I write in shouts and whispers,
depending on the day, the mood,
the caffeine level in my blood,
the degree of success in sleeping the night before.
And yet I do write,
against the odds,
enjoying the having written
more than the writing.
Mostly,
I write to say
we're all the same—
an admission hard to believe
if you recall my history of rushing to judgment.
So, though we are all one
and the same,
I myself display the rift,
the (unmendable?) split
between the conscious and the unconscious.
In my compass,
the North is where
the unconscious becomes conscious,
a transformation devoutly to be wished,
but one not attained
without heartbreaking,
backbreaking
effort.
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com
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