Pride versus Magi

My weary soul has traveled this road before

I stand at its start

Once again in awe at my re-arrival,

Convinced I took a different turn at the noted black rock this time

Apparently, more than one path returns this way.

I stand back, wary of wandering that way again

There are whispers on the wind;

There are deep voices calling, echoing my way

Even the wind seems to push me towards you

But I don’t know that I can return, retrace my steps another time

Pride

Oh she is the assertive & mighty one

Shrieking gleefully

As her hands pluck at my ego:

She is familiar with which chords wreck my soul

But I sing louder, 

Louder than the tune she strums against my heart

And for a brief moment I have shut her down

Refusing to allow her presence,

Her reaction to affect my decision

The next maestro brings the orchestra into full volume

Crescendoing as I turn the benefits in my mind

The noise hardens my heart

And thus my heart throbs in time with the vocals of pride

(now resurfacing)

Demanding vengeance and retribution for your wrongs

Exhausted from the battle of the symphonies, 

I take a seat along the edge of the path

Lying back on the green, green grass

Letting wisdom, freedom and forgiveness

Arise to their proper position of Magi

They convene and converse

They frown, then smile

They lean in closely, debating wildly

As I simply watch with a bemused smile

Finally, clapping their hands in glee

They will now distribute and confirm

Their position on this decision

(which I’ve known for some time)

Their optimism shining through any doubt

While their realism advises a secure distance is prudent

And together, the four of us stride towards the far, far end of the path:

Reconciliation.

Quite a long road

And we are all indeed aware of the potential of death before arrival.

Regardless, we confidently set off on that route, 

Our futures tightly bound by

Hope.

There is this push and pull with you that I can't wrap my mind around.

In previous times, I would have certainly tried to control it, manipulate it. Twist it, turn it; weave it, thread it. 

Become it.

And while it exasperates me, the aura of confusion that you reside within, it also causes me to revel in my own transformation.

Freedom to allow you to choose how you want: I will not define this relationship. Even in regard to friendship. Does it really exist? I'm confident you are interested in the person that I am, but I believe you feel that way towards many friends in our community. The thoughts in my head collaborate and deliberate and come to agreement over convenience and distraction as your primary other motives.

This is acceptable, provided I understand your motives. 

I chide the older, immature sections of Jeanne who want to force YOU to recognize your motives as well, but she's no longer in control. Your growth is not my responsibility. 

What I have acknowledged, again (I had forgotten the 4 Jeannes have already had this conversation), is that I can't confuse the adept manner in which you entwine your words and actions of intimacy with the idea itself.

So I smile at our laughing snapshots and put them where I can remember the night, but they won't force their way into my heart the way the last smooth-talking, intimacy-tossing man did.