Wolfy Chai

I sit entrapped by a torrent of fury. My hands are stiff, jaw is clenched, eye brows tensed. I see all that should be different. I see all the disappointments. I’ve nothing left to offer, nothing more to force.

Waves come but never pull me under. For a moment, I find contentment, thinking i’ve managed to cure myself of this asinine affliction. 

I feel my distaste rise in me like a serpents’ fangs oozing venom before it begins to attack. 

I hear hatred reverberate louder and louder in my head until it reaches a fever pitch—my body, too restless to remain seated has me frantically frolicking up and down the hallway. It feels like every poisonous word thought of by my untamed brain invades my spirit. 

I hardly stop to check if what I am experiencing is rational. Instead, I grip it even tighter, its bitter taste remains on my tongue long after the initial disturbance fades away. I can taste the poison, now leeching onto my lips. It has tainted me, yet I find myself wanting to hold onto it, wanting to re-live it, wanting to have more of it. 

So much energy do I waste here. Now, I have tried deliberately saving my limited energy for more fruitful acts. Something that will help me break free from the boiling cauldron beneath me, viciously taunt me. Something to keep my toes from slipping into its scalding boils. 

But the pain feels good; it feels familiar; it feels real. I swoon, lost in a daze of delirium. High on its fumes. 

I long for an end, but each day I experience absent a miasma of chaos feels gray and each temporary pleasure I once felt has faded away. 

I seek a middle path—one where in silence I am at peace, and in chaos, I remain content. 

Each day I sway between the two. But, I am learning, never quite hitting the mark. 

I see it now, very clearly, the path I must continue on in order to be freed for the last time. The path forged ahead, leading to the divine. 

It is a place that cannot be defined. A sanctuary that cannot be soiled by the pollution of earthly toil. 

As the sun rises and sets, the bodies weaken and ache, the looks quickly fade, the dreams contort out of frame, you remain still, sitting effervescently—a sage.