I'm looking for a test. I want to find out who I am; what I'm made of. I'm still clay; still potential. My self-esteem forces me to minimize that potential, but I want to know. I'm uncertain. Mine is the realm of words, contemplation; not actions, tests, and limits.
Limits aren't as important as they used to be. I'm sure my parents and grandparents were reminded of theirs every day. Not I. I'm reminded just as often of my lack of limits. My generation could go their whole life without realizing their limits. I could be swimming in a fishbowl, a pond, or an ocean. It's all the same when you tread water; the coward's way. In the same way, I secretly hope that someone will force a test on me; better that than seeking one. It's terrifying.
Why? I can start small.
Or big. What would happen if things were short and I had to fight? I used believe that a part of my heart is dark; black; ready to blossom if the rules we live by were lifted; like Kurtz in Africa (or Vietnam). But I'm afraid that I might just be Marlow's fool. It takes a dark and expansive imagination to craft those nightmares. My lust, my rage; they wouldn't cut it, I fear.
Maybe there is a darkness in my heart: It's the source of this disappointment; it's what wants to prove me wrong.
If you have something to say, feel free to send it to me or write it in my guestbook. You can also have a look at what other people wrote in my guestbook.
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