Semi-Daily Scribbles

Our Bodies in Reverse

Selective memory has atrophied the ability to see situations clearly.
But do we not do the things one ought to do?
Like?
Like paying bills.
Playing it safe.
The What-If Game takes up more and more of our time as we find ourselves stuck in a groove from decades ago just like the old timers we once despised.
The mirror is not going to become kinder as we try to pass by without stopping to stare, so best to call that reflection what it really is.
The version of you that was never supposed to come true.
Is she still in there? The girl who'd eat the world for breakfast and serve it up as something transcendent for tea.

insightful flight

there’s a hollow place that fills the space in which you once presided
woodland images
sisters gathered at a picnic table
beers all around and one glass of wine

strange inflection on second syllables
hands that were the object of a stranger’s admiration
a son whose name is the same as my own

your journey now is one of real insight
an exploration of a heart defined by the third beat in a measure
music to propel you beyond earthbound concerns

Arrhythmia

So traumatized Chuck still works the mines.
A poet's soul with hardened arteries.
The company doesn't pay Chuck for his turn of phrase and artist's heart.
It's a tough task to write the perfect stanza when crafted in the arc of a headlamp.

Too Much and Not Enough

I should hope one would think he or she is interesting. If a person doesn't have that sort of opinion of oneself, all sorts of unfortunate occurrences can happen, like hearing a nonstop self-censure loop booming inside an already thought-heavy head. Oh, and if a person does find him/herself pleasant company to be around, that happily self-actualized individual should not foist any such presumption of that dearly held belief upon family and friends.
---You just groove inside your Private Opinion Bubble, buddy!---
Any such foisting of one's actually REAL self only muddies the sensitive depths of YOU and makes a gal or guy look like an imbecilic navel-gazer.
... and who wants to be perceived in that way?

Love is Rough

I informed Elinore that I trusted my gut more than some expert's opinion on how best to sell myself to the Cogs of Industry. She didn't believe me. All is right in the world if we choose to listen to the mysteries in the wind that sigh and cry. Soughing and cooing from on high to get us to heed the knowing in our hearts. I persist because progression is in my bones. Maybe I'm a throwback, but I keep comin' back. I only know how to dog paddle, but the inelegant splashing gets me from one end of The Universe to the other. Success is spotting a mess and then coming up with an exit plan. I do not want to be The Petrified Man to stand sentinel over complacency for all eternity. Struggle is what gets you a first class ticket to the stars. You need to look up to see where you've been.

Ah, Elinore. You peaked at 19, but you're still my queen. There was always a smack of schmaltz about you. And that's why I love you. Love is lovely and it made you lose your edge. Standing out on that ledge, what thoughts have now replaced the darkness? The dream is now rinse and repeat. It's difficult to call the attainment of respectability a defeat. But where is the hunger? The longing. The yearning. Has it all been replaced by a sizable yearly earning? You will always be a bit of rough sport to me, bon ami.

The Hidden Part

What is it you need to show to the world? What's the one thing you want me to know about you? How can you tell your story without it being a masterfully manipulated collection of photographs on Insty-Sham?

Here's what Phyllida wants us to know about her:

I am the Crone. I am your Forever Home. Come rest in my arms so evergreen. I am soon to be riding the #9 and so close to being whole. I feel young/old/accomplished/benighted ... happy to have sensations at all. I am grateful for my cave; my hideout from the world as I've undergone this painful transformation. I don't look any different. The wrapper is no worse for wear. But the little spark of wonder that has always caused me pain is now a rampaging flame of wisdom. Can't unknow what you know. Or, in other words, this light ain't goin' out any time soon, bebe ko.

Be the Star

Not a proper Year-In-Review this. Not even going to speculate on what's in store for 2019. Just a handful of things that happened:

* I rescued a withered Philodendron scandens tucked amongst boxes of Tampax stacked on a table of markdowns at Walmart. I christened the plant Luz.

* Learned to embrace the ludicrous and my worldview improved immensely.

* Wrote some pretty shitty poetry.

* Got to be a tourist in the city where I live when family came to visit.

* Colleagues were given the Fourth Quarter Boot Scoot at my place of employment. I'm still there.

Snapshots of a life lived as the planet does its slow dance around the sun. Time, too, continues to communicate in its ebb and flow way. And each one of us a star. No, really. We follow stars across the sky in our search for home. But as a star, the only place one can return is where you are.

The State of Becoming

O.k., Masters-in-Training: If the last 10 years have been easy for you, you must have done The Work over prior lifetimes. If yes/no: Has something happened to you in the past 30 to 45 days that slapped ya upside the head (didn't see it comin', didn't see it comin') and left ya lying in a goo pit of conflicting emotions? We are all presently tasked with looking at ourselves through the eyes of others. How well do those narratives criss and cross? Are you ready for a different version of your life to be projected against that big, blank canvass you are staring at? Make sure you've got a red pen handy.

a lesson earned

and for anyone who peeks at this screen, i got a little nugget o' to pass along ... just keep showing up. sounds simple but it's one of the hardest things to do consistently throughout one's lifetime(s). good things are coming my way, though, thanks to the routine to which i tenaciously cling; being in a place at specific times and dates and performing tasks that outside a particular four-walled structure MAKE NO SENSE AT ALL. i'm sure you participate in a similar activity wherever you reside in the multiverse. it is easy to get tripped up when one dances to the rhythm of the day-to-day. sometimes there's no end in sight and progression feels like an automobile stuck in reverse (even under the best of circumstances it's not easy to power through life's obstacle course.) but hey, did you make someone's day today? that's about the only way to gauge if you've done anything worth a damn. create something right now that didn't exist yesterday, and say Hello to the next person that enters your periphery. keep raisin' the vibration y'all, and then tell me you don't see a little light slipping through the cracks.

You Are Knot Trying Hard Enough

You're better off finding a trusted civilian who'll listen to your (what usually are very amusing) existential crises, and maintaining a lifestyle where your body and mind are allowed to perform at peak proficiency. Sorry, I hope that didn't come out sounding all preachily privileged because, you know: You are perfect just the way you are! And get yourself a hobby. Animals are good to have around, too. But please don't pay hard-earned cash money to be told to eat a salad once in a while. Mom told you to eat your vegetables, probably many times, and for free even.