Weathering The Flux of Authority

Today I am in a mood, like the weathered skies above me I am changeable and in a state of flux. I shift, uncertain as I cannot find my common ground, that place within me seeking challenge, as I do, to keep me in line so I manifest orders and dismissals and waitresses that cannot hear above the noise, looking tired with orders. I remember being there myself once. Am I now anywhere else? or am I still servicing the needs around me, and within, that clamouring din so barely satisfied? Of course! Is there any other way?

All the while I see myself, awkward, hovering above the waves of movable placement, expectant in the realities that I must intercept within and without, finally learning to walk down the middle line of my inner footpaths, now somewhat muddy with rain, and not to dodge from side to side, risking cuts on the overhanging barbs of blackberry feelers reaching out for something to cling to. Like me, like me always reaching.

I do not know my place and will never stay there for long, for I live in a world where authority is merely human, shifting, mutable, not immovable like rock as I once believed like an Inca giving myself up for sacrifice; I no longer walk in the ways of cowering, which is good! and the rebel that frequents my dreams still in protest of the trammels set for me by things, is somewhat silenced by the benefits of line towing and easier territory. She still rails at it of course, and your authority she still detests, and yet there is a grudging respect for the wishes of others, now seen as more human and needing to be fulfilled, just like mine are needing, and with age I now know that there is no easy way to say these things, like….”leave me alone”.