The Neophile
He shivered . . . violently
a wave of biting cold
crashing on his body
cascading in waves
Bereft of the shelter of affirmation
Bereft of the clothing of victimization
Bereft of the vehicle of rationalization
he stood alone . . .
seeing . . .
touching . . .
tasting . . .
feeling . . .
himself for the first time . . .
He was weak to this world
unaccustomed . . .
obfuscated by its vulnerability and potentiality
overwhelmed by its lack of limits and parameters
incredulous by its freedom to question while being grateful for its pain
His armor was finally gone
as was his shield
his mask
and his blanket
He reminisced . . .
they protected but were burdening
they deflected but were cowardly
they affirmed but were veiled
they comforted but were infantile
The biting cold of this brave new world
invigorated him
at the instant of his vulnerability
during his grasp of the desert of the real
For you see,
he finally became substance not hologram
a being finally…and…fully human
and . . .
cognizant of the journey to come . . .
ultimately culminating
in defining him . . .
For you see,
he stood alone.
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