Looking from my Windowby Brandon Lacy
I sit here in my room, looking out over the mountains, wondering why. Why am I the way I am? What part do I play in the grand scheme of things? Who is pulling the puppet strings of my life that make me dance like some macabre puppet in a Punch and Judy show?
I am wondering what the purpose to my life is. Is there a plan, is there some great design written behind the stars in some deified language that mortal man is not meant to comprehend? I am wondering if I will be great, if my name will be heralded by every tongue in every home in the World, or will I be a humble man, going through life doing what needs to be done without gratitude or recognition, but with self-fulfillment? Will I be called on to die for what I think is right, or will I fade into a void of uncaring non-existence, that so much of middle America seems to have fallen into?
I am sitting here dreaming of great things, and wondering what has inspired them. What has inspired me to fight for what I think is right? What gives me the strength to go on, day after day, raising my sword of words against the conservative ignorance that would deny me the basic rights to live, based only on who I love? I wonder so much about the way man thinks to make him deny the truth that exists behind love no matter what form it takes, whether it stand between a woman and a woman, a man and a man, or a man and a woman.
I am waiting for something to happen in my life, but I don't know what it is. I can feel it, existing independent of my wishes or dreams, on the outskirts of my reality. It is a living and breathing entity, growing and changing as I grow and change. It is like some Celtic mantle, meant for a king, and every now and then it ventures out to touch my life and see if I am ready to take it up, but each time it leaves me, finding me wanting. I have called to the masses for leaders, for someone that I can turn to help me find my way, and those I have found are not the great, or the powerful, but the everyday, and I wonder if someday I will be one of them. I wonder if I will be a faceless voice in the ether of life, giving hope and encouragement, strength and determination to generations both young and old to keep fighting for what is right, and to take a stand against what is wrong.
I pace around this rectangle of my life, and I say to myself that everything is going to be all right, that each day I will find the fortitude to continue on, but I wonder if there is truth in that. I wonder how long I can go on, how long I can fight the good fight alone. And I am alone. I can feel the others fighting, but it is as if we are fighting together in the dark, friends without face, foes without a name. We are on the same side, but without seeing we strike against one another in a vain effort to work toward the same end.
I sit here wondering when it is all going to end, or if there is ever an ending, or only endless beginnings. Life is a wheel that is ever-turning, never ending, always beginning, outside of time, but time's slave. When will the wheel turn to a time of love, of enchantment, of freedom from struggle? I await that day, but until then I will rise each day, stare out of my window at the mountains, fight the good fight with my sword of words, and look for the strength to fight again with the coming of the rising sun.