I’m not even sure that’s the right word for it but every time I think about it, that word MIASMA, jumps into my mind.
What is this ‘it’? you ask.
‘It’ is this wall…not solid, stretchy like a balloon, you know. Like a wall of jersey…you try to go through it and it just, well, stretches.
Your face is imprinted on it like one of those spooky, religious ‘iconic’ paintings.
You try to break through, but it feels like drowning.
You know there’s something on the other side; it keeps calling to you but the feeling of drowning is too strong…you pull back.
You try again, this time you are able to poke a hole with your index finger. You put two fingers through, then a hand and then an arm but that will not suffice. You know this.
Your face, your whole head needs to get through that stretchy wall; that MIASMA.
You don’t though.
The feeling of drowning overwhelms you so you push a little, then stop. You push some more, then stop. You’re busy, you’re active.
You convince yourself that it can’t be all that bad, at least, you’re doing something.
You know you’re not.
You know that if you don’t break through that MIASMA, you’ll never extend, expand, grow, blossom.