By Marian Glaser (Oct. 1998) ©
I have a choice.
Shall I take action, oppose this blandness I see everywhere,
the muffling and limiting of my freedom
while being told this coddling blanket makes me safer?
I feel like the people we used to manacle to the wall and
left lying in their heap of dirty straw soiled with their waste.
They must have felt this impotence if they were aware at all.
We assume they were not but
we also thought babies felt no pain and operated on them without anesthetic.
I suspect these helpers of mine think I don’t hear or feel.
They feel free to discuss personal problems in my presence while
handling me as if I was a log rather than a human.
Shall I take an inner journey?
I can accept my own need for help,
relax, let other hands take care of my body while I travel inwards,
knowing the possibility of madness and the danger of despair.
Every atom of mine holds life given to me in trust. I’d like to
seed new planets, starting them on the long road to consciousness. For that
I need help almost unimaginably powerful.
When I choose this darkness will lighten as my depression lifts.