Firestorm - 3

Dense, abundant greenery spreads roots deep in soil tossed and turned and packed by ancestors and ages,

massive oaks and scrubbly brush intertwine with edges of tiny flowers and frail wild orchids

ferns pluming into underbrush and nestled proudly beside the fallen,

along paths made by communities of animals and man

all growing up to sun rays that forever

spread through blue skies, filters of thinning clouds,

banks of thickening, billowing dark clouds

white streaks hinting at electric storms to come

bringing wild winds, slashing rain

unable to quench wild fires that leap and burn.

                             ~~~~~

Epilepsy, unchecked and unnoticed, 

brings it’s own firestorm with little warning

electric misfires deep in soft brain jelly.

A hot spot never extinguished

merely dimmed down, dumbed down

by medication and meditation

by sleeping and waking 

by stepping forward and settling back

with timelines that line through the times

Epilepsy burrows under 

the giant ancestors, the tiniest flowers and 

the most gracious ferns

to erupt in a firestorm of sparks and flames and destruction.

Epilepsy spreads like wildfire, 

but only if fuel is there to burn

Where is the fuel?

What is the fuel?

Only I could find what fuelled my epilepsy

Was that seed of destruction my fault?

Were the seizures that boomed and cracked my fault?

NO! 

Merely an extra special responsibility

mine to mold, to develop and to refine

in firm kindness and genuine respect of

my life with this unwelcome guest.

Epilepsy is the seed that spreads the weeds unless

my health and my ego is taught how to behave

Even so there are some whose epilepsy is more unruly

more unpredictable

more fiery with hot spots so hot

they are hard to handle despite

keeping faith with the rigours of health and happiness

I have grown unfamiliar with

unpredictability every day.

Now I only know my epilepsy as 

dimmed down and dumbed down

so I can live and can love without fear.

“I can hear your whisper and distant mutter. 

I can smell your damp on the breeze and 

in the sky I see the halo of your violence. 

Storm I know you are coming.”

~ Robert Fanney, author