by Steven Craig
once upon a time, rita discovered that she thought differently from the rest.
or so she thought.
for one day, she discovered that there were others.
there is a reason why, there always is, and when you go out to look for it, often you find something entirely different, not because you found it, but because you were there.
no one else
here you are, still hand on the gate latch, opening the boundary to the undiscovered country, where both the sun and the moon light the paths, but never reveal it all.
the clouds of ignorance are slow to blow away, their horizon is distant, and it is that far, brave horizon to which you will attempt to venture.
many clouds wills conceal the path.
many clouds will block your way.
many clouds will frighten you
but they are only clouds
and you they do not command.
so you move in the dream, each day less ignorant, each day more curious, each day a brink, a stone, a grain more complete.
for no knowledge and passion is ever handed out in heaps
to consume as in France.
the ration of knowledge is tenuous and always indistinct
until you open your heart, open your mind, open your joy to that you will always submit to.
it is still time to be you, for a little while
but the child is disappearing
the woman is arriving
the slave is budding
who would now hold you back on such a journey
where even the blowing leaves hasten you on
who now would ever alter that path
where the stones you tread are as diamonds to your mind
where would you go if you were not to stay
where they will find you chained in joy at the end of your days.