Rage, as always, passes. Early on, I
was taught not to trust to rage, but to fury. Rage is hot, burns,
demands immediacy. Fury is cold, careful and patient. Fury will
carry me through where rage would leave me ashes.
I am me. No-one else is allowed to
take my choice and continue to exist.
To go back down among them, and begin
my careful search. At times it seems like the purest hell ever
devised. To chase, and know that those one hunts are there, just out
of sight, just out of reach. The maddening hints that seem so
significant and yet tell so little.
I have wandered and I have hunted, and
found little. For the hundredth time, I feel the pull to simply sit
down in a place and take what I wish. To build my own power, my own
webs, my own roots, digging out into the world. It is temptation, it
is fantasy, it is the lure of the ego.
Again, I must reject it. To be here,
to find shadows and sit beneath them and pull the strings, is to
forget what I am. To tie myself to you, to seem to be one of you.
To wear a single face and answer to a single name, so that you might
recognize me, respect me, fear my strength and tremble. All of that
is to forget what I am, who I am, and why I move through the world.
There is no me. There is only Nobody.
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