We must celebrate
We must celebrate
that we have survived, how we have survived
and how it made us thrive
with freedom pouring through our mouths.
Ask the question
how it made us thrive, how it made us thrive
and try to answer it with our whole being.
So we can deliver the gifts
that were so often denied us, refused us
hidden from us,
somewhere in the shafts,
those of us who were left outside
literally left outside
in a locked up shed with distorted tools,
distorting tools,
to work with on ourselves
hammer ourselves to the shadows
they called fate
those cold beings
with their icy keys in front of silent doors,
indoctrinators with robotic smiles.
We must celebrate
that we look nothing like them now
that we would rather die than do their cloning work
I see one of my old shadows still screaming at their faces
get it out, I say, get it out,
empty the lungs of that memory
leave it powerless again,
just another dirty balloon on the street,
an echo of necessity
and walk on.
And if just once in a while
a crash into a black wall and down
is unavoidable let yourself fall
inside that wishing well for a while
celebrate that you can throw a parachute
in the dumpster in this way and kiss
the queen of sleep on her generous lips,
trust her mysterious pregnancy.
You know how her babies
and the cocoons
they unravel themselves from
always leave you with bundles of joy,
bewildered delight
unexpected flashes of energy,
a wand made of lightning.
We must celebrate
that we ran, walked, crawled or swam
into the infinity of wilderness
to regain, remember and release
the taste of tamelessness,
held our candles of pain
high for the stars to light
then held them low
deep in the ground
for the roots to bless
while the winds folded corridors
for our blood to breathe.
We must celebrate that we are home
a home we fought our way through to be
and be in,
we must evacuate those thoughts of ours
still held hostage by the alienation
someone spoonfed to us when we were kids
and older
trying to catch a glimpse of the sun
behind those apathy builders,
those silent abusers,
those who hit us,
slapped our faces,
then reaching for another pile of pills
from their cupboard of oblivion
slamming an endless row of doors
offering the same handle over and over
made of violence and nothing.
We must celebrate, that we are alive,
that our pulses are sewn into organic life
and scratch where it itches,
continue to feed our fires
continue to move forward, not back,
do what is necessary here in our home,
expand our experience with this transient light
in our eyes, undisturbed in an infinite way
feeling safe in the dark,
knowing the intimacy of each night:
black feather to the cheek.
We must celebrate the music we find under leaves,
in dewdrops on stones or windows
no longer resembling blisters.
We must celebrate the moss green skin of
our gentle wishes for one another.
We must celebrate that life lives on
like an endless row of doors opening now.
We must celebrate being here by being here
dancing, clapping, snapping our fingers
heart as the moon
mind as the sun
come gather and celebrate life.
RUNE KJÆR RASMUSSEN
Rune Kjær Rasmussen is an animist, writer, singer, and occasional painter from Denmark.