Friday, September 12, 2014

Again and again in my thoughts I would catch myself wandering alone on a path winding through a wood. Branches hung over the path on both sides. The way forward was always in the dark. My hands would reach forward to feel in front of me in the blackness, and then I would take a step. Then another step, and yet another.

The murky flavor of this forest was tinged with despair, and yet I continued stubbornly to wander through this wilderness for many years. Somewhere in the distance, a firefly was dancing, I promised myself. I reached back into the past for the memory of faint voices of encouragement; then I would move on with a sigh.

When I was embraced, it was only by a dark angel, who reflected the dusky indigo depths of my own gloom. My dream-darlings, I turned my back on you and stubbornly marched ahead. I memorized a script of suffering, and wore it out in repetitive recitations. Often, I sank into an oblivion where exhaustion was my most constant companion.

There were a few hints, like the time I remembered a dream from early childhood: sunlight on a grassy knoll, and the certainty that roses were blossoming there.

But for the most part, such has been the way of this life. A silence verging on muteness. A series of impossible, tenebrous longings. The preference to remain in obscurity, behind the trees.

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