The Shipping News

"It's finding the center of your story, the beating heart of it..."
  
The bluebird's song was kept in the chambers of a beating  
cage for its own protection against the world. Bukowski did  
that, accommodated the demands of the crowd because he  
had nothing left to lose and someone was always willing to buy  
the next bottle or cigarette for true untruths he published.    
 
I see the broken on the streets, in offices, construction sites  
cat-calling attention away from themselves. I get it; when  
the last thing you had was bashed against rocks you tend  
to bury the secret chord deep under your deserted island,  
playing it late at night before the lonely god of yourself.  
 
Perhaps you don't know or believe in the constrictor knot;  
the strongest bond in the world; one so strong that once tied  
it can never be undone without a blade cutting it loose;  It  
forever conjoins once pulled. Look at our wrists; the strong  
arteries of millenniums pumping tight our Universal history.  
 
Because, you see, it's not just finding your story or its beating  
heart. That's just the beginning. It's not about keeping its song  
hidden because you think you don't belong; It's dancing loudly  
your tune of magic;  It's the heights of consciousness you'll push  
into possibilities for endangered tribes struggling homeward.  
 
I heard of a man once; his name was Maccabe. He believed in the  
secret of  knots; searched out daily page by page, practiced each  
until perfect.  And,  like us, finally uncovered the truth through an  
enduring Spirit of belief that refused to quarantine his secret chord  
to a human cage despite what the broken demanded for themselves.  
    
"There's still so many  things I don't know. If a piece of knotted    
string can unleash the wind, and if a drowned man can awaken,  
then I believe a broken man can heal."  
 
~