My Underground Crusades

When actions fail me (which, last night, fail me they did) words do not. And this is what brought a restless dreamer beyond the warmth of her covers to come before the ambivalent fog of a winter dawn, to wrestle, pen in hand, with her greatest contender: herself.

Here and here alone, within the white and black austerity of my words, can she unburden herself of that which burns in her heart and trifles with her conscience. Last night, a series of under-riding tensions surfaced at the crux of some immaterial, trifling something I cannot quite define but suspect many can understand.

And so I come, as Brian Doyle puts it, "thrashing toward the light with a sharp pen." Because maybe that is all I have right now and maybe it is the only means of sloshing through those times in life when the only way I can handle rage and horror and fear is to write it down and thus "fend it off, fight it, force it to retreat, understand it, hurt it."

@ 2011 by Rachel Lowry. All Rights Reserved {photos via vi.sualize.us}