Self Control

I feel temporarily powerful in myself, that I have control over something, anything. That I am not so weak that I flop over like a bent flower stem or as vulnerable as a quivering deer in the headlights. For a moment I feel I am not all the pain I am carrying. That I am not a dangling puppet at the whim of others pulling my strings. That I am not an emotional wreck tossed by the sea, this way and that, who’s body is cast on the rocks. Instead I don’t move. I am against life and myself and my pain lingers like a caged bird wishing to be free and it’s me controlling it. The experience of pain that would set me free. The experience of love, of joy, of progress that comes after being out of control won’t be known to me. No. Self control is harming myself. It’s like existing as an iron rod in a desert of my own making, complaining that the rain won’t come, when I could move to the rain cloud over there and let it all go. I have had enough of the tightness in my body from holding on. I want my heart to move like a contemporary dancer in complete abandon. It’s time to let it go.

Laura Berry