The business of being

When you are young, you wish with all yo might that you were older, wiser and seemingly more clever. You are consumed with the idea of your own immortality, for surely you will live forever. And anyone beyond the age of 20 assumes an air of being ancient in your eyes, for 20years is an eternity in the life of a 5year old. When you reach that age the realities of that growth assuage you, and you find yourself pondering certain issues and experiences. You become a lot less free in your associations and discrimination based on choice becomes your old friend. When you have amassed and rallied a few troops that you consider your foot soldiers and your back up when lifes storms threaten to engulf you, you cocoon yourself in a malleable medium that allows you to break out when the need arises, and to hide when the outside is louder than the inside of your heart. You meet loneliness in the passages and shadows of your dwelling space and like an old friend that you know so well, there is no need to say much, you merely acknowledge the presence of the other with a resignation born of long, bitter cold nights of companionship. Silence becomes your friend, your shield, your armour. One wears it much the same as the scars of a battle….a testament that you too have gone through that fire. Joy becomes the preserve of the elite…
What then becomes of that song that is threatening to burst through your lips at any moment or the twitch in your foot that taps steadily to the rythm only you can hear? Will you toss it to the dungeon and throw away the key for fear that such joy might compel you to discard your old friend loneliness? What then of the insistent tap of your foot, that want to let you transform yourself through motion? Will you deny that for fear of the jury, that is the four walls you built inside your house? Oh what of joy!, so rebellious that it seeps through the malleable medium you have cocooned yourself in? Defiant beyond ambition? Convinced of its need to be and to belong to you.