“Clever how the cosmos can, in a single portent, be ingratiating yet sadistic.” The winter world is starkly beautiful. Yet monochromatic landscapes make her feel insubstantial. When dead beige light filters through bare tree limbs and there is no delineation between land and horizon, she feels like a ghost. A two dimensional her.
She sings to ground herself in the physical, pulling deep breaths all the way from her toes into her lungs, loosing the syllables upwards, an offering to gods whose names she does not purport to know.
Sometimes she thinks that she’d rather scream than sing, but she’s worried that it would never stop.
There are times when she appears still, deep in meditation perhaps. In truth, there is a running inner dialog where she is talking herself down from a full scale riot. No, self, you do not want to punch holes in the wall. Um, but yes, I really do, it would be immensely satisfying. You would hurt yourself. Well, yes, that’s part of the satisfaction. No, self, you do not want to pick up your heavy things and smash them with an almost toddler like glee at the rampant and random destruction. Oh my, yes, I absolutely and most certainly do.
She wants to spin in circles and wreak havoc, Shiva the Destroyer, beautiful in her fury. She does not, however, wish to spackle holes in the wall and clean up bits of beloved things off the floor.
So she sits quietly, with eyes closed and fingers linked, and talks herself from the ledge and into a quiet and familiar numbness. Are these her only choices then? Rage or indifference, destruction or apathy? There must be a middle ground somewhere.
She knows that the war that is waged is all inside her head. She knows that as long as there is no clear winner, her life will not move in any discernible direction. If she cannot get her factions under control, cannot map out a plan of attack, a path of retreat, a hidey hole for recuperation, if she cannot Stratego her synapses the way she used to organize her gameboard, it will come down to survival of the fittest and she doesn’t know which part of her will come out on top.
Gifted with self-awareness, losing out on sense of self.
The Master Class prompt this week (hosted now by SAM at www.frommywriteside.wordpress.com) was chosen by the brilliant Steph (no joke, I absolutely love this woman’s writing) at www.peopledothingswiththeirlives.com “Clever how the cosmos can, in a single portent, be ingratiating yet sadistic.” From Three Junes by Julia Glass
I found myself feeling a straight non-fiction piece, but couldn’t get it to work. I tried to write a straight fiction piece, but couldn’t get it to work. So I ended up with this, sort of a poetic non-fiction piece. Hopefully, even though it kind of makes me feel like a cry baby, it’s at least still pretty to read