I'm afraid . . .
The skill of my hands, or is it the skill of my heart, has proved insufficient to simultaneously tear down one wall so carefully and furtively built after . . . what is it now, three decades . . . and build yet another. The life I build is subject to forces over which even the most carefully crafted artifice has no enduring power. What I am bears little resemblance to what society is prepared to accept much less to indulge. Were they able to do so would preclude the routine and casual disparagement that they, as petty creatures, routinely pander and we routinely endure to assuage our souls against the degree to which each of us is so uniquely and terribly alone?
Like Mary Shelley’s “monster,” will I wander ever northward to that intractable wasteland at the end to be found alone, broken and weeping over the vestige of that which created me, afraid of how far I've fallen and how far I've yet to fall.
Tomasz The Golem of Lódź
©2010 Renee Thomas all rights reserved
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