Sunday, April 22, 2007

Inside Shadowlands

There is a static and it does not move. Shadow land is a swirling mass around, but in the center I am static and unmoved. I want to be moved. What have I become afraid of then. Is it the solid fact that there is too much movement, too much feeling, too much fire, and passion, and joy, and hope, and desire, and loss, and love, and loneliness. Or something else that makes me feel much like a prisoner watching the shadow figures of life and being made to believe that there lies my reality.

The shadows dance. They whisper to one another, talking, telling secrets. They make themselves, the shadows, real and more powerful then real, more true then real. They become everything. I watch the shadows and am engulfed in the movement, the realization that I can never be as great, fascinating, interesting, true as the play in front of my eyes. I am static, I am unreal, I do not exist. There as they go flashing, living, loving, those shadows are the only thing that is true.

There is no hope to find some great lie that will build my city and make me more real. There is no thing that I can believe in so completely that I will take comfort in the knowledge of a lie as ultimate truth. Shadows don't need to lie. They exist, they interchange, they interplay and I am fascinated with them.

There is a gift here in watching the shadows. I learn, a truism. Observation is knowledge. This is a whole and functioning fact. With each observation more data is required, you need more, information. But false date clogs the works and produces false results. If the shadows can be believed then there is purity here, nothing can be a lie. If I believe it strong enough will that make it true. If that were to be true then I would not be chained to sit and watch and merely observe.

I am lost in myself and the shadows, frozen solid in my fear of action on them. It is a not in my belly that causes an inability to eat. It is stringy tension in my back that snaps my spine and controls my restlessness. It is the claw that plays at my soul and takes greatest surcease in ripping that into minute bits of indeterminate. Shadows continue to move and play about me and I continue to sit immobile and watch and wonder what is outside my cave. Light, life, or just more caves?

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