Cnidarian

Preface:  I wrote this a little while ago...   but never posted it...  I found it while browsing through my files, and I think it is certainly worth posting to this blog that nobody reads...  So here it is...

I once knew a girl with a young son.  The boy had, what seemed to me to be, a most unusual yet beautiful way of expressing himself.  I have never heard anything so poetic from such a young voice, nor so clear and descriptive from any voice.  He used the simplest of conceptual imagery, and granted all things the emotions he thought they would naturally have.  One thing that he said while telling his mother about being belittled by a bully at school has stuck in my mind.  He told her that he felt like a flower whose petals had all been ripped off.  At first, that struck me as silly.  Then I thought that he was a little odd for talking about flowers when relating an experience where in my reaction would have involved more fists and less metaphor.  Then I realized, that when I was his age, and I was bullied, at least the first time, I would have felt the same way.  I never had such words to describe it though, and before I had time to find such words I was taught to speak with violence in the face fear.  I was taught to quietly clench my fists and plan a quick and violent attack, while the bully was attempting to spit fear in my ears, mind and heart.  It was not until years later that I began to learn the art of expression through subtlety and written word.  Even now though, with my years of experience, I know I possess only a fraction of the natural talent of that young boy.  With that in mind though, in this short scribbling of thought, I will attempt to compliment him through mimicry.  Lately there has been one simple image in my mind, and this is what I wish to expand upon, in the hopes that it may explain a part of who I think I am lately.

 

I feel like a jellyfish.

 

I feel translucent.  When people finally notice me all they see is a soft relatively shapeless blob.  I tell myself time and again that I can keep close friends, but I cannot let someone close without hurting them.  I have no eyes.  I navigate by touch, and so once I touch another, the damage may already be done.  I sting those I love, as easily and unintentionally as I sting those I have no feelings for.  The few I do not kill have become immune to my poison, numb to the pain I cause.  Eventually word spreads of my stinging arms, and my dark embrace and people learn to give me my space.  They give me wide birth to avoid my company.  They pray that the currents won’t push me their way.  Someday someone forgets about me though, and that is when I sting again, when someone forgets someday.

 

I know I have not always felt this way.   I may feel differently tomorrow, or the day after.  Tonight though, and for the past while, all I can think about is apologizing to the people I have hurt.  Only for the fear that my ambiguous apologies would only rekindle more suffering, have I not.  Until this passes, I hope those who can stand my sting will stay close, lest I be lost to the sea.