I chanced upon a poem yesterday, and as subtle unforeseen happenings often do, it shook my world. The earth shifted just a little under my feet, and I fell away, losing myself to the wine and words. Both bloody. Both heady.
At some point in my life, I picked up the habit of never leaving a bookstore empty handed. It was a game of sorts, a self-proclaimed tradition or quirk, and perhaps a way of reassuring myself that I remained an ardent reader, even when most of those books remained untouched after the purchase.
Do I like change?? As an escapist, I welcome it. As an emotional wreck, I despise it. The revelation of the multitudes of meaning the single word has for me makes my sanity come undone; bares open the wounds that years of internal conflicts have wrought upon my mind – those never ending battles between thoughts of my own; I am the savior and the enemy, I am the fleets of marching infantry and the crowds cowering at their feet.