The essence of me. Ever fluid, hardly constant. I feel I can make out the outlines of a beacon of myself in the horizon. I have always felt the ever present struggle to locate that beacon, that seems ever moving, is the purpose of one's existence. The point is not the destination but the journey, so to speak. Or perhaps it is the journey, and the wisdom it provides, that keeps moving that beacon further away?
It is commonly considered that the time when one's physique develops into that of an adult is also the time when one's spirit, or mind, or personality, does. I have to respectfully disagree on that. I think both my youngest sibling and my mother are in the midst of the same kind of vexing battle with themselves as I am. I simply feel my mother knows her limits better than my sister, or I, do. My dear mother, after (probably)having lived over half her life knows not to travel south when the beacon clearly is seen to the north.
I still sometimes feel the inclination towards going south. Sometimes it seems warmer there. And greener. But I will not find my haven there.
Speaking of horizons, here in Cyprus the horizon is so far away it seems blurred in the distance. Only literally speaking of course.
You were not
to blame for
speak its name
dedicated to you
all your needs
because we separate