"I would rather die of passion than of boredom"
[Vincent van Gogh]


Unnoticed

Unnoticed

© WHERE BIRDS GO (part 4) by DELAFOI

 

I will not go unnoticed. Sometimes it’s all I can think of.

To leave this life with no proof of ever existing is is my biggest fear. And my will to leave a mark, to leave something behind, is my greatest obstacle. 

I want to draw a line of charcoal on the wall and leave my handprints deep in the caves. Forever and for eternity. In my world. On this planet. My place in this universe. I want to sing and dance, preach and teach, act and react on all the beautiful little things that is laid out before me. I want to tell you my stories, sing you my love songs and show you what I see when I look at the world.

I want to go where birds go.

I want to move to places we’ve never been, and I want to be moved by places I have only dreamed of. I want to show you my truth, my core, my purpose. And I want to be brave. Brave as God made me. 

I tell myself that my thing is of importance. I challenge myself to dare to be as unique as you. As unique as me. And I tell myself to follow water. Like I did back then. To follow the stream on its way through the forrest. The waves as they find their way to the shore. Carelessly. Searching the one I thought I’d always be.

I followed water, like life follows life. 

I was monophyletic. I had all my ancestors with me. I was one of those, up there, preaching. I was one of those, who knew how to run through the woods, who knew how to see at night, who knew how to follow water. Confident, not anxious. A warrior of my own time. 

And I’ve always felt that I need to leave a mark. To leave something behind. Sometimes it’s all I can think of. And sometimes it’s the only thing blocking the way. 

Overwhelming, that feeling of a burning sun rising through your bones.
Overwhelming, that feeling of knowing without all the right answers. 
Overwhelming, the wind from your ancestors wings as they stir up the hopelessly dry dust your trying to root yourself in, over and over again.  

They know what I need to realize. My verb is ‘create’. My creed is theirs. And we will not go unnoticed. 


“Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” [Dylan Thomas]

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