doubtful scratches


the sun is sending streams of golden light in the low eastern sky. the clouds appear various shades of violet. the warmth is bursting through the clouds like a volcanic storm; yet the moment is still. Still, windless, not even the paper thin hibiscus is moving. Only the large violet clouds move through an otherwise silent void.

there is the distant roar of tires on the pavement and the song birds are singing, but even they are singing quietly.

sound and motion are suspended in this hour, half past sunrise and quarter to six–only the sounds of the universe break through to earth’s atmosphere.

on occasion it is speaking to me, but only if i have asked a question. the sun shines for everyone, but it speaks to me in a very private manner. if i am ready for an answer, it will be there, if i have not decided that i want to know the truth, it will stay dark and doubtful and what it has to say will barely scratch the surface of my consciousness.

today it does not speak. my mind is froth with questions. in bondage, my thoughts are knotted like tangled vines in a tropic jungle. i do not want to know. i want to speak, not listen. i want to have my way with the universe. it lets me sit in my struggle, like an analyst paid to listen. it reflects back to me, but it refuses to give me the insight i want. it knows the answer comes from inside despite the millenniums of human thought that has become belief…it knows the answer is within.

This entry was posted in therapy.

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