Thursday, February 25, 2010

this ground is not the rock I thought it to be

These words are a physical manifestation of my current state of consciousness, my current stream of consciousness; meandering, wandering, picking up sticks and leaves, like shapes and sounds. Flowing to the tips of my fingers, bubbling brooks of constant change.

And yet the reflection stays the same.

You could build a damn to block this, to harness this, to capture this power, a force of nature. Starve those who feed from the tributaries, the underground wells that capture the run off, the ground storing it for a dry spell. Ultimately it is a choice, your choice, to tame the wild rapid, to flood the running waters, or to damn it all to hell.