The Fisher King Inside
The story of the Fisher King is one of trauma. Stuck in his bed, the king cannot outlive or heal his injuries. For he sees the curing grail but projects his hurt onto it. Therefore, he stops himself from joy because of the wound of crisis. In this thought, he is evermore dubious of the people who drink from the grail.
He lives in the past, in the salvation of the memories when he fished with more fortunate spells—a wound to his thigh from a baby bird’s beak. Crippled by the same potential in himself, he aimed to live up to. He is not reflective enough to perceive the duality of the grail. It can resemble the gold fishing hook that curled secure into his skin. Yet a chalice dangled in front of his eyes— one which can hold his gold energy. That which is only realized by following YOUR bliss.
He can only gratify instantly, maybe fearing the end of his life before he can enjoy anything. Forever addicted to sweet power but insecure in its direction. He is indifferent to his inner child. Forgetting that his inadequacy towards him reflects in the efficacy of an unwounded life. He underestimates that someone not of the same life experience can be useful. He cannot contend with his identity and what power it has to heal the wounds of his past.
Yet there is an innocent fool that can heal him with the utter of one sentence. The place he least expects it, his inner child, is the best gift in his life. But he ignores the child because of his faults in his problem and all the embarrassing moments his shadow grinds his teeth at.
He shuns him, and in it, he ignores the deepest parts of his identity. For this reason, he cannot grasp the meaning of gold energy—the passion embedded in you for the world—the energy in a divergent personality. The god self you pry from the inflated ego. Life has no singular purpose, but you must find your soul’s purpose through a spirit of exploration and inquisitiveness, a hero’s journey of ego meeting consciousness.
A pilgrimage to a subjective reality. While still knowing how to participate in objective, eternal truth. The Fisher king has not started the journey to find out, blinded by the darkness that gripped him in his youth. Yet, from that darkness, he cannot appreciate the light, for he hides from the darkness that shadows his life but ultimately becomes its vestige.
It is where
You let us wear you, cut you, bend you, book you in a closet.
We reuse you, we wash you.
We take you for granted,
Buy more to forget what we wore yesterday.
Or are you an anime character,
Clothes to stay the same, just bring them to the laundromat,
Put it on the clothesline.
Clothes,
You sum up our day with color
You sum up our thoughts with a style.
Clothes you are the insides of a person’s mind,
You are the creativity creeping out,
You are the comfort of an owner,
A favorite pair, sworn but not worn.
Clothes when you are with each other in the laundry bags,
What do you speak of
What’s on your day,
What’s the washing line gossip?
Clothes you seize only to keep us from being bare.
You’re uncomfortable for a day,
Comfier by night.
You come off when a shower speaks our skin
When a lover comes to bond,
To make us free as dreams.
Clothes; you match, you don’t match,
You tacky, you stylish, you different,
You moody, you protective, you shelter, you warm, you personal,
You insecure, you cover us, you write us.
Clothes,
You poetry.
BIO PENDING.
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