Transitional Fossil

" The question isn't "who is going to let me"; it's "who is going to stop me".
Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead

Sunday, July 15, 2007


Sitting up at 3 in the morning, away from lover's arms, pondering the past, its
marks upon my spirit.

Reflected in a fused future is my past self. Galloping exploits of laughter and romping, vivid ramblin'. These were shed and stricken from me. Taken one at a time.

I let it happen.

Silently I rage against my aggressor. First it was my lineage. Then it was love, trusted and complete. Disguised delivery of this plague of my spirit. The removal of humor, of joy, of freedom and smiles. All in the name of love, of honor. In the name of feigned maturity and virtue.

But I stand here not a victim to lay blame. Sitting on this couch I weep for myself in confusion and desparation to reclaim that which I have sacrified.

How?? The new boundaries and faith needed for this venture are scarce. Fear feeds the flow of the future. Forgiveness for myself come haltingly forward. I drink my coffee.

How do you feed your spirit?? How do you rebuild that spark of letting go and instill the joyless abandon of yesterday??

It's time to get busy living, or get busy dying.


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home