My Refuge

My Refuge

(probably my favorite piece I've ever written.)

Where do you go when you need to scream? 

Where is your get-a-way after a stressful day, week, or period of your life?

Some lock themselves in a closet, 

burrow their faces in a coat

and just scream!

Weird.

There are those who take deep breathes,

count to ten,

and squeeze a pressure ball

Too many steps

Way too complicated. 

Truth is we all face adversity, 

no one is immune to frustration,

Recently a magazine talked about finding an escape

and pointed out some practices to free oneself.

Describing many simple exercises

breathing in and out,

stress balls, 

just screaming.

I found my escape

In high school

I simply left. 

But not literally

More like I just remove myself from my troubles

I travel to a place that only I know. 

A familiar place 

No matter what I am struggling with that urges me to leave

I find comfort in my journey 

I feel exonerated, 

like nobody can critique what I say, 

what I do, 

what I choose to look like.

I can scream for 15 minutes

No breaks for air, 

no one stops to look at me. 

I create thunder in my cries.

The earth is my pressure ball,

The world is in my hands.

Whatever I say goes. 

The people listen to me, 

My voice isn't one in millions,

It's the one that millions heed.

Even the trees,

The animals, 

And the mountains obey my voice. 

Sometimes its sunny without a cloud in the sky, 

much like today, 

At times it can be raining, 

a nice rain, 

the type you can feel every drop touch your skin. 

This is no fantasy world. 

It is very real. 

I'm here today. 

How else could you read about this if I hadn't ever left? 

You couldn't. 

I am the author,

The publisher,

And the creator,

Of imagery this world portrays.

Like a king,

The people wait for my direction,

Like a theif,

I steal the deepest dream,

Found in the most forgotten part of the brain,

And like a Da Vinci,

I paint a realm of mystery.  

I come here when I cant say what needs to be said. 

My refuge when I need to express myself. 

A harbor for my feelings. 

I came here just so I could talk differently. 

I spoke like a Jamaican. 

Me sees this place as a treasure, 

where no man and no woman can destroy me creativity. 

I came just so I could fly.

I did. 

Nobody on earth has ever been to New York, 

to the Pyramids in Egypt, 

then to a beach in Hawaii

all in one day…..

except for me!

I did this all in the space of about 3 hours. 

That's 1080 times of breathing in and out!

I sang with Fela Kuti,

I raided Harper's Ferry

with John Brown.

I mean….why not? 

I did it, I have proof. 

I came back from the raid, with absolutely no stress. 

I forgot what I was even stressing about! 

Anyone would feel this way had they just seized the United States arsenal in 1859 in Virginia.

I matched Mr. Brown step for step

Sneaking through the night. 

We all did. 

Twenty-three of us, 

Fighting on a suicide mission. 

It was real. 

General Lee called Mr. Brown a lunatic. 

We knew different. 

It's easy for the free to call the oppressed crazy

when they choose to stand up and fight for equality. 

Who wouldn't leave this hell we all live in?

Why are we content with being blinded by rules and judgment?

Today this place is different,

it's calm. 

Sitting on the coast, 

Georgia. 

almost dark now, 

The moon presents itself,

Accenting an amber lit sunset.

it's peaceful.

I sit up tall, 

feel the cool ocean breeze drift through my hair, 

the smell of dusk. 

I know ill be gone from here, 

from the peace, 

from the tranquility, 

from the life everyone so eagerly dreams of living, 

I know in a sentence,

maybe even just a few lines,

that I will be back to the real world.

This place,

the one I always go to, 

it needs a name. 

I don't want to name it, 

A name gives away the location, 

Reveals it's identity. 

Can destroy its secrecy.

I don't want it to be crowded. 

Its my place. 

But I realize,

everyone in the world 

could go to this place

and I,

Me, 

by myself,

alone,

Will still be on this very coast, 

sitting on this exact same rock,

feeling this breeze.

Not because it is an imaginary world, 

but because this place 

I'll name…."writing", 

is an individual refuge

No population, 

No weight capacity,

No last call, 

No matter our struggles,

we will always find comfort in our journey

into "writing"

For it isn't the destination itself that makes this refuge so valuable

rather, the journey our minds take in order to reach it. 

For writing 

is building minds.

By Dallin Johnson