Fair and Flexible - Within New Confines

It's the color yellow placed in the middle of nowhere. With a blob of black that mars the purity of this crayola shade of the popular color. The black is etched in with perfect edges that mark the finest of lines across the expanse of the plain. A rush of black to the head and soon its all over. Before it began. Before it could conceive of it. Long before sound could arrive to represent the moment.

The idea was to speak out again. There are breaks and pauses in words. And between sentences. And, consequently, between the collections of sentences that comprise partially revealed thoughts. The only problem here is that, though the idea wishes to be spoken, heard and known, it's still going to be but another partially revealed idea and thought anyway. It's not like it's going to get any better. Any clearer. Any more honest with the world outside the bound of its creator.

Back in recent time, there was the unveiling. The grand moments. To revel in the luminous glow of enlightenment. Like the golden hue of the gloaming, the holy glow warms us. It is treasured and makes us feel important and special. That's why we wait. And hope for this possibility to come true and for us to bear witness.

But what comes after? After the flood that drowns our senses. After the wave that washes away ignorance - only to be replaced by a fresh batch of grains of this bliss. Like sand on a weathered shore. The waves come and go.

I am confused and lost in a square box. I don't know where to go even with barely a choice of which direction to turn my head. That's a beautiful image in my head more than the feeling of constriction that I feel. Nothing quite so dramatic inhabits my mind. And I'd be lying and/or pretentious if I said that I feel claustrophobic in any way now. I am confused by a lot that happens. Both in immediate consequence and fantastical notions. A lot of it is like being a deer in the headlights, even though they haven't been flicked on yet.

The other is the notion of blue in the face of black. It's there and you can see it if you really look. Really hard. With a bit of light. It's not the brightest of blues, but it's the blackest of blacks. And it gets blacker as the light fades. As its fading, the lines blur and differences matter not to the eye or to the mind that searches in vain for the slightest sensory perception of irregularity.

I'd like to use certain words that I shall refrain from doing. Because they appear often - too often to be justified in their intrusive appearances. More so the one, in the context of the others. And my brain knows not what it truly is or what it really entails to my person. But it is obsessed nevertheless and leads me on this wild goose chase through a maze of one path and one prize.

And yet I walk through the grass walls that impede any deviation from the prize-winning path. I walk through and see the alternate reality fill my field of vision. It acquires a permanence even denied to the fates. And snatches the heart and hope. Grips them in a steely grip of metal and sinew held together by unknown magicks.

I will speak another time but never with these words. Rejoice.

Till permanence is beautiful and mine.