Good and bad, are they so far apart?
Must I think as others think?
Alas, there would be no end to fear.
The multitudes are busy with feasts and celebrations.
In spring they climb towers and enjoy the view.
I alone am unmoved, like an infant too young to smile.
Others have more than enough.
I alone have nothing.
My mind is that of a fool – empty.
Others are clear and bright.
I alone am nebulous and dim.
Others are alert and clever.
I alone am withdrawn, adrift in the ocean,
directionless as swirling wind.
Everyone else has purpose.
I alone am stubborn and untamed.
I am different.
I am nourished by the Dark Mother.