Man, what I wouldn't give to live the life of my dog, or for that matter, to live the life of my cat is what I think as I look at Zeus curled up on his bed over in the corner by the TV his only care in the world when will breakfast be served? is what I think as I listen to Snuggles mewing incessantly demanding breakfast, his only care in the world why haven't you served me breakfast? is what I think as I hear Mac stirring upstairs, getting up to walk circles around her bed shaking her collar, tags rattling oblivious to it almost being breakfast time. is what I say aloud to no one Zeus asleep Snuggles hangry Mac sleeping in Me, starving, with no one to make me breakfast
I wonder how others are able to read what they've written days or months or years ago and not cringe uncontrollably did I really think that? was that how I felt? what was I thinking then? jesus fucking christ I read and reread my favorite authors and am always moved by their ability to capture a feeling in a given moment and I wonder, do they respond to their own work as I respond to the words I have committed to this great, vast cloud in the sky? do they realize the profound effect they have on the reader? Is that what separates the great writers from hacks like me? or do I judge myself too harshly, does familiarity breed contempt? am I able to tap into the zeitgeist or am I tilting at word-shaped windmills? and in the end, when I say what I have to say and tap "publish" do I get lost in the meaningless cacophony of the electronic void? or are my words lying in wait for their next unsuspecting victim ready to pounce with all the force of a thousand crouching tigers? I don't imagine I will every truly know.
how often I am the hypocrite in the name of keeping the peace in the name of not wanting to offend in the name of avoiding conflict is honesty always black and white? is there no little grey area? is there no room for twisting? there can be no place for hypocrisy there is a fine line between being honest and being a hypocrite is a little white lie a sin? can such a thing even exist? is it fair to mislead someone if the lie is close enough to the truth (from a certain point of view) so as to be indistinguishable? which holds more value? do we really want unabashed honesty when it will only serve to deflate our too-sensitive egos? we are all living a lie to a certain extent (some more so than others, of course) and our lives are always in danger of being punctured by the harsh light of truth do we play along, or do we have an obligation to serve the greater truth regardless of what...oh, wait... ...my coffee is finally ready.
flow is like that river that runs through the gorge the white water gurgling and splashing as you firmly grip the sides of your raft flow is like holding on to the feeling that churns your guts and fills your heart with an indescribable need to relish it and let go flow is like that moment you gaze into her eyes and her face lights up like a little child and right then you know her flow is like the endless dance of being decisive and allowing the universe to come to you and show you what it intends for you flow is like letting go of what you thought it was supposed to be and giving yourself over to what it is meant to be
Hey, you know how when you first open your eyes and the room is still pitch black and the only sounds are traffic outside and maybe a too-loud TV somewhere and it takes a moment or three to get your bearings and the day is filled with possibilities and the moment you've been waiting for is just hours away and you're filled with both excitement and dread? Hey, you know how when you look back at something in your past that seemed at the time to be innocuous at best and it is only through the lens of time and experience that you come to realize that it was actually a turning point, a clearly defined before and after that you can only now see in your rearview mirror? Hey, you know how when the brain fog starts to lift and you take the first sip from your second cup of coffee and your morning headache starts to fade and the room starts to come into focus and you realize that maybe, just maybe, this might turn out to be one of those days, a turning point that will clearly demarcate "then" from "now"? Hey, you know how when you're sitting on the edge of your bed and you think to yourself, what have I gotten myself into this time? and you are simultaneously excited at the prospect of what is to come and dreading having to start the whole process over again, wondering if it is worth all of the effort it is going to take to just be yourself, open to both acceptance and rejection? Hey, you know how when you push all of that aside because you have things to do and people to see and hearts to break and all of that other faux-confidence stuff that you tell yourself to help you make it from one day to the next, and so you turn the water on and wait for it to get hot enough to get in the shower and you stand there staring at the wall with the hot water running down your back as you push back against all of your self-doubt? Yeah, that.
and so I hold my breath and wait which is not something I do so out of my comfort zone it is to not push forward is anathema not only to my way of thinking but to who I am as a person but to push forward would be a mistake that I am tired of making a miscalculation of epic proportions and so I hold my breath and wait and gladly, believe it or not for the alternative is not something I would wish on anyone fools rush in where angels fear to tread and I am both crew and captain of this ship of fools.
hope is a visceral thing sometimes swift and blinding in its clarity and purpose sometimes slow burning a train that never arrives a flight you fear you've missed a light that won't turn green hope may spring eternal but in the moment it feels as if my heart may burst and when my struggle is an aversion to delayed gratification I wonder if the wait can possibly be worth it and what is hope, really, but anticipation of something better or different or at least something real and solid and something you can hang your hat on or, if you are not one for headwear, something to believe in so when I say, take your time or when I say, really, there's no rush what I'm really saying is this: I don't want to rush you but this is really important to me so if you could find it in your heart to do so, tell me now
it has often been said that the eyes are the mirror of the soul and I was always skeptical until I met you and discovered that your eyes are the mirror of your heart open and caring and full of life and love and waiting for the promise of what is to come ever mindful of what has come before ever hopeful of what the future holds ever searching for that missing piece that will make sense of a senseless world your eyes are the mirror of your love giving and generous patient and demanding open to the prospect of finding love again ever peaceful ever unsettled ever thinking ever forgiving your eyes are the mirror of your soul warm and tender soothing and beautiful secure in the knowledge that you will always be enough