I’ve never experienced a hedge maze. An artifact of the western states I would imagine. Usually of corn stalk, or pure leafy hedge for the devoted.
Well, I’ve never walked one, but I would imagine it to be the same as the current abstract living maze I’m traversing.
Can’t say how many dead-ends I’ve hit, and bottom-out lows I’ve been, but here we’re going again.
I can count a couple of abstract ends I’ve met. I don’t know. Right now it’s as though I’m sitting on a convenient stump in the path while I’m retracing my steps. Figuring out what options are left.
And I’m just sitting there. Looking down, lost in thought, and catching a shoelace flying by. Looking up and a stream of translucent others floating by. Floating through you, looking past you.
All of them going down to the same dead-end you just walked back from.
Is it a strange inclination to want to follow them? To know it’s a dead end, but maybe I’ll go to the same dead-end with some company. Some new insights from their reaction. Some new memories to chew over sitting on the stump—forgetting my failures and my inadequacies finding a new path forward.
When you spent most of the time only finding dead-ends, sometimes it’s nice to think that one of them was the right end. Or that’s the maze, and there’s no exit. It’s easy to almost delude yourself thinking that, maybe you go down the same path, it’ll open up somehow. There’s an arson in the crowd you could bargain.
No amount of shoelaces changes the inevitabilities. I just wouldn’t mind forgetting that.