What took you so long?


He said, What took you so long?

AND I simply looked up.

 

“Anything is one of a million paths. Therefore you must always keep in mind that a path is only a path; if you feel you should not follow it, you must not stay with it under any conditions. To have such clarity you must lead a disciplined life. Only then will you know that any path is only a path and there is no affront, to oneself or to others, in dropping it if that is what your heart tells you to do. But your decision to keep on the path or to leave it must be free of fear or ambition. I warn you. Look at every path closely and deliberately. Try it as many times as you think necessary.”
The image in my head subsides. I can no longer go on, my brain rat-a-tat-tats out in rapid procession as I breathe through the excrutiation. The amalgamation of ideas and praise and emptiness and being razed by life, again and again.
The pain comes and goes, like the memories, from bubonic plague to better days.
bu·bon·ic
b(y)o͞oˈbänik/
adjective
adjective: bubonic
  1. causing or characterized by swollen, inflamed lymph nodes in the armpit or groin.
    “three vials of inert bubonic bacteria from a laboratory”
    Screen Shot 2018-07-23 at 9.33.11 AM.pngScreen Shot 2018-07-23 at 9.25.07 AM.png

FROM A LABORATORY

Her field notebook was bare, she’d left to go looking for a writing implement and never returned, or so it seemed, spirited off like a butterfly who had finally metamorphosized.
Not at all like the ugly ducking into the swan and the dark side of things like murk in a pond. She would swim through the nibbles and the bites, she would evade the disaster by midnight, no princes no dowry just clarity, finally, she could see him as form, Don Juan, had to be a man, she thought, but a woman would be forever coopted by the witch never knowing from that unto which
and to whom.
She crawled up on the shore like Stephen King’s Roland, except she’d been swimming from the end of the world up to the shores of never-never-land, the hinterland fringe of fantasy dwelling monks and escapist Tetris voodoo doll cults who raised those crabs that ended up tormenting Roland, and not the brothel kind, the eternal hellfire eat you while you are in shock belly up on the dystopian shores of gimme gucci.
She held her breath.
Dive deep she said.

a path is only a path; if you feel you should not follow it, you must not stay with it under any conditions.Screen Shot 2018-07-23 at 9.48.31 AM

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