“The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.”
- Albert Camus
I have passion, yet limit my ability to pursue it with true gusto. By virtue of the invisible constructs drawn by my pen, I stop before I begin, I dwell in the past, I hold back the very fire that drives my soul.
Relinquished, raw, destroyed by reason, my passion - my love - lost, yet fixed to a part of me I fear will never be freed. My passion, it seems is inescapably contained by the strength of my fear. The constructs, penetrable, are held strong by my will not to move. To feel freedom of the self would be freeing as much to the mind as it would the body. To act against, to crumble the wall would be the feeling of unnerving vigour; liberating, enabling, inspiring. To build strength and push forward. To explore passion in its unrefined state. To speak, think and act of free will would be a buzz of power to the self; the current of an enflamed freedom. The coming together of two elements, previously problematic, but of existence and pure life that creates a bond of impenetrable force. It is demanding of the most simplistic recipe: achievable as “man is free at the moment he wishes to be," (Voltaire).