When a healthy curiosity implodes, something happens to the naive. The white picket fences no longer provide comfort, the birds chirping cease to enliven. Freedom’s bell becomes altered and the rain turns sour. Scouring the ocean floor for the power that had been lost takes its toll. Soon enough, it’s either remain with the lead, or change it to gold. It’s a process, just as a diamond comes from coal.
In the liminal phase, challenges arise. Two points of interest do not suffice. There must be a third party involved, just as a triangle needs three to stand.
Sometimes he’s blind, sometimes he’s stumbling. Sometimes a vision stings him with clarity. Others it leaves him fumbling hopes and dreams that must come true. Somewhere beneath the stains, there’s a greater path to follow.
“But what am I supposed to do with all of this tension?” he had asked himself, knuckles white.
“You must get to know it. You must sculpt something out of it,” a voice came from within. It was always there. Sometimes he could hear it, others not.
In time, a flower unfolds. Whether or not it wilts or grows depends on its willingness to flow with the waters and move towards the sun.
This is a journey of darkness unto transmutation, where despair gives way to vim. Whole fragments must turn into something. This is how they fill. Join me as I step inside of sanity.