Hinder the Crossing

As I thought about crossings, some things came to mind that hindered me once I got past the shock – that which created cement shoes for my mind, giving it time to enter the present.  Sorrow is like the lead shoes deep sea divers wear to reach the bottom quickly, unable to float away until they’re removed, making moving slow even with great effort, requiring both determination and strength.  Anger is the fishing pole that lets me take the line out, not far enough to rip it from the spool, but far enough to think I’m free before reeling me back in.  Blame is the road to nowhere, an easy walk, the end always over the next hill.  Pity is a yo-yo; up and down, back and forth, attached to my own finger, always pointing at me.  Needing a reason is like the needle in a haystack; looking so difficult I often lose sight of what I need the needle for.  Doubt is the fog that appears at dawn, making options disappear, or after the rain, making me question my decisions.  The unknown is a roulette wheel, afraid to spin, afraid of where I’ll land.  Hindering, not preventing, me from crossing. (to be continued)

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