I have resisted the notion
that catharses can be cascades.
Those moments of understanding
that simply pierce the opaqueness,
rip away the concealing shroud,
and descend on our awareness.
Waves of lucidity washing
sand away to exhume treasure,
buried beneath the surface grit.

I have played Devil’s Advocate,
for soul’s beatification,
ceaselessly prosecuting faith,
tirelessly arguing for doubt.
I scoffed at the epiphanies,
and shook my head in refusal;
with my heart I could not reason.
Afraid of the colossal waste,
of having been wrong all this time.

Then I shed my linear view,
of yesterday and tomorrow,
and saw that there is only now.
I laughed self deprecatingly,
recognizing my foolishness.
How ironic and cathartic,
this soul cleansing epiphany.

M. Zane McClellan

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