You stand on the ledge of a high rise apartment overlooking the city where you grew into who you think you are today.
The sky above is blue and beneath you is a river. Ghosts swimming, riding the tide, some swimming against it, some swirling.

You step upon the high wire and the wind is steady towards the north, just as it has always been.
There ain’t no safety net, you know, you’ve been urged to not look down nor above you.

You find yourself walking across, seemingly on auto pilot you fight the urge to sneak a peak below or above.

The breeze picks up and you ingest your surroundings. In the east you can sense strength wasted, the north you see the old book and the lessons learned, the south you can feel the lift from your desires.

The painted ladies are posing and beckoning you to come inside from the cold into the warmth of their worlds.

It’s the west you try to avoid thinking about. Sundowns and endings, summer dresses on laundry lines and dried up paragraphs with foreign words you cannot relate to

A bit off balance you look down and you see the ghosts in the river staying afloat, discarded photographs in the river. A jumpstart and you remember.

No safety net, “look away, look straight ahead.”

Steps away, you feel the urge to dive and to fly, you hold steady.
What did Tracy Lord say? “My it was yar.” Stay focused.

Below the river is overacting it’s part, rocky and littered with old film and photographs of damaged scenes.

A step and you are safely standing on the ledge of your destination.
You let out a sigh of relief and take the stairs to the street level.

The streets are littered from the parade held just several minutes earlier. Photographs and flags, torn and tattered. You check the time and you realize you are late. Late to the performance of the next act.

A live stage, props and costumes. An orchestra with no instruments, actors with no voices, yet, somehow the message isn’t lost in the silence.

Miming and emoting, dancing to the silent rhythm and embracing in silent surrender. Kissing random strangers in search of… what? Momentary safety nets? Fleeting feelings of security? Or the continuing search for… home?

History and the future, a twisted fraction of time separates the two. There is no actual present, there is a false narrative of remaining locked in time which is kinda impossible.

Wicked instructions on how to live, pressuring even the strongest of souls to join the flash mobs dancing to the silence, to read the empty pages, to kiss the empty lips and to believe in faiths filled with laws with no understanding of meaning. Listening to the leaders whos intentions run counter to the written and the oral laws.

It’s a high wire act, remember that it’s best not to look down for too long, but it’s ok to glance and to remember. It’s only natural, to look back and to feel. To enforce avoidance is to welcome in the avoided.

Just keep on walking, dreaming and loving. Dance to the beats of your choice, recite the lines you want to express and never ignore your inner voice. Ghosts and memories abound, don’t look away.

Love is the answer, everything else is just commentary.

Hatred is a cancer, anger can only cause destruction.

See how the walls have fallen, but the wall still stands guard. In a land where peace is the prayer and the cost of one life is priceless, a song of hope and gratitude.