February 16, 2004
the Dark God whispers.
So I am here.
I'm listening.
What brilliant clarification can I place upon this mystery?
There is none at present.
Say to the seven winds,
(wasn't there supposed to be only four?),
say to the seven winds,
this was NOT of my own choosing,
this was NOT in my plans?
But I am not saying that.
I am saying only tears and mystery
and I want answers.
I could, after all, be only mad.
What tells me I am not?
A quiet voice that says,
'Listen to your heart.'
If I am broken and down,
and washed up,
like so much drift weeds on the beach,
what then?
Then I have no more words to give to anyone.
I don't want that.
'So then move back from that,
go back again into the quiet
inner space.'
I will listen to my heart.
It says that after all escaped from Pandora's box,
there still remained HOPE.
I'll let this bird sing in my heart,
I'll not hold it too tightly,
but just let it sit there on my branch.
I will smile at my own reflection in the mirror.
I will endeavor to walk with grace and elegance,
I will hold my head up high.
Not unnaturally high, as to strain.
Just a refined grace,
if I can manage that,
in the midst of all this confusion,
then maybe answers will settle themselves into ordering,
then maybe the air will be easy to breath again,
then maybe I will know peace.
I can manage this,
peace in the middle of confusion.
I will not make demands,
I will let the future unfold.
I am here, in this eye of the hurricane.
I will rest here.
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