apart from his neighbor, this land from that land. Then there's my inner wall; it separates me from my life's force and livelihood: the ability to write freely.My wall and this one were built the same way. Each element was hand selected--an individual decision. Each rock answers the question: Will this particular rock support this section of this wall at this time, or should it be saved for a more fitting moment? The mason knew what he was doing. I didn't. But somehow, blindly, I also fashioned my wall from carefully selected random elements. It too stands fast. My rocks were inertia, fear and self-criticism. I suppose there were more "rocks," but again, I'm not truly aware of the process. The only difference between the walls is, the one you're looking at has long since lost its purpose, while mine is fully functional. It stops me from getting to a decent sentence, achieving the semblance of a story, reaching the completion of a thought. All that. For a time, the situation seemed hopeless.
But just today, the longer I looked at the outer wall, the more hope it gave me. The miracle of this edifice could also be its undoing. There was not a speck of cement holding it together. Yet this stone wall has stood fast these 2 centuries, through icy winters, wind storms and furious rains. Despite its strength, I could walk up to this wall and take it apart piece by piece, without a single tool or use of force. So too might I de-construct my inner wall--one piece at a time: it is not set in hardened concrete.
So , blog by blog, word by word, I seek to un-fashion this wall. This is my first approach. After so many months, it feels like something is happening. I'm eager to see what's on the other side.
