Fuel Only slowly have I become aware of the enormous reservoir that floats above me like a helium ship vast, volatile impossible I am Astonished I’d have noticed it years ago, but I’ve only recently developed the habit of looking up Like the water towers in every small town there’s a name writ in large letters across its curved side My name. My volatility is contained there, my Impossible. This is the floating reservoir of my anger, Incendiary rage over anything I’ve ever felt betrayed by, dis-empowered by, diminished, abused, whether personal, global, direct or witnessed, small or large, significant or not all of it, in delicate, breath-taking balance with my Joy, my Love, my too-few moments of ring-toned humility I’ve stored it all Up there. I’d no idea I had this much fuel to work with. Share this:PrintEmailFacebookTwitterLinkedInPinterestRedditTumblrLike this:Like Loading...