These roads...have been so justifiable. They have been so easy to travel. Easy to explain out of one's conscious. They are so deceiving, though. They are so inviting. The lights always catch my attention and the music always lures me in like a hungry fish to a big fat colorful bait dangling in the water. The people always seem so...accepting. Loving. Especially when I begin to partake in the same feasts as they. Once you sit at their table and drink from their chalices and eat off their plates, you are family. Handling problems is so easy on those roads. We just fill our glasses to the brim and raise them to a toast that blames everything else, thus abdicating us from truly taking on responsibility. We dip our heads in our bowls and avoid eye contact that will convict us of our self injuring misdemeanors. We fill our glasses and make another toast to the personal strength we possess in not needing anything or anyone. We succeed at escaping our thoughts with enough toasts and our bowls are empty. Our glasses never are. So we dance on the table, celebrating the fulfillment in our lives. We laugh. Oh, how we laugh. Sometimes we cry. Sometimes there are fights. But we can always make another toast and blame the glasses.
So many toasts hurt my eyes when the sun decides that the night has had enough fun and rises. The road always seems rougher at those moments. But the others around me awaken. And we all see the emptyness in each other's eyes as we travel the road. It hurts our feet a little more. But as we toil the road we grow weary and we sit to rest at the table. The troubles of that day call for a toast. We all raise our glasses....
That vicious circle rolls sickeningly down those roads.
However, one of those times when the sun decided to cut in on our nightly routines, I woke up more empty than usual. I caught a glimpse of something off the road. Something brighter. Not like the lights on the road I was on...something more...pure. I mentioned it to my friends. So we toasted to it. And filled our emptiness with the poison in the chalices. I guess I spent enough nights in this love affair with the poison that it made me wander off the road. It felt lighter. There were not as many sights, but the sun was so much easier on my eyes. I took deep breaths of the air and it didn't pierce my lungs like stabbing spears of smoked tar. I spent some time there and eventually wandered back on the road. I could feel whispering in the air around me as I wandered. It seemed like I travelled a long way back there, but it never felt like I was moving.
And then...one morning...I woke up back on the road. I felt the sun soaking me with a heat of disappointment, but the cold wind nipped at me like a lonely puppy at it's owner's return. The whispering kept reassuring me that the table was waiting. All those people were waiting to raise their glasses and say a toast in honor of the heartbreak I endured and drink to the pain we all felt. They did raise their glasses. We found many toasts to make. This was the same road, but it was a new table and new people. Somehow they knew I had returned and they celebrated. So did the whispering. When the table was empty I invited those voices in and allowed them to guide me to a place where people were joyously toasting. Night after night I would find more things to toast about with my glass filled to the brim. Morning after morning the sun tore through the night breaking up our party and sobering our minds from their altered state.
This morning I woke up so tired. The sun was shining through and the wind was still nipping coldly at my face. The voices were still whispering. But the road feels different today. There was nothing to toast last night. There was no other entity to blame. I did not sit at the table for the nightly toasts. So when the sun woke up it did not hurt my eyes in the same way. The pain seeped out of my mouth through my voice and I could feel the exaustion down to my bones. I saw the road a lot more clearly, I guess the poison is leaving my system. The road hurts the bottom of my feet and the lights seem so pale in comparison to the sun. The air is choking me and I longed for a breath of that purity that does not sting me. The whispering is still here, but it has begun to scare me. I no longer want to invite it in. Night has fallen and there are toasts being made and chalices being raised. The voices whisper that those people miss me. I am drowning them out. This road felt much more fun the first time.
Somehow it was justifiable. I was young. I was searching the roads in my journey and figuring out which one to travel. When I was hurt, those roads provided me the releif I needed without actually having to trek through the difficult terrain. I thought this road was a shortcut through all the hard terrain...straight to the right path. But it wasn't. And it's not. The right path is to the North of where I stand. There are dense woods to travel and high mountains to climb. There are difficult dangers to fight off and survival skills that need to be learned. But past all those challenges is the right road...and that's the one I need to be on. But I'm too tired right now. I have stepped off the painful road, but I hurt. My head hurts. The bottom of my feet are bleeding and my vision is blurred from all the flashing lights. I can't hear clearly from the loud beat of the bass in the music. My lungs are still filled with the heavy air, which is making it harder to breathe and wearing me thin. I am altogether...numb. I feel like I am standing here. I can't move to start walking and I can't sit to rest. I am just....here. I can see the road and all the people at the table. They are raising their glasses. I can see the rough terrain with the pure air and the sunlight. I am immobile. The voices are telling me to come back to the road and find relaxation. The rough terrain is offering me peace. I am stiff where I stand. I feel something watching me so I glance towards the smoky road, and I see a silhouette of darkness. It just grins. The whispering chuckles. I shudder and shake the whispering out of my head. I still can't move. But I think I feel a tingling movement in my toes...
