseless noise and maddening crowd of the city.

When I first told a few wealthy plantation ladies concerning my allergy to the city and how I could feel it’s death rays drawing out my life force…many people thought I was making up stories. Some even got angry with me. Till one day when I was found slumped in a mall with my tongue sticking out somewhere in the city.

These days to avoid this from ever happening again – my rich and influential friends have created a network of secret gardens in the city where I can dine alone in privacy, read a book all by myself, sit by a lush garden etc etc. At times, when exposure to the city’s death rays is severe, patrons even have to be evacuated. In one particular restaurant, the walls had to sound proofed. At another windows had to be solar screened.

This is all very inconvenient for me whenever I visit the city.

To the best of my knowledge I seem to be the only sufferer of this rare and incurable disease in the whole wide world, that I have called Citisystis.


A Litany for Survival

For those of us who live at the shoreline
standing upon the constant edges of decision
crucial and alone
for those of us who cannot indulge
the passing dreams of choice
who love in doorways coming and going
in the hours between dawns
looking inward and outward
at once before and after
seeking a now that can breed
like bread in our children’s mouths
so their dreams will not reflect
the death of ours:

For those of us
who were imprinted with fear
like a faint line in the center of our foreheads
learning to be afraid with our mother’s milk
for by this weapon
this illusion of some safety to be found
the heavy-footed hoped to silence us
For all of us
this instant and this triumph
We were never meant to survive.

And when the sun rises we are afraid
it might not remain
when the sun sets we are afraid
it might not rise in the morning
when our stomachs are full we are afraid
of indigestion
when our stomachs are empty we are afraid
we may never eat again
when we are loved we are afraid
love will vanish
when we are alone we are afraid
love will never return
and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid
So it is better to speak
we were never meant to survive.”

Audre Lorde

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