Sunday, 11 January 2015

It occurred to me last night how important, how essential it is to have one part of your life that does not drown in sorrow or burst into flames.

To have on part of you that is a steady hand on the helm, that neither aspires to heaven, nor descends to hell.

I am often buffeted by crosswinds of ecstasy or despair; but that is neither here nor quite there, where I want to go. So I walk slow, candle in one hand, the other held up to cup the wavering flame.

I can't tell if it is I or the weather to blame, but I keep walking, unsure at times which is the truest reflexion of "I": the fickle flame or the sheltering palm.

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