tangledupinblue

Some times before this time I knew exactly what I wanted. I mean that in the larger sense. I mean knew with whom, for how long and to what end -- in short what IT -- the BIG holy IT --was all about. Unless I really know nothing about the human condition, we've all been there. We've all had moments of clarity where we felt like we had all the balls in the air, had each of 'em poised perfectly in space between our flexed fingers, each heading to its appointed hand to begin a further arc. And for most of us those balls did eventually drop. For some of us only a few got away, to either be forgotten or replaced or recognized as superfluous or malignant from their outset and thus well lost. For others, the whole works exploded, crashed amongst our frightened feet, the balls, to our surprise made of glass sending shards jutting into our skin, slicing into the corners of our eyes and the webbing of our fingers as our mouths hung agape at the collapse. Doesn't matter that the collapse was eventually for the good or for the the bad, that from the cataclysmic rending of the carefully constructed symbollic order something wonderful might have come a cropper. The deal that has me a-wondering tonight, the thought that got under my skin like a sliver so forcefully that I left my party tonight before it really started was simply a wonder of whether it is really wise to fully trust the sensation that everything is where it should be when you get to those rare places of seeming psychic safety. Should you really just be battening down the hatches for the inevitable storm? I'm getting old, man.