Transitioning My Anger To The Public Sector

For the last several years I have been in a state of flux, vacillating between the 'where I was' and the 'where I was meant to be'. This ebb and flow in my life was not a comfortable one-- it was a constant, painful reminder of unresolved issues, and unsolved perplexities to come. It was, at least in part, why I was thrown off-balance enough to make the bad physical choice that I did, the pivotal behavior which acted as a focal point for my creative juices. Since that unfortunate moment my mind has been crowded with guilt and absolution, with image and concept, with predicament and resolution... I have not been alone within my skull for quite some time.

Fortunately, I was not meant to remain a darkened soul bumping around dusty furniture and hundred-year-old boxes like a caneless blind man in an attic-- a glimmer of possibility flickered in the gloom, brightening with every step of my approach. And in that sparkle, my friends, I found the key to my future fulfillment... and a method to absolve the guilt of my own humanity: The Written Word.

It started simply enough-- I would pick an emotion, and create a poem to describe it. Each poem I penned was another rock removed from the dam that stoppered a deluge; every word I wrote was another crumbled chunk of concrete tumbling into a vast repository of unresolved desire. And as they fell away, so did my immunity from reality; I dodged huge jagged chunks of latex love and plasticene pride, rending the wall of pretense shrouding my eyes.

I stood naked before my demons; unmasked; small and fearful, begging for life.

And it was granted.

Now I sit poised, pen at the ready, winding the mainspring of my creativity until it balances, like a tensed panther, between past and future, fallacy and truth.

And I shake life to see what drops out.

My muse is a variable friend, a professorial vixen. She dangles in front of my eyes a dream tied with a pretty blue bow to a nightmare of staggering despair. Her intentions are unclear... am I to be a savior of man, or an unwitting pawn unwrapping our own dire destiny? The future seems dim to me, as though obscured by an ill wind. I turn my coat up and forge onward, heading toward the onslaught like a crowd swelling into a tragedy.

For some months now I bare my soul, spreading out my essence, exposing every muted desire. I believe it is cathartic, or at least self-effacing, and I am proud and yet still embarrassed. I try to hide amid the humor, but the jokes are as stones sprinkled onto a great plains; I spill out on all sides and am pierced by the barbs. But I do not lash out; my anger has subsided; I am at peace in my pain and even welcome it.

For awhile.

A long while, but at last the spillway has cleared. Those last few drops, as tears, trickle past the grates and join their brethren, all the while tracing a straight path, a history clear for all to see; then the sluice has closed. The book has been written-- all that remains are the accolades. I'll sit and watch the sun burn out while I wait.

But I have not finished; now purged, my refreshed soul yearns to spit out sunshine, shining its warm glow on a path of my design, a yellow brick road for all to follow. I had created a Yin; a Yang was the foregone conclusion.

And so off to Yang I go! I offer to take you all on the next leg of my journey. Thank you for sticking with me this far... we have been journeying through the dark and dangerous wood guarding the mountain of the Kingdom of Good; we are through it now. Though steep, the path is rich with knowledge, and answers riddle the rocky walls as handholds assisting ascension.

We are off to undiscovered places, my friends. It is the trip we ultimately desire and in fact, must take... if we are ever to shed these morbid chains. Travel with me into the immediate future, into a world of our making. A world of joy, and of love, and of peace. A world of art, and science, and knowledge.

A Perfect World.

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