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No Regrets/No Sweat

Surfing the Waves Life Sprayed Out the Hose

oil and water?

Image by Hilarywho via Flickr

Maybe if the spoon was made of gold,
just maybe, things might mix and become
something rich & appealing. But, I chose silver, I
chose silver to agitate the contents in, what was, a red bowl.
If love was water and the antgonist of it was oil,
would they come together? Can purity and slippery
notions work together as bread and wine? Bread and wine
are essential to the contentment of souls, alike the blood beneath skin.
But, even a drunkard couldn’t see how the bottle in his left hand
and the cross in his right can combine in harmony. I continued to
stir, I persisted to see if the two would become one,
my guests were waiting. My wife advanced from the living room into the kitchen
where I was hastily at work. “Dear, our guests are….slow down
before the China becomes ruin!” Oh, how I wish she knew; I accelerated my
revolutions recklessly. I wanted to witness rebellion and law atone. If they
refused, then so be it, the bowl will shatter and my hands
would feel the red horrific revelation. The epiphany of the hatred for
unification oil and water shared. They knew more than I that my action
was the birth of war. Kindling in the deep an amalgamation so
destructive, in process, that it would cause me to go mad with failure.
But, I continued to scratch the bowl with the metal’s revolutions.
My guests were waiting. They were expecting a refreshment, both sacred and
rebellious in nature, that would go down easy. I was told it would never be perfect, but
I pressed to test that theory. Maybe, at the right speed, at the right time, in the right
air, in the right Light, on the right day, at the right kitchen, with the right money,
with the right clothes, with the right spoon, at the right angle, with the right music,
with the right words, at the right height, with white lies, I could prove them wrong.
I failed. Indeed, the red world of the two sides shattered into oblivion. My hand trembled
in the blood of my foolishness. I stood in the embarassement of my crass objective to combine
oil and water. I cleaned the wastes of the war I orchestrated and sat with displeasure.
I concluded it was better to just give my guests water, for safety’s sake. For I did not
want to know the vague outcome of consuming my concoction or sin alone.


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