So, here we are again.  My dark menace has found me once more.  It would seem for a time anyway, my partner in this dance is going to be my monster.  In a shocking moment of illumination, some pretty words to soothe another came out of me.  “Sometimes it is in the embracing of a thing that true understanding happens.”  Prophetic perhaps, that such words were in me just as my own beast made ready to pounce. 

I cannot always resist the lure.  The ease with which I can immerse myself in this lunatic lover is frightening.  Its not real.  I know it.  These not the safe, accepting arms they seem to be.  Once there, all so freely fades away.  Nothing matters but to wrap myself in reflection and doubt, to yield to the seduction of my anxiety.  In these arms all reality melts into nothing.  There exists only my loneliness, my fear, my pain. 

So, here we are again.  Always the decision to make.  Always the desire for some new answer.  Do I struggle knowing that sometimes its in vain?  Do I submit and allow the madness to lead in this wild waltz?  It seems so black and white.  But isn’t that my world . . . black letters on a white background.  Words . . . dark words . . . funny words . . . haunting words . . . pretty words . . . always more words.  Where the words to fix me? 

Can I embrace just a little without being consumed?  Can I embrace just enough to gain that understanding?  Can I embrace just that part that will make me whole again?  Exposure the greatest risk.  To give that mad master entrance, the threat of total submission obscures all else.  Its like trying to love only a little, enough to enjoy it, but not so much as to have it rule me.  Should I be able to do one, would not the other follow? 

So, here we are again.  I see through the portal into the abstract ballroom with its kaleidoscope walls and jeweled flashes of light.  I hear the erratic refrain of the music as it grows louder.  I feel the draw to join the deranged dance.  My partner awaits me enticing me with the promise of that strange peace only found in the frenzied, frantic flow of our forays.  The cost, only a promissory note on my soul.  Seems small price for release. 

Perhaps I could just observe for a moment.  It is beautiful, seductive from here.  Perhaps I could just step inside briefly.  Much better to listen to the manic melody.  Perhaps I could just have one dance.  My demon Fred Astaire is there reaching his hand out to me in an irresistible flourish . . . charming, beguiling, artful.  Could Ginger ever deny Fred?  Of course I will succumb once more.  Besides, that place is full of pretty words.