I have wandered into the desert, into the scorching sands and rock, the unrelenting sun and unforgiving winds.  I have had no choice.  I have continued to fail myself, continued to allow myself to be manipulated, abused and misconstrued.  I can no longer point the finger outward, because there are no more reasonable excuses for my weakness, for my unwillingness to look at myself and see the fault at my core.  It is a fault of perspective, of clinging to ideals rather than embracing reality, but a fault none the less, made all the more lethal by the very fact that has been based in good intentions and well meaning and warm hearted beliefs.

The desert is a silent place, all the more so for a mostly deaf son of a bitch like me.  The wind can howl and the sands can scour and pound, all the while the sun bakes and brutalizes, and none of it acts with any intention at all, with malice or complacency or kindness.  The desert simply is, and to survive it, I have had to accept it for the untainted forging ground that it is.  There are evils that dwell within the deserts of the world, but they are not naturally of the desert. No, like me, they have wandered in, and have chosen to use the desert to suit their own needs and desires.

I suppose I do the same, although I do still pride myself on the fact that I do so for my own improvement and not others detriment, but perhaps history will show my beliefs in this regard to be little more than a self-serving perspective.  All I know is that the desert has taught me how to harden my carapace, when to stay buried out of sight, and to save the energy burned in useless squabbles for the real life threatening battles.  I may prefer the forest, but the desert now runs deeply in my blood.

March 3, 2016

I decided to share this piece 18 months after first writing it…
not entirely sure why now, but here it is…

 

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