Chris Quinn

Dublin, January 30, 1981
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The maze

When I was very young my father took me to the maze in Navan Shopping centre,
Over the great distance of years and through the fog of an adult peering into youth’s exuberance
I still remember I ran those narrow mirrored lanes with an aggressive glee
And giggling when confronted with myself as an obstacle

As I grew, I learned to seek the regard of others, Life seemed a thing of teams and sides
Needing a tribe and unable to stomach soccer, I chose rugby
And toiled in the brotherhood found in all scrums, which I still miss
Though I lost faith in teams and found sides to be factions in disguise

So I became a tribe of one and imagined life a battle, a thing of struggle
I decided preparedness could make me powerful and so I trained
I trade blows in the savage transient joy of the fight and conditioned myself for hardship
It took a while to realise my expectation was shaping my experiences

So now I walk, teasing out the knot with every step, proving to myself it’s no Gordian knot
Following my feet to some high place to see the shape of the maze I spend my days in
And remembering what I was told so long ago in Navan when I asked if it was a test
“No, son, its something to be enjoyed”
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