wriing prompt

Searching for Safe Harbor

/ wvfurandroot / 3 Comments

I’m rowing in rough waters though it’s a waste of my precious energy.  The waves are strong, the current powerful and I am too weak to fight it any longer.

But I’m looking for a coast.  A harbor.  A place of safety to wait out the storm. To recuperate.  To perhaps find paradise.  I try to guide the boat in the direction the waves break assuming the shore is in that direction.

I no longer know where I am.

The boat is gray weathered wood and perhaps not seaworthy any longer. I’ve been out here a good long time.  There used to be days of a becalming.  Flat water and I could see the dolphins jump and play.  I could see the seabirds swoop and dive into the azure deep.  I could hear the whales and see the starfish on the ocean floor.

Now it is just water the color of the boat.  In turmoil and rage and beating rain.

Oh, for the skies to clear.  For the tide ruled by the moon to guide me to safe harbor and smooth sand.  To palm trees and brightly colored birds.  To friendly souls who will take me in and tend my wounds.

For I am wounded in the places you can’t see. My pride is wounded.  My soul.  My innermost me.  This has been the storm of a lifetime.  I didn’t see it coming though perhaps I should have.  I was just out here in my boat when the sea roughened and the skies darkened. 

The ancient ones had told me to take care when I took the boat out.  They told me the sea was not my friend.  They told me it would beat me down and that I should stay where I was and prepare for the inevitable storm. To live with storm shutters and lanterns near a lighthouse. To light a fire in my hearth and pray for the lost.

But blue skies and frothy white-capped swells called to me.  I imagined the wonders and I took off.  Alone and poorly provisioned. I am the lost. 

It has been a journey.  One with no destination of my planning other than to seek wonders.  And I have seen them.  For that I should be grateful.  I have seen things that others only dream of.  I have been captain and crew.  Jailor and prisoner.  Now I am fighting for what’s left of me.  For the real me – the one that got pushed aside while I rowed and bailed water.

I am looking for safe harbor.  Smooth sand.  A warm sun to turn my face to.  A friend to tend my wounds, give me nourishment, and help me find the hope that was my inner compass for so long.

Pray for me. I am lost.

Men

/ wvfurandroot / 1 Comment

I’ve mentioned, at length before, that I love men.  I think they’re adorable creatures, especially the ones who are comfortable in their skin.  I like men who can be tender and soft, funny and uproarious, sober and serious.  I like a man not so full of himself that he can’t play restaurant with a toddler or hold my pink purse when I’m digging through my suitcase looking for something at the airport.

Give me a man so secure in his masculinity that he doesn’t have to wear it like a sheriff’s badge to keep me guessing at his motives.  Or to keep me in line.

I’ve been blessed with good men in my life.  A father who didn’t hesitate to shed his Marine Corps officer’s uniform to crawl around on the floor with kids, an ex-husband who found the funny in just about everything, and a boyfriend who is simultaneously strong and tender. 

There are good men everywhere. 

Many men are feeling as if they are being attacked.  As if masculinity is being attacked.  It’s not.  It’s toxic patriarchy that women are complaining about.  The same brand of masculinity that tells men they can’t cry, can’t be tender, can’t show a gentle side.  This is what we are against.  We are wildly in love with men who can escape that trap and just be themselves.