Sense of Self

The search is on.

Bring out the helicopters. Bring out the floodlights.

Maybe it’s behind here. Or maybe it’s over there.

I can’t find it.

Is it that I can’t find it or I won’t find it?

That feeling. Gnawing. Gripping. Grabbing at the edges of my soul.

That feeling that arrests me. Ties me up.

I don’t choose to pursue it. It pursues me.

I’m on the lam. A criminal on the loose.

Attempting to escape these thoughts.

When the floodlights searched, the thoughts were elusive.

They bottled up within. The pressure increasing, as time went on.

Always threatening to gush out with no end.

But they never did.  

Suddenly a flash. An epiphany arrived.

Then there was writing.

No helicopters. No floodlights. No more running.

Just stop. Breathe. Write.

Sudden waves of emotion. Never before felt.

Tsunami after tsunami.

Wave after wave.

And that’s feeling.