confidence – three good words

I read and think
and admire
what others are willing to sink
into the blankness of the virtual page
like treasure chests
waiting to be opened
full of virtual word-gold
mined from the precious veins
of lives unknown
reams and reams of history
soundbites of the personal
notes on intimate spaces
all their own.

I read and think
and admire
but I know I do not know
how to lay my life on the written line
how to confess, confide
openly
aggressively at times
showing, telling
pursuing a presence that should be me
but what is ‘me’
in this sea of words and stories?

It is maybe not about not knowing
but more about not showing
not wanting to self-colonise
the wild, the life
the terra nullius inside
unknown only to others, outside.

For to present
it must be shaped,
to be told it
must be formed
– mapped –
turned from elements
earth, air, water, fire
to geography, weather, astronomy,
all things (wo)man aspires,
histories that can be traced
followed to the first word
explained to those
who do not know
the secrets hidden in holy waters
the powers whispered in sacred fires
the life living on unknown soils
that quiet, powerful magic
nascent in all
from arctic to jungle
from tundra to grasslands
together, all at once
landscapes galore
that place
unmapped, unwritten
spoken from mouth to ear
riddled in tales, held in rhythm
allowing those shifts of sight and sound
perception
obvious one day, intangible another
tumbling from skies above and below
swelling once, blooming twice
blossoming wide
showing what detail is possible
to the inner eye:
perfection.

It is not then, a not-knowing
but more the need for a closed garden
a pairidaēza,
a paradise
known so well to me, myself, and I
the firstborn trinity
that holy space
the home and solace
of what lives in blissful hiding
creating what is seen outside
an infinite space
one of the seven of the billion
in form, shape, and colour
that secret place within,
that which is my life.