Musings on Monday Mornings

I find the fact that I am driving home at 12midnight alone on highway that brooks no traffic, in a town that is not my own, frightfully unnerving. My own emancipation scares me; the fact that I am responsible for my self alone, and alone responsible for myself. Life is comforting when seen from the lens of the things that bind us. Limitations are comforting. They edge the horizons of our universe, giving us the parameters with which we can exist and understand our world. Once those parameters cease to exist, or become increasingly permeable, the opaque fluidity of time, notions, values and responsibility muddle and fuzz dimensions. That is when we step, albeit unwilling, into the realm of Emancipation. Not all of us are looking to be emancipated. Some of us prefer our golden cages. (‘Cages’ is such a cruel world. I wish I could come up with something else as a substitute. But I can’t) Emancipation How one plays with words. (I sell them too cheap). What is emancipation to one is abandon...

In truth I have nothing to write, and am giving way to my fingers which can travel the course of any letter and word, conjuring sentences as they please. For once my fingers can be masters of their own destiny--the destiny deigned for them on paper. The mystics move to a tune (sometimes of God and sometimes the lover) and somehow words dance to the touch of the fingers, much like a choreographed dance, where the participants know the steps but do not know where the chemistry of the dance might lead them to. Different paths? A shared bed? Or just some simple, plain old dancing. Deviating from this somewhat sensuous and dangerous course these word and fingers (in collusion I believe) are painting, lets away to the realm of reality. Ah, but no fun lies in trying to talk in real terms. …………….the sun has begun setting early nowadays. It too marks the end of a long year with some early time off. Characteristic afternoons spent in the hammock—languid strokes of the foot, gentle swinging—in th...