Momentary lightheadedness. That’s it. That’s all it is. Suddenly, I am frozen in time, stopped in my tracks. I hear a pause, a gasp, everyone staring in my direction. I am suspended. Can you repeat the question, I say. The room is so noisy, a loud din reverberating in my ears like a dinner bell. It’s difficult to focus, so I gaze at a spot on the wall across the room. I try to remember the question but I am dizzy. Someone grasps my arm and whispers in my ear: Are you alright? Please remove your hand from my arm, I say, but words do not emerge from my mouth. There is a buzz of disquieted mumbling around me, about me. I want to tell these people to stop jostling me, to stop using that low, condescending tone. I want to tell them I have seen so much in my time, lived through wars, floods, eclipses, babies born and grown, sickness, death, collapse of empires, so please do not speak to me like a child. I say, look here, I simply need a moment to catch my breath, collect my thoughts. But again, I realize I am not talking out loud. This scene is so familiar, a room, faces, hands waving. I’ve been here before, I know it, I have a feeling of deja vu, a memory of commanding, of the crowd applauding, of everyone gazing at me with reverence and respect. But now someone says to step this way, come with them. They say this in a voice tinged with pity, a concerned murmur. I do not want to follow them. I am the one who guides, who takes others by the arm. I am the one who leads. But the momentary lightheadedness persists. I am faint, and slightly afraid now. Because I am still not sure of where I am.
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Very evocative ...
There are times for partisan commentary and that was not one of them. Beautiful!