MEDITATION

It is as if I were standing here before me again: the kindly and yet obliging Cornelian of my adult self is in sympathy with my child-self, to whom I still look back every now and then, when I stare into the distorted eyes of my curved mirrors. Yet I stand before myself daily with a double responsibility of care; I would comfort the curious, chattering child still preserved within me. Perhaps no one still knows who I am?

O isolating, yet poisoned with a rathartic stubbornness, a necessary sense of loneliness. I wish I had someone to share the avant-garde burden of my conscience-stricken colonic weight of responsibility with. This odd dichotomy is perhaps necessary for my own sake. I hide with people with a secret survival purpose and intention. My aching, fallible, but therefore sincere soul is the only candle among other souls, and no one realizes - with a misguided will - that it could perhaps still help with its helpful selflessness. The body still lives here, while I am emigrated in the captivity of old-ancient rocks up on the hilltop.

I have cried many a time, I have convulsed with vain laughter. Shivering like a subaltern animal, I would seek a safe mother's harbour-oil, like a defenceless infant, at the side of my immortal Beloved, while day by day the agony of torment drags itself within me. How then can I live with my fated Enkidu-owner, when the insidiousness of a corruptible whore-world attacks me, and I know but how, if seldom, with a shivering stigma-soul, I can defend myself against it?!