before the sun.

before the sun arose, i was writing a poem. wholly feminine.

i was also confiding in a friend that i am no longer disinterested in publication. that i can feel it coming near. hear his footsteps in the hall, the heavy breath of one who has come far and needs to rest.

and i am afraid.

this, my last entry before i ascend the mountain comes at a time when i am ready to change my voice, my life, my work again. i'm willing to let it all go. to slay it and watch it burn if need be.

i'm ready to move forward and become.

and i am afraid.

as i try to contain in words the distance this year has brought me. i find none suffice. they are all too simple and i still don't see the distance. i can't have an objective perspective about a life i'm living.

and i am afraid.

this inability to distil my experience into so many words. to mete out my experience in whiskey glasses to those who frequent this bar shakes me. perhaps that's the way of it. to have an experience that cannot be contained.

and i am afraid.

psyche's labors consist in part of containing an uncontainable font. the source of life which flows from hades to the world, the river which feeds styx. i need an eagle's help here. someone to swoop down and carry this crystal vessel beyond the terrors, to risk it all, for me.

and i am afraid.

to receive such kindness, one is greatly indebted. and i cannot repay. cannot even ask for such kindness. psyche fell often to despair and contemplated suicide. but each time a wise counsellor came and instructed her in the way. who will be my reed, my pan, my tower, my eagle? who will tell me to carry two loaves and two coins, to not trouble about pity in the underworld for it would ensare the soul.

and i am afraid.

the sun is rising now, and i must be about my labors.