Down from the Tower

Full face of the Moon tonight, and tomorrow, the smart witch starts no new business until he is hidden away in two weeks time. Tonight I mostly feel like the disappointing picture of a princess, when revealed to be a sad little thing, confused, and ultimately unpossesing of the qualities which make her great. They hang around in the air, and occasion virulent swats when frustration catches a dainty hand off guard.

I see a little well of violence and wonder if came with me or I nourished it along the way in some deep-down payback for being such a sensitive little bug. Samurais and Shield-maidens, all spun up in a confection with notions of heroism and honor, duty, skill, and personal sacrifice. I think I want so badly to apply myself, to plummet my being against a plainly diabolical cause, to use all of myself, the muscles of the spirit and the full range of my devotion.

When not a warrior, I’m an imprisoned damsel - the sort with flowing ripples of hair an indescribable hue, and a far-away heavy-lidded gaze. I’m terribly ashamed to have attracted various knights, well-meaning vessels in need of the fountain to be found in a beloved’s eyes. But a damsel wants or needs to be rescued, and I can’t admit to truly entertaining either. I think I’m a different sort, the kind with ruby slippers, the kind with wings that want stretching, and I have come to see that what I was really searching for was the Truth, not bliss in love. What I’ve really be waiting for was the energy to move forward, on my own feet, and a way to go besides. A home to strike out for, a love which brings peace rather than excitement, and a greater force to belong to. Freedom, in fact, is the many splendid thing that has waited upon my lips to be uttered in a declaration of achievement. And where does freedom begin but in giving up all that is safe yet comfortable, and in relinquishing allegiance to the self for that of something higher, almost unattainable on Earth. Almost, like the improbability of flight, until we try.

Painting: Boreas - John William Waterhouse