...and there at the pearly gates

 

My torment stems from rejecting my own nature while pursuing an elusive knowledge of self.  No matter the path I take there seems a familiar sameness which only highlights my limitations.  I am often elated to discover a new beach, only to recognize the existing footprints as my own. 

 

            It is that sameness that drives my frustrations.  I am not growing or advancing but treading in a reflecting pool; adding even more lines to the face looking back, wearing this tiresome journey like an unacceptable grade issued by some predisposed professor. 

 

            I do not anticipate any sudden awakening at trail’s end, where a flood of knowledge and understanding overtakes me, but instead the simple passing of time will have lessened my stature, perhaps curving my spine with age and there, at the gates will be some plywood hand indicating:

 

You must be THIS high to proceed.

 

            This, for some strange reason, I see as the Zobostic Corwin finale'