April 10, 2003


This is one of those moments when I am uncertain of what is it that I feel. The only thing I can be sure of is that there is something amiss, something I can't quite place my finger on, a single word that would complete an otherwise imperfect sentence. There is actually not much wrong, most variables are under control, the flux is within permissible levels and the telemetry does not display any cause for alarm.

Maybe it is just that nothing much is going wrong, the element of boredom associated with the mundane, the thrill of roaring into a city like the marines did today and not finding much to fight against. Maybe it is the anticipation of the of the storm that would come soon after this lull and I am wondering where the invisible red line is, or have I already crossed it? What good is life devoid of a cause worth dying for? I can only wish that steadfastness was something that I could just pick off a store shelf and sensibility was something that came free with it as part of a "buy one, get one free" offer.

As much as there is the appearance of a vibrant sanity that dances on the stage up front, behind the curtains and the shadows there is a soul who only knows to fight. One that is always ready to pick up and point lance, read to charge at a million invisible ghosts, one that looks forward to the day that holds the promise of a noble demise. Towards the edge of the fading arc of light, where the first lines of the shadow joins it, an age-old script is reinterpreted yet again in search of that elusive miracle bathed in the radiant light of purpose.