Manifesto

The Manifesto came to bore in the world two days ago. Small words. Big ideas. I was its biggest fan. Waiting "outside" through all weathers and seasons, peeking through "windows" to its soul, begging for a morsel, looking for signs of fruition. I was first in line...as it were.

I remained in the dark to its plans until my services were required...cleaning, wiping, measuring, leveling, lining, counting, spacing, writing, rough drafting, painting. I never know what will come of this thing that continues to produce ideas in form. I don't even know you. And yet. I'm the custodian. The janitor. The toilet cleaner. The chamber maid. The night soil carrier. I'd like to claim chauffeur, but having far too often been lost beyond being found, I remain a passenger. Of the other positions, I am barely worthy. Grateful to be present in the same space, I care not the task. I hear. I watch. I listen. What's it thinking? What's it doing? Audacious, this manifesto...its laying claim to an unconditionality only a fool would dare. Finally, I say. Dear reader, had you mistaken me for the writer of the above? Yes, I too have sat at its desk, picked up its pencils and scribbled its pens, clicked its keyboard...all in pretense of engulfing myself in its milieu of understanding. Who are you? Where do you come from? Why this? Why here? Why now? Why not? All this - of me, not me. Someone must be responsible. Who better? I started writing this Manifesto years (?) ago - wanting an anchor within my chasm to steady my experience. A depiction of a perspective of a life of my choosing. I choose. I am always choosing. Best choose well. Not wanting to miss a moment, I sit in silence, struck dumb at the constant unfolding. My Manifesto...for now.