The gush of Life

The crest of the hills runs like a ragged edge across my horizon, dividing this world from the other.

I declare in this moment that I will break through. That I will not stay in this place. That I will not accept things the way they are, that I will push myself forward into the other place and come through into the other world where my self expands to fill its true domain. I will not stay still. I will not keep quiet. I will rise.

I am hungry and I am desirous and I am exhausted. I am tired of festering, of moldering, of waiting for the thing to happen. Yet it will not happen without me and it will only happen if I take that fateful step. Otherwise, there is only the painful waiting for the thing that never comes, never happens.

I want to rise up and see my creative slime strewn behind me in a glistening trail so that it is clear to me and all who cross my path where I have been, that my life has not been in vain, that I changed my world, that I knew what I came here to do and I did it.

I am overcome by the gush of life – the words, the lovers, the images, the films, the music – this is the raw juice of my life, this is the only way I have of saying these desperate things that I must say.

I need to feel the raw power coursing through my days, not buried in some grave from which it will never wake.

This is my song. This is my music. This is my cry of war and passion. This is my triumph and my debacle, that even today in my forty-fourth year the call still rages in me as it did on the first day. It has not lost its power. If anything it has gained in desperation because as the years have passed I still remain that one sacred step away from where I must go.

I will cross that line. I will take that one last step. I will become.

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