The Purge III




Listen to the song whilst you read the piece and listen out for the applause at the end.

So Beautiful – Robert Glasper (Live at Capitol Studios)


I lay here breathless.
Entrenched in the fear of the unknown.
I listen to Robert Glasper to try and hold onto the little bits of you which I remember…

But first.
I need to remember myself.
‘My life has never been gift-wrapped’, I sit, think and listen, whilst watching the turn of the new moon.

‘What is it which you seek?’

Whilst writing this I constantly go back and forth with writing ‘we’, ‘us’ and ‘you’. I realize how dismembered I am from writing from within myself. Never acknowledging my own presence. Ivory tower institutions successfully conditioned me into separating my thoughts from myself. It forced me to place my own value outside of myself…

Ivory Tower definition: University, School, Church and in many cases: Family.

What have I become? What do I depend on to catapult me into ‘feeling from deep within myself?’

I think: Does it always take disappointment to bring me into a state of reflection?
Does it take the stripping away of my ego to really get to the crux of my hearts content?
Or am I so addicted to waiting for something bad to happen, that I am soothed by its presence?
How do I hold onto euphoria, in spite of the divine dichotomy of contestation?
My ambiguous insight into my-self either aids my growth or my despair.

Choose your side Jade.
Or don’t.

The option of simultaneous truths co-existing will never escape you [I continue to think to myself].

Experiential learning has a way with curating conditional understanding.

How do I bare clean slates when experience clouds my judgement and when the sense of entitlement is not regulated in ways which promote idealistic self love?

My mind turns as the moon does. I think: Being able to understand the caged-bird syndrome is only just a part of understanding how to break free; it is not the ‘action’ of it. The action of breaking free is about ‘action itself’. It is about throwing caution to the wind with the intent of experiencing the vulnerability coupled with it. Vulnerability is beautiful. Vulnerability is beauty without resistance.

Just how love is only really love without resistance.


[Before I know it, you reach into the back of my mind again, yes you, the reason that I have had the need to purge].


Everything has slowly started to fade.
I have distracted my mind so much that I forget to think of you at all some days. And I get annoyed when you creep back in, because it would be easier if you didn’t appear or linger at all.

Everything in the city reminds me of the embellishments you left behind. Breadcrumbs and clues which my naivety sourced, leaving the real me embarrassed constantly. I was plagued with irreversible moments of dysfunction, moments which should be locked away in file 13. I had never felt as simultaneously defeated and liberated in my entire existence, as when I was with you.

Asking myself how I could let things go this far?
Sigh… Weary I am. Breath cold. Heart palpitating. Induced shadows of things unknown. Illusions bordering the forgotten path. But simultaneously of so many things to gain. How on earth could I love and hate someone so much at the same time?
Divine dichotomy perhaps?
Whatever it was. I wanted it to go and stay all the more.

The presence of resistance was as clear as the moon which kept turning. A divine dichotomy of waiting and wanting to love everything that you may have hated about yourself. But you resisted the reception of everything I wanted to give…


I imagine you as a little girl kicking into the sand. Stubbornly awaiting your turn to get an ice-cream cone. And then…misty hues fill the follicles of my mind. You leave just as quickly as you came.

I remember those late night drives back home during the summer months. How I associated the rain with your scent and your ambivalent essence. How I associated the synths and back and forth rotations of L’Orange banging through my speakers with your inconsistency. Never knowing if I’d see you again. Only ever comforted by a sea of eggshells. The very thing which drove me away.

No Peace [I thought].
I continued to disappear in dreams with you. It was the only place I could ever reach you. Folded into disappearing embellishments and refuted desires.
And yet I continued to love you unconditionally.


Some time has passed since the last line written.


I had forgotten myself in every way.
The ivory tower institutions really teach you how to involve yourself, outside of yourself. How on earth could I love so unconditionally, despite the resistance, which I knew I had sheltered within my own folded embellishments?

I had to look back into the kind of embellishments I needed, in order to experience my very own unrequited love. The kind of love where I could experience unconditional love, without being outside of myself. Where I didn’t have to place my yearning onto pages of burning embers.


It’s taken the inevitable crash to get ‘here’ again. Nothing remains.
Not even the loneliness or the despair. Not even the gentleness of beautiful kisses savoured in the moonlight.


A quick run into the mist of a summer returning and it means something completely different now. Purple trees, humid rain drops, sunbed and patio soliloquies…

Unwritten love letters.
But all the words in the world reflected in silent smiles.

I still lay here…
somewhat unrequited, but still breathless.
Things have changed. My nights have been filled with dancing on cold kitchen floors. Singing into wooden spoons and swimming on Sunday afternoons, with wings which have led me to the moon.

How do I begin to reflect on a dream which can only be felt in measured heartbeats?
How do I begin to describe the warmth of an enveloped love? The safest hiding place I’ve ever known.

She is I, and I forget that the pronouns ‘them, you, we and they‘ exist.

Normalcy displaced: Outside of ivory tower institutions; and into me.
An anomaly of sorts, where the sacredness of this warmth can only be traced back to the beginning of tulips being drawn into the earth.

Tied to a ribbon of love and free falling from clouds I feel the murmurs of anxiety and the fear of reaching land, reach into the pit of my essence. The mist which had floated above the shore escaped me and now I float into the mist which lay upon (y)our petals as morning dew.

The drawing of my tuliped love being planted on earth is the only reason I’d ever want to be ‘here’. Old embellishments have completely faded away and new love has emerged.


Have I learnt how to indulge in the dismantling of conditional self-love and resistance?
I am embedded in ‘I’, and in the pronoun of ‘You’ because you came around and taught me how to embellish myself within myself. This tuliped love has taught me how to use my wings.

“I am trying to
So I can sleep
For one moment
In your smile”
Sarah Godsell – Smile pg 22 in: Seaweed Sky

I found a piece of peace.
It is tucked away in the moment between me ‘as morning dew’ and you ‘allowing me to tuck into your petalled smile’.

And so a new season arrives.
Ivory towers disintegrate…Robert Glasper means something beautiful now.
And we rise above the ashes, in pronouns, metaphors and as fertilized tulips.

Note: This is the third Purge in the series of Purges. Read the first and second purge here: The Purge and The Purge II

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