Auntie Em!

Just like Dorothy,I have found myself being sucked into the tornado and deposited in a place that was fascinating, sometimes horrible, often fantastic, and usually a great relief from which to awaken. This has happened not only more than once, but many, many times in my life, because it seems, it was my nature to get too close to the vortex. I was Don Quixote, tilting at windmills, thinking I could slay the dragon if I just perservered.
There comes a time in your life, tho, when self preservation forces you to evaluate the situation and realize the terrible irreparable damage being done, and decide that you must distance yourself far away from the winds that would place you in range of the debris that flies as a result.
For the tornado, there is nothing but the wind, no other reason but to stir things up, and the world only exists to live within the circular motion of the tiny little world it has created for itself. There is no creature, no structure, no tree or field that survives its force, no matter how logical its placement. The tornado can't hear logic or reason, the noise of its own terrible force is too loud. It only uses one weapon to accomplish its goal, and doesn't look back to see the damage. The power it feels when it causes people to cringe in fear at the sound of it's winds serves to strengthen its belief that it's winds are all that matters. No one else can live there, at least, not for long. You are flung far away, broken and dazed by the irrationality of it all. Wondering why it does not see that if the noise just dissipated , its message could be understood, right or wrong, its purpose could be seen by a different form of strength, and what it thinks it is trying to accomplish might actually come to fruition.
Such is mental illness.
I grieve for the one who roars, but I won't get close.