mahiwaga

Fear and uncertainty cloud my vision. I’m trying to grasp at something to hold, trying to push off of some surface, but I feel like I’m floating in a void.

There is no purpose in my mind, in my heart, just this random fuzziness, this hissing static, glittering phosphorescent snow. This swirling silence, as I tread on this path that does not seem to lead anywhere.

I could have taken the straight road.

But the fitful seeking, the anxious searching, ebbs, the tension lessens, it seems to ooze out of my hand as I write, write, give form to my musings.

A purpose once burned in my soul, long ago enough, though, that I remember not what it was. I dare not name it, for fear of being wrong, of being lost. It IS consolation to think that once in my life, I had a purpose. It felt like a hard diamond blade within me, setting me rigid and strong, letting me stand tall and unafraid. Like a burning coal, long burning. To remember it, it is strange to realize all I’ve left is ash, grey ash of all consuming flames.

Grey muddy ash after the cold cold rain, salty rain. Even the rains are not endless.

To give my loss form, oh how it eases my soul, can my life be this, to make shape of emptiness, to pretend mere air is solid, that my thoughts are real? How wondrous it would be! And yet, ever do I doubt, the fog only let’s me go so far, and I but creep warily, fearing to misstep.