| Catch Half a blessed lifetime of doing this, of scribbling and scrabbling my words, trying to infinitesimally define all life's grey areas into black and white. So them why in f*** does my history read like a thesaurus thrown page by page into a whirlpool? Was it predetermination, sixth sense, prediction? Or did I design, create, narrate, self-fulfill my intervals of freedom & repression, mastery & slavery, longing, abandonment, renewal? Something's been haunting my consciousness for a decade or more, till now I had dim recall; And because communication, even my own with myself must be written and recorded, when I tripped over log entries of exactly how it happened, then set in: furious, boiling, enraged, fuming, infuriated, livid. Talk about all the cliches perpetrated on oneself. "...stabbed in the back, knocked the wind out, kicked one's feet out from under..." I did it. I am the felon, criminal, the instigator. How do you live with yourself after that? You don't. Can't. Somehow, through experience, something else must surface, submerge, breath & begin it's own life. And if I die in the process, as many have then where is the light in the world? Nowhere, because I am a light and a source and an inspiration, a human after all, sitting by choice on the edge, near the precipice, cliff-side better to catch the intimations no one else would care to catch. PamEhli/2001 |
|
| Since 1-10-03 |