|A Coign of Vantage by Alma-Tadema|
I'm afraid of You. You can see right through to where I am hiding. Your gaze is stern, You are stern. You mirror my crisis of worth. My ego filled with full panic, with nowhere to hide.
You burned me for years. You were just about to look at me. Panic. Over and over, you turned your body to face mine, but never your head. Never your gaze. Each time, I was singed, a curl of smoke rising from my veil of ash.
Just enough fire to weaken my fortress. How shall I be released?
Every moment, a crisis of worth. I offer this crisis of worth.
I offer this, my weary ego, my tiny prison of historic battlements, a coign of vantage, my impassable moat disguised as a lazy pool of leisure. I stand at this muddy shore and breathe the wider world, imagine myself roaming there, and try... Again and again. No. No shakti there for me. I cannot. At last I am defeated.
You are my world.
Then, at age twelve, I was encapsulated in the moment when all was lost. The world. My parents. My worth. Only hope survived. I have tended to it all these years, my sanity.
Svaha. I offer ego, I need it no longer. I am here, at your feet.
Svaha. I offer all that I am, to You.
I welcome your gaze, I pray for it. Please gaze into my eyes, into my soul.
Break open the prison.