Arrived again

dead-end

Although I can’t always tell how I get here, I always recognise when I have arrived. There is no mistaken the heavy chain that is pulled tight around my stomach, the shivers on my skin, the dull pain in the heart and the rain barrels that have spilled and are only held back by a single warrior unwilling to open the flood gates.

Sometimes I wonder whether it’s the opposite end of a successful fight. Whether it’s the place where I run to when I loose confidence in my own ability to win whatever battle I am in. It’s better than dying, and in a rather strange way its power is comforting, a reminder that yes, I am still alive, for why else would I feel the suffering? It is also the place where others may find you, recognise a need, and are quick to help, even though they never meet your need, for only you can accomplish that. And I know it too. Yet in this place, knowing this, only highlights this rotten place more.

So, what is there to do? Wallow in the temporary comfort which only feeds the lack of confidence, heck call it Love, for myself? Listen to the voice that soothens, lets me know that if I just give in, that eventually the light will reach me again? That it is ok to to be small, insignificant, pitiful? That having others take care of you, like a baby, even if you are old enough to have your own? To have had your own?

I’ve been down that road before. It does lead back to light, even to my own light. But it reminds me of the Neverending Story, where the more he gives in the more he forgets and even though I may be in this place, again, I don’t want to risk not remembering that the light is there, that it is within me, and that I don’t need to keep arriving here.

And so, as these lines come to an end, I look around, and find myself in a beautiful late summer morning. I smile and reach for the sun.

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~ by spasmicallyperfect on August 27, 2009.

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