Feeling conscious of metaphor in a heightened way. Have resumed attempting normal something with a significant person in my life, the kind of situation I would have heretofore divorced long ago. I thought I had, in fact, internally, but you can't leave family like that. I still
can't tell, our insides torn to the same cut and jagged edges, and yet we don't fit together. I guess
it is a little like a bike wheel with treads and a sidewalk with grit - they can run on one another even without a smooth fit. I am hesistent to use the idea of slavery anywhere, but there's nothing like family to raise awareness to the way you use your feelings, and the way they use you. Beyond such situations of choice (which relationships frequently are, and this one certainly is), therein lies true slavery. Have been reading a lot lately about it - and the very light estimates of 25 million in the world who truly have no control over their circumstance. One girl, a domestic slave from 5-22, who has never even recognized seasons, days, in particular really has touched me. The ability of the human mind to take out any extra information, in favor of relief, in spite of survival.
So no. It's not slavery. The deeper I study my own ego, the more playful the games get. The more I find I can loosen exactly where I often tighten. The irony of freedom and what I have done with it for the last 28 years. Mockery of slavery inside my own head. My own ego confinements so craved, while a good portion of the world waits for us to notice them being held up.
This weeks reading: Disposable People by Kevin Bales