WWSP's Shadow of th Marigold

Tuesday, January 05, 2016

One Morning. One Room.

One day. One morning. One room. You find yourself in the clutches of some Kafka-esque, bureaucratic-style, hall of mirrors. Waiting in a room. With many other people, waiting in a room. Paper is being pushed. Lives are being altered at the stroke of a pen, a click of a mouse.

Time stands still. You try to keep your light turned down. Some days it pays to be a "poor schlub," an everyman, just like everybody else. You look around at all the "lonely people." No judgement. You are in this club. Another club you don't really want to join. But here you are.

You meditate. With your eyes open. You focus on a plaque, a picture of an eagle, clutching 13 stars, and the slogan: the United States of America. It has a broader meaning, but you just focus on the shapes and colors. It kind of dissolves before your eyes.

You think to yourself: Everyone here was once someone's beautiful, bouncing, little baby. For some reason this is not only sort of sad, but also sort of comforting...

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