subtle augur

I write a lot about fire.  It's a recurring theme in my poetry, plays, and stories.  When I ask myself why, unbidden, the answer floats up from my subconscious.  Maybe I'm in hell.

But probably not.  That would be a very easy answer, so I reject it.

Fire is potent, but carries a tenderness.  It can be as quiet or as loud as you need it to be.  Fire is, above all, useful.  Hell should never be so warm, I think.

It's terrifying, yes.  But all pain is terrifying.  Fire is not special for this.

***

I want to fly.  I've always wanted to, and I've sought to sate that desire with various games throughout my life.  As a very young child, my dream was to grow up to be a pilot, though it grew to seem a less appealing career choice every year.  But still, to look up at a plane is a very special thing for me.

***

At times, the mind clears, and all is lucid.  A humility overtakes you, and you recognize your limitations, and forgive yourself.

***

I live a life of high adventure, and emotional exorbitance, and I confess I have no choice.

***

Yesterday I described myself as strong, and I am.
But there are certain problems that no kind of strength can solve.
They will tell you that others cannot make you feel a certain way,
But it's a question of how you define yourself in relation.
Without that change in definition, without a breach of empathy,
You can never hope to reclaim that agency they promised.
And if you are unwilling or unable to change it,
If you are overly habituated, or too afraid, or simply very much in love,
Then they will one day speak of you as possessing a sort of lonesome virtue,
(As long as you are not dead)
And still, and stubborn, not to perceive, nor to cause anything in them,
You will languish in the feelings that are given you.
You are a slave, you are not yourself.
You are they and theirs, and a rainbow of hot sorrows rises, steam from a grate,
The skin burns, but you do not pull away,
And there is no benefit.

Yesterday I described myself as brave, and I was.