On the Trail ...

Shadow stalking can be an exhilarating sport. My quarry is leery of being seen much less being cornered. The chase can seem thrilling, especially when I am getting close.

It throws up all these distractions …

”Why are you doing *this*? You could be watching TV. You like TV right?” Or …

What if that car exploded and then ….the resulting gas cloud was ignited by *this* candle and … it fried half of the block?” And …

"What if a car careened from the road and headed right for these trees while you were gazing at *this* stream and listening to its water?”

It stalks me, even as I follow its trail. Booby traps filled with emotional triggers, hidden pits of despair and grief, and poisonous self-talk all are weapons at its disposal. All I am armed with is the light of awareness, and it is all I need.

Hey! If I can see you clearly, you are mine!

And lately, let’s face it, your tactics have taken on the stink of desperation – I must be close. When I catch glimpses of you, you seem nervous and twitch at every sound. And I am getting closer everyday.

Your armory is well stocked, and your stealth knows no limits. And you have escaped me for many, many years. But as soon as I can see you, you begin to weaken. Every time you escape me now, just hastens the day when I will have you squarely in my sights.

And on that day, I will pull out my trusty journal and draw your image with words. And with each detail I capture, you will become pinned to the canvas of the page.

There, I will remove your mask and peal away all your disguises. And there I will uncover your real name and then … you will be mine.

Then … we will embrace, join hands and dance joyously together. It will be so wonderful, so beautiful, we will both cry with delight and relief.

But till then, you better run and you better hide … because I can see you and baby … the hunt is on!

©2008 Katrina Messenger

Posted in


libramoon (not verified) | Thu, 05/29/2008 - 12:59am

Deep in our ancient lives
Far from our daily chores
Hidden within our minds
With no bright line to follow
Could I be true?
Breathing, a mist so fine
sprayed from brave ocean floors
Seen in dreamlike design
shades dark and blue
Dawn's pink-purple hue
breaks through over time
while I wander in dreaming
What could be true?
Torn by my primal cry
how would you answer?

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