Oh Bother, She’s Petrifying

People and place have so much power over person.

Vibrance can lay so well hidden beneath apathy, boredom and the sturdy feeling that I’m not needed and nobody here really cares.

Leaving the comfort of the home you sought, back into the comfortable, but anchorless washes of the home you were handed leaves one feeling groundless, alone, and a bit like a wind-up toy that has just gained consciousness and is looking around, curious to see if he is really the only one awake.

You know that this is really home, this is where you were born and made, and that’s why the drift is all the more alarming. If it can really be called alarm in your semi-opiate state.

Is it boredom? Or dullness of spirit? Or a spirit oversharpened? Or perhaps sharpened only to the point of criticism, not past criticism into that unreachably mature realm of universal appreciation?

If feels a little like time warp or parallel universes only it’s me, not time that’s being warped and the universes seem more perpendicular than parallel.

There, the tenses make sense. I know where I came from, who I am, and where I’m probably going. Then the wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff happens, and you’re back home and suddenly you don’t know who you are and what you’re supposed to be hanging on to (past), what is yours to let go (present), and what to chase after (future).

Right now the hunger is there, the fire is burning inside, even if it doesn’t display itself outwardly in vibrance. Right now the eyes don’t stay down for long. Right now the feet keep moving and the heart keeps thumping. But slowly, outside in, I feel the living, divine sourced, tender wood turning molecule by fey molecule, turning to stone.

People and place have so much power over person.