I am firmly in control...Really.

    I am a simple man. All I require is the illusion of control over my affairs. I know it's an illusion, a lamp illuminating a tiny circle of clarity while the monsters hover in the inpenetrable darkness just beyond, but it is comfortable  like the mellowed fibers of your favorite fleece. It is pleasant to believe that when you level  your lance at the windmill it will do you the service of coughing and sputtering like a wounded giant. Sometimes, though, the world makes it suddenly and painfully clear that after all it's just a windmill. Regardless of the fact that, as previously stated, I know it's an illusion I am rather miffed when circumstances make me aware of the fact. There is, you see, a world of difference between knowledge and awareness. Knowledge is permanent(ish) but in a file cabinet in the junk closet sort of way. Awareness is the precious present revealed in its splendor and horror, sublime and terrible. It is now, demanding attention, brooking no avoidance, tugging like a preadolescent incessantly at your sleeve. Knowing that control is a myth, and dealing with the fact that control is a myth is different by roughly 4 hours of sleep a night. The mind trip of it all is that accepting that you do not in fact control anything but your reaction to circumstances somehow reestablishes some measure of that illusion of control. "Look at me I'm OK with it and at one with myself."  To be honest though I would prefer if the monsters just let me have my little circle of light.