Borderline

Follow me down to the waterline, come on out to the edge, come on up to the ridge, to the place where two worlds meet. To the place where I’m not bound to one or the other, where at last I feel complete. Follow me now to the place that I go to escape the grasping life. For I am not of this world nor the other, I live in the place where they come together. I cannot stand to be bound by the constraints of any one existence. I cannot trust the limits of any one world, I need the freedom of the borderline. To be identified, to be pegged, is the death of hope to me. The smooth, wet sand at the waterline, the vacant field at the edge of town, the ridge line where mount and sky meet, carry such possibility, such hope, such desire, such freedom. Past and future come together and exist in harmony. History and potential hovering harmlessly in one peaceful space. Not clamoring for attention nor constantly pressing forward, but waiting, patiently, for me. No unrealistic expectations, no never-ending guilt. Just a comfortable place to look forward and back with the breeze blowing in my face.