In These Days of Truth

The feelings of tears rush to my eyes, they well up from i know not where. some stupid book i'm reading. i just decided to pick it up today and start it. Xenocide, by Orson Scott Card. A dumb sci-fi book. it's noonish on a Monday, why am I filled with these emotions i haven't called for? There is a character in it, who dies. a woman frail and withering, but philisophical and understanding and loving, and godspoken. Reading about her, her husband, her daughter, why do i care? what do i see? what is it inside of me that begs for tears? Do i relate? do i understand? is this some sick truth that i must face. Am i being spoken to? Why do i cover my eyes with my hands, rub them with my fingers, try to persuade the tears to relent. I haven't let one fall yet... but i had to stop reading or i would have. why can't i let myself? is it because i am not alone in this room? Why do I care about that dying person, why does it strike me so deeply that her husband burns paper sacrifices of "my body, my spirit, my soul" on her funeral pyre? This is communication without a voice... is it the book? the way it is written? the time of day? could i have been doing anything and want to do this???? I awoke at 9, well before my alarm clock, refreshed and not tired at all. I showered and smiled as I walked past the cleaning ladies out of the bathroom. I was happy. I was seeing the truth, contemplating again last weekend. I've been renewed, so what is this? why is this? two hours ago i had nothing but answers, now after fifty pages i have almost nothing but questions. and still I am here, in this institution, in the herd, another piece of cattle. Someone needs to butcher me.

but i think these are tears of joy and understanding...
i can finally let them all fall...

esrever