Complete and utter madness would be most welcome to me now. Half-crazed is too normal and acceptable these days, and we all wander freely about knowing this about each other and ourselves.
There is an either/or type personality, and I am it. When one of us attempts to live within the middle, between the boundaries, it’s not a pleasant life. There is a constant struggle of consciousness and ideas that must be fed, and from the fields of mediocrity we gather only corn; kernals of knowledge sweet and sustaining, but only so. At times it is indigestible. It is boring and it is common. I want to live on lobster, filet mignon and cherry tomatoes.
Perhaps my future care will not be in the hands of prison guards, but in the softer speaking aides of white-walled institutions. Although, most likely not. Strength, tenacity, survival of a sort is inbred as well through generations of Bernals. Peace will not be ours in this life, and even after, only a cosmic flash of time before we’re thrown back to earth, compelled with lifetimes of an iron will fired even harder and determined against only reinvented strife.
I’m feeling contemplative and regressing in acceptance of reality. I walk the edge and fear most the falling into the soft place called adjustment to society and not being able to scramble back up, or drop and lose the bag of stars that I have gathered when aloft.
I suspect I’ll get over it. I always have before.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology