Imagine to Remember

I have strayed many times from my path. In my many sojourns I find myself dangerously close to the edge. I dance on slippery rocks, taunting the abyss with my hands in the air and snaking hips. I find it thrilling, the possibility of my own annihilation. It is as Clarice Lispector describes in her novel The Passion According to G.H. it is “the horrifying freedom that can destroy me”. As the years go by the dance gets old, like a party I didn’t really want to go to. Late into the night I stumble into a bathroom, look into the mirror and am shocked at my own face, an unreal reality. And yet I continue on like this, more by compulsion than desire, and each time, just as I am about to go over the edge I am pulled back, dragged, like a petulant child, kicking and screaming, back to safety. The divine hand is as sure as it is swift, I am left gasping for air, overcome with grace. ⁣
⁣
My compulsion for self-destruction it seems has limits. I fail to heed the signs, and there are always signs; of this I am sure. I can see now in retrospect, after falling on my face one too many times that there is rhythm to this dance. The silky spider tendrils of fate, the delicate web weaving all our lives together, repeats itself over and over, in a pattern even the untrained eye can discern. It is undeniable, and once you know, you cannot forget, you are fated with knowledge and therefore responsibility. So the signs, should we so choose to ignore them, appear again, and again, a little louder, stronger, brighter, scarier. We go arrogantly into our demise. There will be no excuses this day, we know what we know. And we know with a knowing so sweet it quickly becomes bitter; this is the nectar of the fruit of knowledge dripping down your face and hands, sticking to your skin, staining you red, marking you forever. ⁣