Precipice

An odd sort of word, precipice.

When describing a rock or a cliff, it is reflective of an overhang, oblivion, the vast expanse between sea and sky from which you are at the pinnacle of life, plummeting with no hope of resussitacion, no conscious choice.

You fall into oblivion, a slave to predetermination.

The precipice of life is not like that.

The precipice of life is the pinnacle, the climax, the point at which one relinquishes the chains that have bound them, stares deep into the star-spangled sunset of promise and smiles sweetly at how true the blessed fruits of free choice can be.

There is no inevitably, no cold commands forcing you to dance like a marrionette as life's captor jerks the strings.

You are free to make your descisions alone, unaided, on the precipice of life and the cusp of a crossroad, yet without the horrors of predestination looming over you like some jagged overhaning rock.

Open your eyes. Teeter forwards, over the edge, the edge of experience, the experience of new life.

Embrace the milestone, the precipice.

You are free.

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