Introduction to Christina’s Invitation

The Invitation

..I proclaimed to myself that all things I knew or experienced were sacred.  To share them, even with those I held dear in my heart, would be near self-sacrilege.  I became aware of a strange sense of privacy, and a desire for self-pride.  I yearned to become a silent, mysterious stranger.

I pondered this privacy, this pseudo-religious thought, and realized that, as with all religion, the belief by one of that which is sacred does not necessarily hold true for all. My life, my inmost thoughts, my values and dreams and yearnings — these were mine, sacred only to me.  To speak of these would cause me to doubly betray myself.  I would have uttered that which I believed should never be wrought into words and I would have made myself the fool in their eyes, invariably destroying some little part of myself, a piece of my pride.

Why then did I speak my mind?  And not only speak it, but brashly proclaim it, impatiently await the moment at which I could release my thought into the very waves of my voice?  Perhaps it is because I believed that for every soul, there exists one who holds the same values true.  Perhaps, by wearing my beliefs openly, I was searching for that person, the soul that could help me complete myself and realize my potential.

I had, on rare occasion, found an opening with another.  At that moment, for a few glorious minutes, my soul could touch that of another.  I could gaze into a face and through meaningless prattle, feel the deepest portions of our beings unite and commune in the basest language.  My body would come alive, each part sensing the union, and I would glow as my emotions escaped.

And then I would sense release.  Two souls, desperately hoping against truth, accept that they are too different, not quite able to completely join.  I would feel my strength, my joy, my peace seep from me as though I had been pierced buy a thousand swords.  A slow, painful bleed sometimes lasting longer than several hours.  For days or more afterward, my soul would recoil from others, too hurt to reach out.  It would shrink upon itself, leaving my body weak and vulnerable.  Untrusting and reserved.

Yet still I felt I must advertise my philosophies.  In some fashion, I must make known to the world that which I held dear and that in which I believed.  The bait must be set to lure the perfect soul to mine, to grant us both peace.  And so, I wrote.  I described my life in symbols of unfathomable depth.  Surely a soul similar to mine could decipher my plea, understand my poetry, and seek me out.

And my insanity grew….


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