Here is where I started, and here now return, wondering once more whether I particularly care that no one sees me here. What do they know to notice? The quips and cries, the intellect, the heart, the acts of fearlessness? All this they see, have seen, and recorded pale impressions of a wounded lioness on the parched plain of memory. But me? Oh, they missed my scent. A cleverer shapeshifter steals their attention, even as I yank at the strings. This clown-child dances just beyond my mastery, all eyes fix upon such haplessly honest trickery. Just there behind the cage I watch, wishing for them to grasp me— the true one they believe, the true one they understand, the true one they love. A fool’s errand, I have known all along, really—hoping to be hunted. Light never reaches the bottom of the well. But take heart: my story we share. Faces of the Wind stare directly at us, yet all we see are aimless clouds. Song of the Night rolls boldly over our minds, while all we hear are wishes for a new world. We ignore the air, the darkness, the flame, the web, the wheel. How then, how could we catch me just here? Here we lay, too, where we started, exiles from the lioness-child, amusements for the inmate-clown, apprentices to the Wind.
Dani's Healing 