Zen
<< 8:04 p.m. - Sunday, Oct. 19, 2003 >>
I�m watching those around me on swings. Metaphorical swings, mind you. And all the while as their hearts pounds and hands tremble with adrenalin, they are falling, falling falling. Rising, rising, rising. Feet extended toward gray heaving clouds. Let me join them. Waiting at the gates. Straining against all the ropes and harnesses of my own doing. As soon as the gates open wide, I tumble into the ground. Remain panting, shaken, and suddenly tentative. I am not a daredevil. I don�t feel brave now. Learned about this sting. We�ll see if I can do this.

Puddles on the wooden planks. Its stupid I know. This fog you speak of. It may be real, it may be chimera. My words are slipping. I can�t keep track of it all. I walked the city and met my friends and let them communicate. Left my mouth to be once quiet and thoughtful. I hope I liberated you, soothed you, and let you purge yourself of darkened windows.

My ear is open. My heart is ready. Let the waves crash. Let the talking commence.