If I told you that I wanted to be pulled out to sea and drown in bliss, would you think I was manic-depressive...or just unnecessarily dramatic? Would you miss the beauty of it then? The thought of it is mind-blowing, like falling into the universe, an orphan speck.
I used to love the Irish poets for their intensity… but never really felt the pain. Now I do. The pain is exquisite and delicious in a perverse way, the emptiness like an abyss. Every now and then I look over the edge like a frightened child, with covered eyes. My abyss is a million- years- of- sadness deep. One day I will have the courage to step to the edge, look into the abyss and step back unafraid.
Asphyxia. The walls closing in, the ceiling descending. How I hate Maugham for putting it so pat in those coarse words, round pegs in square holes, or was it square pegs in round holes?
And yet I have absolute faith in God who holds my hand and guides me as I walk blindfolded. Happy to be led, while I cling to God’s pinky.
Who walled my thoughts off? Who set the limits? My mind looks for a hole in the walls, my thoughts fall like Alice, into a never ending well. Like Alice, I marvel at shelves even as I fall, fall, fall. The only thing I risk breaking at the end of my fall is my heart.
If I land downside up, does it mean I am high?
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