The Teller and the Tale

A long time has passed since I've written anything here, and an even longer time since I've put out anything but poetry. I'm beyond the point where I immediately assume that's a bad thing, but I won't deny that it bothers me.

I used to speak with a voice of authority, and now... do I speak at all? What do I have to speak about? What speaks to me?

As a student, my profession at the moment is simply to learn. I am learning the nuances of text, the crafts of verse, the powers of prose. I am learning the studies of these things, which theoretical microscope to use in the investigation of reality.

I am learning all of these things, but to what end? Where will these studies guide me in my life?

In high school, I had been told that there was no job sustainability for the liberal arts, and I was dissuaded. Choosing instead to pursue the sciences, I spent much of my years tinkering with titans of number, symbol, and formula. To what end?

In college I was told that opportunity was limitless. That no doors would be closed to one who had learned the ways of analyzation, communication, and presentation. I was told - am being told - that my studies in English are every bit as practical as those of practical majors. We tend to ignore that contradiction.

But I am a timid fellow. Those of you who know me will agree. I am not the person I claim(ed?) to be. I am not the hero I wish(ed?) to be. I am a writer who documents the lives of others, both fictional and non-fictional. Their lives. Their stories. Where is the man who tells the tale? Where is the teller's heart? Where is mine?

How is it that I used to have so much to say, and now can hardly reach page 2? How is it that the attempts of the past, the 37s and the 54s have turned into 3s and 1s? Perhaps my standards have changed. Perhaps I can no longer suffer the injustices I had forthwith been so eager to commit to the art.

Perhaps I am busy, perhaps I am lost. Perhaps I am tired, perhaps perhaps perhaps.

What is truth? Can I find it within me, will it aid me to break down this wall of nothingness? Will it let me stand up, reach for the heavens, clutch at the clouds and the moon? Will it let me soak my face in the sun, in the radiance of life?

Will it let me smile again, and let me never forget the warmth of my circumstance?

Perhaps.

Perhaps it will.

For I am the Teller, and this is my Tale.