lines finely sketched

On audio here

I raise both palms in supplication to that which is more immense than the feeble human mind and cry as thunder for the ills of society.

Voices reverberate in my skull bones causing me to question:  Is it I, solitary human, that has fallen backwards on her own insight?

It is an easy task to question if one is stark raving mad or on the brink of divine enlightenment, for the lines are finely sketched.

It is no surprise that all who are and have been deemed insane are and were brilliant in nature of mind, body, spirit, and creation.

 

How dare another attempt to deem one sane or insane, for it is all perception. How pompous are we, humans, to think otherwise?

Are we all not sane and insane? Are we all not greater and lesser? Who has the absolute right to judge such a notion? 

Such answers elude me. Raising my weary and shaking palms to the fiery boisterous sky. Waiting for answers only I have the answer to.

The thin line that separates us all is oh, so very fine. Like cracks in fault lines, the smallest disturbance, a chain reaction.

Today, I ask that social insanity cease, an illness worse than the plague. One of apathy and no remorse. One of no morals or manners.

Where have we gone wrong to sit so far on one end of a balance beam tipping it extremely left or right so that we have become blind?

 

I seek answers to questions that have no answers. I must be insane to imagine that fine line, erased, and the middle way, my berth.

 The Valkyrie's Vigil (1906) by Edward Robert Hughes

© Susan Marie 2012