DAZZLE

I sit here, the suns reflection making it difficult to see clearly; squinting is cause for this headache.   I could wear a pair of tinted glasses.  I could turn my back to the warmth.    I have done all this to keep a blaze from burning my sight.   Beam a reflection because the real I am not strong enough to bear.    Bear with me as I try and flex the gray organ into releasing its secret in a form I am not afraid to present.   Stand still, better yet, you hold the whip and strike my back; I deserve it.    I am around this hunger but as I slice through to serve it shrivels up in the spitting grease and boiling oil.   I have cannibalized all into my pot.   I eat you missionaries, I fuel the fire with your robes; here, choke on your starched white collar.    

Well.   The natives are restless, are they not?  

So you scowl at my tone, frown toward my stance, go ahead glower I can take it.    

Wipe that look off your face or I will slap it off of you!  How many times have I heard  such a statement aimed at both others and myself.   I have come a long way.   I am not old, not on the outside.   I refuse age!    Age as trash, go ahead bash my brittle bones and smash my wrinkled skin.  Perhaps we should all wear masks.   If our faces were so covered then we would avoid all the offensive misunderstanding.    Round and round we go.    I insert my foam earplugs in the hope I might avoid more misunderstanding.   I must be blinded by your glaring faults.    The skin must be burned by the acidic bile you bark.    I am tired of being dogged by rays of time.   Too often do they wag.   Too much betrayal of spirit.    To much of our heart in our hand; sit up, beg.    

Cryptic?   Me?   Perhaps.

I was trying to figure out if people have just become too numb and so jaded that they need to feel their life is secure by experiencing through media the wretchedness of others.   I was trying to read a book about a south african youth and after reaching only the middle of the first chapter I decided I had no need to relive his suffering.   This reminded me of a book I tried to read a couple of months ago about a man growing up in Pakistan and then emigrating to America.    I just reached a point where I understood there to be no resolution out side the reach of terror.    So now here I am reflecting on my own musings and I have to wonder what is my point?   What do I have to offer that is different.     Sure I have not suffered as many have.   I know my life in reality has been one of comfort, at least physically.    So I wonder what does one offer and more importantly what will you  gain?    I know I offer rare solutions but hope.   It would appear that many more have none, have no chance of ever climbing above the simple pain of life.    Then what of us, are we just lucky?    Is that all I really have to offer?   Sorry, no matter how hard you try, how much you suffer redemption is only for the the statistical few who have been pluck by chance.    Rarely have I been really hungry.   My life has been threatened only thrice.   It could be my secret is that I have never surrendered.  

M. Paul