The wooden idol wants to write a diary
The wooden idol looks inside itself and writes from its heat
With fingers that cannot hold the borrowed pencil
Visitors come to see the wooden idol
They bow down, pray to it, and go away
The wooden idol
Writes down its thoughts on wood
The wooden idols thoughts appear written all over its body
People come to see the miracle
They bow down and they pray to it and ask
What does the writing mean for no one can read the writing?
The wooden idol is shipped off to a laboratory to be examined
A scan shows up nothing but the rings of a tree
The writing is copied into a file and printed out
An expert declares it to be an unknown language
The idol is retuned to the place of worship
People come and bow down to it and leave
If the idol wanted to remember its past life
What could it remember
Was it a man or a woman?
Did it fall in love?
The idol is confused
What it remembers is being in a forest
What it is now is a woman carved out of wood
The idol realises that it is not a real woman
The idol realises that a carving in wood is not its real identity
In its memory it sees only trees in a forest
And now it is this – an idol
The idol feels misunderstood
The idol wants them to move it back into the forest
The idol cannot speak to them as they worship it
Do they like it because it is wood
Or because it has been given a shape they can understand?
The idol might have roots inside it
If the idol could be returned to the forest
It just might put down roots
It just might become a tree again
In the course of a lifetime
We can often swallow an idol
We are going through a level of personality disorder that we cannot control
We enter a bad night with a dark lake within
Out of the dark lake comes the idol that we swallow
We have an excess of ego
We get an overflow of emotions
We walk through a darkness of the heart and soul
Our spirit feels threatened n it fights back
You can imagine a spirit that fights back
But you cannot see it yet it is fights on your behalf
It is anonymous, it is like water and air, it has no identity
It has the energy of life
And it fights back against the influences you experience
I want to delete all this and find my true self
I am afraid
I pretend to be who you want me to be
It’s your fault
You have fashioned something that does not fit
When I try to be my true self, I do not fit
I was shaped like everyone else to fit in
But I am not a follower made of wood
I am sailing in the fingerprint of my soul
I see with the iris of my eye
My heart beats for its own length of time in so many different ways to yours
I cannot be squeezed into a tin can
I am not a commodity
There is a game that is played in society
Where you run around a course and images pop up
Some images are enemies for you to kill
Some images are commodities for you to buy
Everything a person makes becomes one or the other
Even with the best will in the world
– Art becomes a commodity
– Athleticism becomes a national asset
And truth becomes smoke