So many toasts hurt my eyes when the sun decides that the night has had enough fun and rises. The road always seems rougher at those moments. But the others around me awaken. And we all see the emptyness in each other's eyes as we travel the road. It hurts our feet a little more. But as we toil the road we grow weary and we sit to rest at the table. The troubles of that day call for a toast. We all raise our glasses....
That vicious circle rolls sickeningly down those roads.
However, one of those times when the sun decided to cut in on our nightly routines, I woke up more empty than usual. I caught a glimpse of something off the road. Something brighter. Not like the lights on the road I was on...something more...pure. I mentioned it to my friends. So we toasted to it. And filled our emptiness with the poison in the chalices. I guess I spent enough nights in this love affair with the poison that it made me wander off the road. It felt lighter. There were not as many sights, but the sun was so much easier on my eyes. I took deep breaths of the air and it didn't pierce my lungs like stabbing spears of smoked tar. I spent some time there and eventually wandered back on the road. I could feel whispering in the air around me as I wandered. It seemed like I travelled a long way back there, but it never felt like I was moving.
And then...one morning...I woke up back on the road. I felt the sun soaking me with a heat of disappointment, but the cold wind nipped at me like a lonely puppy at it's owner's return. The whispering kept reassuring me that the table was waiting. All those people were waiting to raise their glasses and say a toast in honor of the heartbreak I endured and drink to the pain we all felt. They did raise their glasses. We found many toasts to make. This was the same road, but it was a new table and new people. Somehow they knew I had returned and they celebrated. So did the whispering. When the table was empty I invited those voices in and allowed them to guide me to a place where people were joyously toasting. Night after night I would find more things to toast about with my glass filled to the brim. Morning after morning the sun tore through the night breaking up our party and sobering our minds from their altered state.
This morning I woke up so tired. The sun was shining through and the wind was still nipping coldly at my face. The voices were still whispering. But the road feels different today. There was nothing to toast last night. There was no other entity to blame. I did not sit at the table for the nightly toasts. So when the sun woke up it did not hurt my eyes in the same way. The pain seeped out of my mouth through my voice and I could feel the exaustion down to my bones. I saw the road a lot more clearly, I guess the poison is leaving my system. The road hurts the bottom of my feet and the lights seem so pale in comparison to the sun. The air is choking me and I longed for a breath of that purity that does not sting me. The whispering is still here, but it has begun to scare me. I no longer want to invite it in. Night has fallen and there are toasts being made and chalices being raised. The voices whisper that those people miss me. I am drowning them out. This road felt much more fun the first time.
Somehow it was justifiable. I was young. I was searching the roads in my journey and figuring out which one to travel. When I was hurt, those roads provided me the releif I needed without actually having to trek through the difficult terrain. I thought this road was a shortcut through all the hard terrain...straight to the right path. But it wasn't. And it's not. The right path is to the North of where I stand. There are dense woods to travel and high mountains to climb. There are difficult dangers to fight off and survival skills that need to be learned. But past all those challenges is the right road...and that's the one I need to be on. But I'm too tired right now. I have stepped off the painful road, but I hurt. My head hurts. The bottom of my feet are bleeding and my vision is blurred from all the flashing lights. I can't hear clearly from the loud beat of the bass in the music. My lungs are still filled with the heavy air, which is making it harder to breathe and wearing me thin. I am altogether...numb. I feel like I am standing here. I can't move to start walking and I can't sit to rest. I am just....here. I can see the road and all the people at the table. They are raising their glasses. I can see the rough terrain with the pure air and the sunlight. I am immobile. The voices are telling me to come back to the road and find relaxation. The rough terrain is offering me peace. I am stiff where I stand. I feel something watching me so I glance towards the smoky road, and I see a silhouette of darkness. It just grins. The whispering chuckles. I shudder and shake the whispering out of my head. I still can't move. But I think I feel a tingling movement in my toes...
1 comment:
Incredibly written, and insightful, as I knew it would be. You have so much talent I can´t even begin to write a response because in light of that.... it all seems trite and superficial. I will sent my response to your email. Love you precious... nintz
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