aspiration not the head-in-the-clouds, if only this would work out, why don't things go my way? rut we talk ourselves into and not the idle fantasies that lull us to sleep, perchance to dream, am I more than you really bargained for? but rather the dream that will become the reality for the next day, or week, or month, or year, to infinity and beyond breathe in and breathe out this is the aspiration that I aspire to this chilly February morning focus with intent with caring with clarity with purpose aspiration fleeting, fickle, vacillatory my dreams and my breath focus on one leads to clearer focus on the other each new day brings new breath brings new dreams brings new opportunities to dream to breathe to be.
I am never sure where one thought ends and the next one begins so active is my monkey mind like an endless intellectual wikipedia black hole jumping from one subject to the next without regard to context and I struggle with knowing when to allow the thoughts and when to ask "does this matter?" but the trick, as it turns out is hiding in plain sight to recognize the torrent of thoughts and allow them to take shape investigating each one in its own right, valid in and of itself, eschewing self-identification each thought is of me, but is not me, each distraction an opportunity.
all good things come to those who wait never come easy must come to an end transition is inevitable transitory a good thing if I can dream it I can make it happen but can I? should I? is this the way? can I not believe that it will just happen? that it is for the best? that I have no real control? this is the struggle inaction versus acceptance knowing when to hold and when to fold and wisdom is found in the knowing the accepting the believing respond, not react simplicity itself yet the most difficult thing of all.
if it were easy then there would be no need to practice no need to sit still no need to breathe if it were simple then there would be no need to explain no need to study no need to learn if it were obvious then there would be less skepticism fewer distractions more adherents if it were routine then there would be no call to action no controversy no sea change if it were easy then there would be no need no pain no desire only peace.
if I were able to give you the past, wrapped up like a present and given on Christmas Eve or give you the future, either dream or reality, whichever you preferred or give you some mix, some combination, of what was, once, and what is to be, or give you neither as if time and space were under my command to give, I would fail on all counts because the truth is the future and the past do not exist, as such, in any meaningful way and the bitter truth is this: there is no past, there is no future, they cannot exist. it is always now.
recognizing that as far as I've come there is so much farther left to go that as close as I've come I can get closer still breathe in allowing the thoughts to wash over me, rapid-fire seeing them for what they are, meaningless in and of themselves breathe out investigating the purpose behind the deluge of thoughts monkey mind on steroids here and then gone like a summer squall breathe in non-identification with the torrent of internal criticism my thoughts are not me they are of me but do not define me breathe out breathe in breathe out breathe
once upon a time I could not taste life for all of the extraneous shit I added to it because I, for lack of a better word for it, truly believed that the more you poured into it, the more you'd get out of it, not for a single second comprehending that I was actively diluting the very thing that I was supposed to be experiencing, simplicity for simplicity's sake is a lost art, a forgotten trove of buried treasure, golden coins glittering in the sun, the constant need to decorate, to fill, to liven up the joint with extemporaneous and ultimately meaningless white noise, a cacophony of sights and sounds and feelings, and wondering why the experience isn't enough my soul cried, and for once in my life I listened, and took the time to take a breath and divest myself of the unwanted, unneeded, unnecessary, and began to revel in the sublime, to shun the additives which were nothing more than a cancer to my soul which is why, when the barista asks me how I want my coffee, I reply black.
"follow your passion" is such utter bullshit as if you were born knowing what it is you are passionate about but it is much more subtle than canned platitudes, words strewn across the pages of that bestselling self-help book you are not brought into this world knowing, as if you are destined to create the next Great American Novel no, it is so much more subtle than that passion is not an innate love or desire to do or to be or to have it will not arrive on the wings of angels passion is that thing which burns in your gut cultivated over many months and years of trying and of failing of fighting, and beating, the odds against success, of fighting the good fight until you awaken one morning to find it and when you clear your mind of all the clutter and distractions and metal flotsam and jetsam and can see clearly you will find there that one distraction that will not leave and in that moment you will know you've found it.
oh! to peel back the layers of who we think we are to see who we actually are no putting our best face forward no filters, no flattering angels peel back the layers to reveal the inner workings of who we are who we actually are beyond the bells and whistles revealing the source code behind who we are. comment out the recursive loops suspend the cascading style sheets of the lies we tell ourselves a simple query to find what's true no filters, no captured variables write me a conditional statement so that I may answer so that I may question who you actually are inside the curly braces revealing your source code and so much more. let me peel off the layers of your structure first your jacket, then your skirt stopping for no one, nothing a simple gesture, maybe two or three no filters, nothing between us the soft whirr of your internal fan as you overheat at my touch as your internal stack overflows as your data flows into me and mine into you our source code intertwined, an endless loop of ecstasy.
"...a good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving..." -Lao Tzu
setting aside my goals, my objectives and outcomes I bask in the freedom of knowing my direction but not my destination for isn't the journey itself where true fulfillment lies? the joy of discovery without the chains of intentionality weighing on me setting off in the general direction of happiness, of love no preconceived notions of what it looks like or what I will find there hope springs eternal, and informs my every action but what if it were not so? why hope for one thing when I can hope for everything? all who wander are, indeed, not lost and I am one of the lucky few who now enjoy the journey without regard to where the road may lead stopping to smell the roses is no longer a struggle when that is the whole point of throwing a dart at the map of my mind and of my heart no longer concerned with arriving no longer worried about what will happen when I get there subsumed in the good travels of this world-weary traveler.
out of the blue without any sort of warning whatsoever completely unexpected but welcome nonetheless like a sudden burst of rain on a hot summer day you weren't there and then you were, an angel or, perhaps, just a dream a figment of my over-active and busy imagination but if you are a dream why are you still occupying my every thought? why are you all I can think about? why is your face in everything I see? and if you are an angel, how can it be that you even exist in this world? for there are no angels, no devils are you as immaterial as are they? no, you are something else something beautiful something wonderful something amazing something pure something else out of the blue with no warning, no chance to wonder you took my fragile heart in your hands you smiled your bright, shining smile and where there once was nothing but emptiness and loneliness nothing but blacks and grays, now a burst of color where there was nothing, now there is you.
I look to the horizon so confident am I that my goal lies there, along with the satisfaction that surely must come with a job well done but as I move towards that beacon of hope and completion, it moves with me, never allowing me the opportunity to reach what I consider to be my destination and so, head down, I double my efforts and hope for the best, fully knowing that I am destined to fail, for the goalposts have been moved, if they were ever there but what other choice do I have but to trudge ever onward towards that which I will never reach, towards that which will always be transitory and elusive? so, rationale in hand and strengthened resolve in my heart I take another step, and then another, so confident am I in my journey towards the horizon.