At some point a person makes a conscious choice to cross the line. This line can represent different things to different people but a major shift occurs once it happens. Events are set in motion, momentum takes on a life of its own. Ripples transform into tidal waves. Things change.
People have always reminded me exactly where the line is. Everyone everywhere things its somewhere. And it is, too. I’ve seen it. But usually, just to make sure, I like to walk up and touch it. Feel the texture. Examples: violence is wet, betrayal is sharp.
Overtime, perhaps as a coping mechanism, attempting to make sense of the confusion, I find myself redefining the proverbial lines that make up my life: Boundaries, maybe once healthy and necessary, are no fiercely guarded borders I defend against perceived trespasses at all costs–anyone who dare cross my train of thought! Fault lines, disguised as guidelines, where earthquakes patiently wait to be tickled and stirred.
Crude lines sketched with jagged sticks. A line here! A line there! Lifes geometry. Trying to figure out the shape of things and where I fit until my self portrait, my self image become boxed in by my own belief system. Like a picture frame slashed in concrete. Limitations of my own creation. Desperate to make something, some me that would somehow last. Hurt and confused when things eventually fall apart; fingers dripping concrete, knuckles powdered with granite dust as I tried to set something in stone… stone which eventually transformed to sand. The Sands of Time. All lines suddenly blurring before disappearing as the Tides of Change wash over then gently retreat as if nothing had happened at all.
Present moment. Clean slate. Deep breath.

Erik F.