Tuesday, March 4, 2014

The Struggle


The struggle is so familiar.
It feels like a soaked woolen blanket covering me.
Drenched in confusion.
My potential is rudderless.
The child sitting across from me stares into my eyes, quietly.
He looks down at my paper and pencil with smiling eyes and, as usual, says nothing.
Maybe he thought he knew something?
It was simple for him, right?
His head was clear and ready.
It’s happened before;
I still remember feeling it the same way I remember breathing.
I was able to fit it all together once;
I had time to contemplate the movement and curiosity of a single ant on the sidewalk, Or to notice the soft imperfect impression of a face looking back at me in the texture of a rock.
I enjoyed the richness of discovery and listening to my friends and family talk about their world.
It was interesting once.
But that was then.
So I sit and wait for someone or something to arrive and save me. I need some help.
The child gets up. Where is he going? “Where are you going, buddy?”
The child blinks and begins to walk away from me now.
Stepping backward into the distance of my memory.
His smiling eyes are still looking at me as he takes each thoughtful step.
He must have something pointless to do.
Let him go.
He’ll be back.
I’m busy with more important things.