CENTRIFICAL FORCE

Finding the middle, in any circumstance, is difficult at best.  But with forces at work to discourage, dissuade, disambiguate one, something as simple as finding your own navel becomes a task beyond herculean abilities.  All the while searching for parity, some state of being that entices an equilibrium between body, soul, significant others or society, the seemingly happy-go-lucky nare-do-wells that pass in the night, matching step with the dotted line in the pavement are merely illusions of vanity, of pretense, not worth the questioning glance thrown their way.  It is not a simple task, so not for the simple.  The forces at work pulling us ever outward are not creative, not kind or cushioned.   They are tireless in their ability to debilitate, to shroud the truth of ourselves, from introspection, from others.  Who I want to be, who I want to impart that to, stridently being pulled in circular directions farther from our center with every spin of the clock, turn of ones head or argument leading nowhere.