I’ve held the lid down on the basket of snakes in my mind pretty well over the years, kept the whole mess safely tucked away in the back room and hidden from prying eyes. Once in a while some dark shape would slither out as I tried to stuff another thought or feeling back in there, but for the most part I didn’t let anybody know what was going on inside that nest.
It was safer that way. Nobody got hurt.
But after decades of silence, here I am writing again. I self-published a book, and started dabbling with a blog… poking at the basket that holds the snakes. Snakes can bite. I know that, but do it anyway.
So, just what the hell am I playing with here?
It’s a question that deserves an answer, and I’ve done my best to find one. I’ve examined it, studied it from every angle, twisted myself around looking at it until I can’t get myself comfortable in the chair again. It’s a real conundrum.
I guess the desire to snatch the lid off the basket and free the nest of snakes has always been there, lurking in the background, waiting for a chance to do its work. And now it looks like the urge to communicate has finally been successful… those snakes are wriggling their way out of the basket.
I’ll have to keep a close eye on those snakes, make sure that none of them strike out at some unsuspecting passerby that stops in to say hello. There’s some really nice people out there, some of them I’ve grown to like, and I don’t want any of them to be hurt.