Cathartic Epiphany

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Feb 24th, 2011
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Cathartic Epiphany

Have you ever had one of those moments in time when not only do you see through someone or something, but also completely understand what part you play in the cacophony now blasting in your brain? Dissonant, “I told you so’s,” and my other favorite, “Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into another fine mess.”

It is moments like this that send me into isolation, and make me wonder if I may possibly be retarded. But today, I have decided that rather than retreat from the world, I will visit my new “sanctuary” – my blog.

Self to My Ink Project:

I must admit, I love sitting in churches and other holy places. I even love cemeteries. Beautiful stained glass, silver and gold crosses and chalices, stark marble floors, intricate tile mosaics, and granite headstones. A story and some history staring back at me as I gaze at the beauty. The faint scent of incense or freshly cut grass stings my nose. I pause and sit, closing my eyes and breathing in the delicious silence. On a particularly blessed day, tubular bells sound  a melancholy tune into the surrounding air. I allow myself to slip into a meditative trance, let go of the stress that binds me, and bask in peace.

When I visit cemeteries, I wonder at the vast “numbers” that stand before me. Hundreds of markers, all filled with dates, remembrances of lives now passed. A thought crosses my mind about those who have no marked grave, either by choice or by fate. Does this really make a difference? Many primitive cultures set fire to their dead, even casting them off to burn at sea. But, we choose to save the dead, often creating beautiful statues and mausoleums for future generations to behold. I’m reminded that there is a cemetery with a grave assigned to me. I have to admit, that while I find cemeteries quiet and entrancing, I’m not so sure I ever want to be buried in one.

Some would argue that there will be no place for folks to come and visit me. No special spot to place flowers or a memorial wreath. Perhaps they are correct, but it’s just a thought that passes through my mind now and then, especially when I visit the dead. You may want to try and visit a holy place and experience its wonder. Just make sure you arrive before noontime and don’t miss the entertainment.

Self to Self:

Yes, I am being used for someone else’s gain – whether by intention or not, I do not know. Am I angry? Not anymore. WIll I seek revenge? No. What will I do? Sit back and watch the story unfold.

Sticky white strands adhere to its flesh, a mummy wrap grows in the spider web’s mesh. “Please save me,” it cries, in a sad, helpless voice.I smile, shake my head, and walk away.

I love to watch a good story unfold.


The exercise has worked. My Ink Project is a success. I am cleansed and unblocked.


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