Burning, scalding, stench,
consumption; fie, fie, fie! pah, pah!
Give me an ounce of civet,
good apothecary, to sweeten my
imagination: there’s money for thee.
King Lear
(Act IV, Scene vi)
I have always found the stench of a skunk a curious odor, it is strong to the point of being overwhelming (depending on the distance) but not ugly like a human fart. Being city born, I have never smelled the musky scent of a civet, but I am lead to believe it is a mild version of skunk. I am grasped by the same range of natual perfumes when the notes of my life are untangled and the musky music of truth gasps gently out of the pandemonium.
The sense awakening occurs whenever I discover a gap in my thinking or an awkward kink in my behaviour. This occurs when I realize a home truth that my true friends have been prodding into my forehead but I could not sense or see, as I was too saturated in my own tune.
When I wake up to my deep inner strengths and flaws, I am overcome with a mixed emotion. The silent joy of being untied from an old stump co-mingles with the sharp sting of having been found wanting but most of all being found out. These are moments of truth when I lose my rhythm, lose my religion and lose face (who would want it in the first place!). In this awakening, I take a few awkward virgin steps, possibly stumble, and on a really great day, if the God's are with me, I fail gracefully.
A variation of this experience is a weekly if not daily occurrence in my life. From the moment my feet touch the bedroom floor to the last stumbling fall back into the breasts of sleep, I spend my (good) days injecting my addiction truth into other people’s lives.
Whenever I do this, I get a variety of responses across the entire scale ranging from ecstatic, joyful, thankful, amused, curious, troubled, confused, anxious, annoyed, upset, resentful, all the way to - down right vengeful. i scar people for life, both in a good way and sometimes in a bad way. Whether good or bad, it always involves some stench of awakening, some rattling of chords.
On a bad day I am the skunk of truth, on a good day its civet. Either way my relationships contain the spectrum of sounds, the symphony of my life is a curious blend of all these ebony and ivory tones, sometimes elegant, often eratic, always "on".
When I am "on" the bottom end of this scale, I am told to be less intrusive perhaps even go away, when I am "on" the upper end of this scale, I am revered as a genuine friend.
I surround myself with people who revel in the sweet stench of such reality. They play along a spectrum of sounds that ranges from silence, art, philosophy, criticism, wit, humour, sarcasm, cynicism, anger to good ol' smack (in the gob). My friends and fiends all awaken my senses beyond the black and white of a busy rodent, they open up my inner ear to the jazz that surrounds me, and I love them for it.
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