I woke up in a weird, cold sweat this morning a little after one AM. Feverishly, I grabbed a notebook and wrote down my thoughts as fast as I could, bringing clarity, thought, and serenity. It's not a poem; it's just kind of a free write filled with questions I have. So here's what came out in a cold sweat, one-fifteen AM, and a head full of nightmares.
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Adulthood.
How do we define it?
Where is the rite of passage,
The walk along the razor's edge,
The point of "know" return?
Where is the "night in the wilderness",
The spirit-vision propelling me forward?
Where is my communion with espíritu de águila,
Espíritu de serpiente,
Espíritu de Dios?
Am I a man?
When did I wrap myself in a sticky gauze,
Bursting forth into new life?
Or am I aching to pupate,
Withering in a larval state,
Begging for a burst of fresh air -
Wings exploding forth in a kaleidoscope of torrid flame?
When does a boy become a man?
His first smoke?
His first drink?
His first kiss?
His first lay?
His first vote?
His first vision?
His first child?
When do the numbers of a child's age transform into the wisdom of a man's age?
Where are my wings of torrid flame?
Why am I aching to pupate?