There is an ominous silence hanging over the suburbs,
a languid tranquility that suggests rest yet only reminds me of those most anxious moments.
When did silence become such a dramatic opponent to cause such chaos and anxiety?
I suppose always.
I think of those dawns that I stayed awake for, sitting on a doorstep or perching on a fire escape just to see the rising rose glow of the earliest beginnings of the day. And the ones I ignored to just exist and be surrounded by the weirdly amazing.
How many years have passed since I was me?
What shadow do I see that stares back in the mirror these days?
Where is that joie du vivre that used to be the unstoppable fire behind these eyes that needed to see and taste and breathe and experience every ounce of life that could be squeezed out of the marrow of a moment? What happened to the Bohemian lunatic that never sacrificed an ounce of self in defense and pursuit of that unknown truth I always hunted for?
The wheels just turn now. Wake, prepare, work, rest, sleep.
My greatest fear come to pass: I have lost myself in what I am supposed to do. Who I am supposed to be. And that's not even who I thought I was at the time. This Sisyphean merry-go-round monotony is not a future, it is an unseen bear trap along the path that has brought me to my knees in tears.
How great were the days when you could take command of a lighthouse and just BE.
I think back to my early days, long before the ambition.
Those simple days with just the world before me and a cadre of weirdly perfect compatriots... all of us trying to figure out our place in this strange world we never felt a part of. And yet I see these beatific saints and sinners find their place and their peace...
.... and I remain stuck in the woods, lost in the tornado, trying to find my north.
Honesty to self has to matter for something. More than a blind obedience to expectation.
Is it too late?
I tell myself it's not too late.
Which truth do I trust?
No comments:
Post a Comment