"The world has changed..."
"Be still, my child."
"The art of losing myself in bringing You praise-"
Wherever we are, whatever environment we find ourselves in, we mold our perspective to fit the shape and texture of that place. For the past month or so, my perspective has been that of a fish trapped inside a midnight fishbowl: looking out always on the same, dark scene, with little variety and little activity, save for the dubious delight of pacing back and forth over the same stretch of territory until the bottoms of my feet can see better where I am going than my half-blinded eyes.
It is painful to be reminded of what you once were. I was without horizons. Though the trees might rise up and limit the sky, theirs is a porous boundary line that cannot be compared to the unyielding, geometric undulations of skyscrapers and rooftops. In the world-that-was, I might dream of mystery, like what lies beyond the edges of the universe or the everyday wonder of the nature of a chair. Gargoyles and griffins are playmates when you dare let them close enough: better to laugh at an unsolvable riddle than to allow it to consume you.
When I left IMPACT, I didn't want to come home because I was afraid that I wouldn't fit there, like a square peg in a round hole. Now, I find that it is hard to come back to IMPACT, because every experience, however minute, is a chisel cut that liberates our form from the rock. I do not know how to show the meantime: the rough edges and the places where a shaky hand cut askew. "To be known and loved anyway." Do I dare be known again?
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