Well, here you are now, in a real pickle. Liberty has lifted you up as it must and you barely know, or remember, how to move. In fact, you feel pinioned. Even the smallest of movements seem to require the greatest of will, where once was all undertaken at almost mere whim. What is this strangest of experiences in response to liberty’s wooing?
Did you follow wrongly? Did you chase a phantom…a myth? A specter of your own mind’s devising’s? Or, did you go too far? A bit like Icarus? Have you brought this upon yourself? In enjoying flight and seeking ever greater ascent now finding all your strength spent trying to pull up against a recalcitrant elevator control in what feels like a death spiral? A flat spin? Again, have you brought this upon yourself?
(I have mixed metaphors galore, not limited to feathers vs airframe controls)
O! But who knew how much power flight takes! Who knew what is required to stay aloft?
Yes, who?
In this circumstance who knows anything of anyone, or anything for that matter? As the only thing in seeming sight is the ground approaching with gaping maw to conclusively end in final swallowing.
Am I falling toward it, or is it rising to consume? References for fixing positions, for mapping out, for the gleaning of advice from, like handbooks or flight manuals (read at leisure, even if with great interest)…are useless here…this is not a scenario, it is real, and too real. This is not on paper. This is not imagine…”but what if…”
Has it always been chasing me?
Dirt, was that you in all my dreams…pursuing? Was that you always menacing? In all the faces macabre? Are all masks off, now? Am I too, just all and only…dirt?
My God! There might not even be enough left to identify! Dirt from other…dirt.
Eli, Eli, lama sabacthani.
From where, or whom…do I know that?
Yes, who?
Or whom.
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