Behind Enemy Lines

I am my own worst enemy.
This applies to all, I guess.
We are all naturally ironic. Born with contradictions. We want to do something but we couldn't. There's always the word but. And it creeps inside like the cold filthy smoke in the room. With no more squares to take, you give in and you're petrified, checkmate. Or so you think.

You're standing there, aware of everything, but you can't move a finger. You think you're paralyzed. You're a salted ice cube. A fish in the net. An unused candelabra. An illness with no cure. A heartless tin man.

Then you realize, there's no poison, and you can breathe, move and think.

It's just you who stops you. And you feel a little stupid for believing there's something to blame for your incapacity to move...on...forward. That's because you are. Stupid. Not only for putting up this whole tableau of being immobile, but because you're a dog barking at the wrong tree. Now, no need for blame. It's the third worthless thing in the universe next to self pity and worry. Stupid or not stupid you figured out you want something else.

This time mobility sets in. It starts with the most important part of you. The heart. Everything starts with the heart. Don't believe in science. Not everything starts in the brain. Otherwise, those men with superior brain power would have figured out already the function of the other 90% of our brain. So leave their religion. Feel its beating. A language so unique it's like a fingerprint for each of us. We are the only ones who can understand what it's saying. And it says loud and clear. Move.

You jog, eat, breathe, sleep...love. Again.

Everything surfaces. Puzzles fit. Until someone comes and messes it all over again. You know the drill. It's life. You live it and feel it's purpose. You don't know it's purpose. It's not a matter of knowing. It's a matter of feeling it's purpose. Living it like it should be. Better yet, live to live. It's the most important slide show of your death bed.

And when you're finally there, ironically with Alzheimer's, something familiar you'll see. It's like a clip from an old movie. Or just a movie. You don't have a conscious mind for time anymore. It just feels so familiar. And you see someone from way back when you were young.

Your old stupid self. You.

You begin to laugh. A hearty laugh at that. And you make this gesture of brushing your gray hair with your frail fingers, that seem like you're re-living this fond memory and you can't believe your naivety. But yes. It did happen sometime ago.

You were immobile then. Happy, somehow, amidst the freezing moment. Of being alone and left behind. Yet you're happy and young.

I am my own worst enemy, you think. I heard that line before. Sometime in the past. Way back when I was young. Way back when I love. I still love, yes. I still love the same person I love back then. So I guess I'm still my own enemy.

And I love to be defeated at my best.