Art is our home. This door is open, always, to all, and yet permits not the entry of draft or rain. The doused may find solace, and repose, in the warmth of this hearth. For the sparks of these words – the spectres conjured by its incandescence – are a family whose love is unconditional, and will ever blaze, kindling within us the faith to weather these tempests. The ashes may then be scattered upon the winds – to ignite the lost, and unify our souls as one, in unquenched illumination; to be the light which guides us home, through the darkest of eclipse.
Though I bear this map, I feel more lost than ever. I found myself when I was not guided, and I’m striving to cling to that which was – despite treading in the very opposite direction. I am incarcerated by that which I have lost, and that which I cannot find. I am enervated by this search, encumbered by the load I bear, arrested by the shadows and pitfalls which strew my treacherous path. Wary I tread, preyed upon by doubt, as glimmers of crimson and grey shift through the wilderness. I falter, haunted still by yearning and regret and apathy, pursuing the trail imperilled only by shades and vapours, yet hallowed by the ease of logistics, interspersed with an abundance of still fountains and acerbic berries. I stride forward, yet I am motionless. For this path is already hewn. I walk towards this destination, yet I know it is not home.
In pursuit, I stray. In treading thus, I flee. In persistence, I surrender.
Though guided, I am lost. It is not courage, but fear, which impels me.
Though these flames were not ignited by me, I continue to retrieve kindling from the woods. I surrender myself to their throes. Though I did not incite this war, I still vainly brandish my blade at ghosts. The clash of steel perpetuates still the song which deafens me. This fire was the furnace which tempered these manacles – yet I forged them therein, and bound them upon myself.
The maelstroms submerged me, and cast me to this perdition – yet I crafted and steered the vessel, and chose my crew. My own imperfection damns me here. I suffer because I deserve nothing more. I am a shadow framed by the light because I will not bear my own torch, and blaze a way through the abyss – because I will not stray beyond the confines of this map, which guides me along my cyclical, directionless path. My abjection is my own.