Tuesday, August 12, 2008
When I was twelve, my father sent me into the wilderness to meditate, to fast, and to pray. There was no moon and the trees were the shaking antlers of dawn. By midday, my iPod batteries failed and my teeth began to hurt. I was cold, alone, and I wished for my own bed instead of the thin sheets of the frozen leaves. By nightfall, I could not speak. The shadows waved their fingers before me. I closed my eyes. I opened them. I remembered nothing. Then the commas came. There were no words but the commas came. The commas which would stay with me all my life. The commas which would breath with me as I breathed, the commas which would keep me breathing until the end.
for Troy Lloyd