Falling

There is something tantalizingly no, tangibly beautiful about walking slowly, conscientiously and attentively to the edge of what safety means en route to the summit of your limitations, abandoning all logical thought and reasoning and throwing oneself over. Only to have fate catching the heel just prior to the moment of impact, dusting you off setting you down and leaving you to your own devices, to scale the cliff that you have so brazenly and impulsively thrown yourself to its mercy. All who have walked that path, those who have ever fallen, jumped or been thrown down have their own designation. But see the beauty in it; see the honest humility of being so weak and so infantile in actions. Is it a personal measure of strength? Is it an arbitrary action of the board and uninspired? Call it a hero complex an underlying belief in destiny. a need to see myself in turmoil. call it a need for belonging. Call it what you will, impulsive recklessness right or wrong moral or no. My life is my book all the world is my draft.