VOICES ON THE INSIDE

Fragmented stoicism binds me to the weight of resignation and placidity. It measures me against the guise of impassivity; a firmly constructed cage of hiding the disappointment and anguish of my deficiency.

It is the reverie of solitude/avoidance. It is a tailor made caste system of guilty/of exiled. Yet, like photomicrography when heat is applied, when polarized, a sobering truth is revealed: the decade of time I have spent serving time.

The rapidity of the ageless aging/graying. Patiently attending to the webbing gathering in the crow’s nest, surveying laugh lines that reveal a once lived life of acute joy and now rapt sadness. Or the physical aches and angst; that this structure /frame is coming undone.

A daily chore of yielding to submissiveness; retracting from the spurious/counterfeit. Arching but never overreaching for fear to ask for too much would result in revealing weakness.

Meditating I sit in the quiet; calming my anxiousness and divining providence. I am not aware of what the observer witnesses in these moments. Detached apathy? I am unable to qualify their questions with answers, only that I have resigned myself to this countenance of acceptance.