A quick minute.
A long moment.
A pause that lasts forever.
Phrases to set one's teeth on edge as the meaning of time gets lost in a multitude of interpretations. How many versions of reality play out between the beats of thought and action? To think is to do is to suffer from stage fright from cradle to grave. Oh beware that one false move! In the dance of life and death toes get stepped on so mind the tempo.
Thoughts and consequences.
Your one true wish:
Fate will put you in your place.
...let freedom retreat.
Darla Varney writes what she needs to write and we come along for the ride. Or not. It's all good either way (but she keeps track of all y'all who don't pay attention.)
Keeping up old habits is an exhausting task. There must be some worthwhile gain in the game of self-sabotage or it wouldn't be such a popular sport. The mirror I hold in front of me is a grimy, broken lens through which images scream to be noticed. Relinquish all sense of specialness; everyone is a star in this rotating galaxy. Is this how community is formed? Hot spots that carom off each other in search of the deep and meaningful? We've all been exiled to the village of individuality.
This snapshot titled "Hallucination" thumbs its nose at my whole #AmPresent vibe. It's not Christmas today, which is the point of my daily photographic reminders, i.e.: Here I am, smack-dab in the middle of having a moment and not I am ignoring the present to obsess over future events. Any oddball item or chance meeting can easily become the subject of a photo. I make an effort to connect with what is happening, inside and outside of me, as I take a picture of a leaf, dogs on a leash, broken glass, or a perfectly ripe tomato. String these objects together and life goes on for another day. And those days add up. It'll be Christmas before too long, but there's no room in my October moment for December things.
Maia stood in line at the Bean & Book, mug brought from home in one hand, thumb of the other tucked inside the waistband of her jeans. She tugged on the denim so it wouldn't rub against the rash on her belly. Dairy products gave Maia hives, but milky, sugar-packed and pumpkin-spiced coffee was her ultimate autumn weakness. Fake milk turned the whole experience into a total letdown, so Maia was careful not to drown herself in her seasonal poison of choice. She shuffled forward without thinking until her nose was an inch away from the dark blue suit in front of her. Maia's index finger kept her thumb company inside the waistband. The door opened and leaves rode the chilly gust. Heads swiveled, coughs were muffled, a throat was cleared. Orange and brown leaves floated to the scuffed tile floor.
"Uh, hello. Aren't you Maia Towey?" Maia's back stiffened and she pulled her fingers out of her pants. She looked up at the tanned, stubble-free face that stood in line behind her. Maia considered her options. She wondered how weird it'd be if she didn't answer.
"I haven't been called that in a long time," Maia finally said to the man who blew in with the wind.
"Memories are sneak thieves. Pity the spirit that believes a single one of them."
Darla remembered a withered face with kind eyes that spoke those words to her when she was in a bad way. Not so much a down-on-her-luck way, but more in an oblivion-has-come-to-pay-a-visit type of situation. Most occurrences older than a few weeks, in Darla Varney's experience, were sketchy recollections that may not have happened at all. Maybe they did happen, but not to her. Perhaps she'd just been swept up in the excitement of a stranger's dream. Darla knew stories could be tried on for size and didn't have to belong to her or anybody. But back to the point: Darla wasn't very good at holding on to people/places/things she encountered in the past. There were, however, three exceptions:
1. The Prairie View Drive-In -- Home of the Biggest Swap Meet in the Quad County Region.
2. Morton Abernathy
3. That withered face with kind eyes, a woman's as far as Darla could figure, who was more than likely Death (even though the old lady didn't come right out and say so.)
Such were the stars in Darla's vast midnight sky by which she navigated. She was lost without them. Darla was lost even with the three exceptions in her life, but at least she was part of a larger community outside of her head.