To be honest, I had written up a pretty good journal entry regarding unseen dangers that lurk when one dares ressurect Ghosts of the Deep Past. There was even a metaphor about sharks in sheeps clothing and references to certain work by Stephen King. In essence, it was a prosaic representation of various lessons learned while traveling along this road we call life and perspectives gained through trying to understand the often inexplicable behavior of others.

I didn't post it. I wasn't sure why 'it wasn't ready' but I knew that the time wasn't right and that -something- was happening. So in actuality, about three days have passed since that time, and that amorphous something has now become very crystalline to me. It's as if building an apparently unrecognizeable mass from a set of pieces that are handed out one at a time... only to find that it's not actually a puzzle at all... or even an attempt at modern art. It's a finely crafted engine that fits perfectly into that empty corner of the soul... the one that you knew was meant to house something important. Suddenly, you're just tangibly different as a person and you can do things you couldn't do just the day before.

In less symbolic phrasing; I have struggled with something my entire life and that empty spot in my soul was a personal vulnerability I didn't know how to handle or to compensate for when it was exploited. In ages past, it was the kind of thing that would send me into a tailspin of sorts. I would literally feel the emotional equivalent of tumbling my way out of the sky until either a miracle happend or I hit the ground. The impact never really bothered me, because I knew how all the pieces fit together again, it was the seemingly interminable wait while stuck tumbling around powerlessly. Today is a different day. I am no longer powerless, it all came together in a moment of clarity and I stopped that spin -cold.-

As I realized that something profound occurred, my mind was called back to words I have appreciated but never fully owned;

Invictus
William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

My friends, we are far more powerful than we give ourselves credit for and we can choose whether we let life and circumstance dictate us... or whether we dictate life and circumstance.

From this day forward, I choose the latter. Master of my fate, Captain of my soul.