I’ve been reading Kafka in bed
before going to sleep. Perhaps that’s
the influence that has me wondering where did THAT come from? I'm reminded of a
phrase that whickered its way into my morning thoughts in the midst of awakening
from my dreaming. Spinning over and again the same thing until I noticed it and
question the relevance:
Picking up fragments of shattered past
dreams in an effort to construct a mosaic of my new horizon.
Clues; I meet
someone, or the topic of discussion comes to rest upon a similar theme; then I
have to ponder. Is this the product of
my steering or is it a
Happenstance? Change challenges the constructed identity;
the illusory self. And just as grief
descends at the passing of a loved one, so it appears as resistance to the
incursion of facts that do not accommodate a carefully created fantasy; an
internal strife that seeks to cherish the validity of desired dream state of
who we've grown comfortable in saying we are.
Truth is the vanguard that suddenly threatens
this preference. Even a life littered
with obstacles and dampening quagmires which keeps happiness at bay might offer
a derived sense of security with knowing it’s landscape and the seasons of
predictable alteration. Lying in wait is a sense of ease. Such are the illusions
whispering comfort based on predictability; an invested hope for secure havens
of protection from swelling rumors and idle gossip of unshaped dangers just
over the foreseeable horizon.
No comments:
Post a Comment