For Every Answer There Is A Question

I’m involved in a titanic struggle with myself. I have been for over 50 years. There have been times like Par Lagervist’s Dwarf, it is laying dormant or asleep, only occasionally making its Machiavellian self prominent and overbearing.

But for the last year in particular, it has surfaced with a vengeance, and has made my life at times unbearable. The problem, though, is not with the enemy outside. The problem is with me, thou, myself. There is me, and then there is me, fighting out a battle, that if it could be configured on a visual plane, would equal the battle of Gettysburg.

I can make those closest to me, my family and friends miserable, but as the book connotes, this is The End! Some side is going to finally triumph. Either its off to the New England shore, resting in peace, keeping all things under control, or for the life of me, which it may very well be, its off to taking pictures, sticking my head where it shouldn’t be, looking deeply into the very soul of life, causing angst, disrupting the quietude, fighting the “never-ending battle for truth, justice, and the American way.”

It all started with my father (and of course my mother), but you already know this. I have learned a lot, and knowledge is power, but I still can’t let me be me. I have hidden myself from myself, and as I approach The End, I am truly finding that if I can somehow or somewhere find the strength, it will just be the beginning.