Some free-flowing thoughts...

I went to a RenFest informational meeting last night. I got there way too early and luckily had a book with me that I needed to read for school, so once I went inside and verified that I knew no one well enough to hang out with them and talk beyond the surface-small-talk that's agonizing for me, and the people that I DID know were busy welcoming people and doing their actual jobs, I found a small piece of carpet on which I could sit and read. Once the reading was done, I took a look at the increasing number of people in the room. To the casual observer, there was a good mix of people...young, old, large, small, good-looking, not-so-good-looking, long hair, short hair, quiet, loud, and so on. But me, I wasn't looking at the surface stuff. I found myself studying these people as if I were a researcher (thanks, Beth, my teacher for the last 2 semesters who's taught me to do this, hah), and then found myself sinking into one of those blue sort of funks in which you might be depressed, but you might not be...it's more of a sad, contemplative mood. So I began to write...

Always
Always
On the outside
Not sure the inside is for me
I see others
Also on the outside
Everywhere else
Or at least they pretend to be
Is it possible
That everyone's on the outside
And only I am on the In?

One thing is certain
Wherever they are
I am not.

I tried to be
And occasionally
I still try
But bottom line,

Where they are
Is uncomfortable for me.

I have to believe
That others are with me
Those who would understand
Do exist
Somewhere

For if not
What is the point of writing

Except to speak to the nobody
Who is beside me
In the In.

Sometimes enlightenment
Is a very depressing thing.

:::

A room full of people
Trying to impress
Isn't it funny
That they are so transparent
So easily seen through
And they are only impressing themselves?

The actors cannot find a way
To stop acting
And to start writing
The script.

The number of people
Without false smiles
Or who have not dressed to
Attract
Is scaringly small.

And some of them
Say with their eyes
That they want out of
This game

They just can't find the door.

So they dress
And smile and nod
And fuel the others'
Need to impress
And the game goes on

All with a bunch of unwilling players.

How I long to sit at the feet of the wise
And learn to see -
Really see -
As they do.

To be able to say
All that I sense
And all that I see
In such a way so as
To open their eyes
Would equal divinity.

Then again, that's an awful lot of pressure
For one on the In
Who has yet to find another.

:::


It's fascinating
How hair
Can do that.

In the hair there is strength -
Power over others

Does the fact that I have none
Indicate that I
Am powerless?

Then again
If they can be controlled
By something
That blows in the wind
Perhaps they are not
Worthy of my strength
Inside

I yearn to leave
To go far away
To feel the wind on my face
And taste the
Dirt in the air.

The tall weeds bent in the fields
Call to me
To race them against time

It's funny how quickly
The hatred comes back.

I am better than this.

~MM