Pulling Mother Earth’s Hair

I stayed in bed for hours pondering all of the things we ponder. None of it seems to get any clearer. Not with age or experience. It doesn’t clear up with sobriety. I can’t say that meditation does the trick. It certainly all does something, but it hasn’t done much else.

If there is one thing to be learned by any semblance of longevity it is that this has happened before and this will all happen again.

I look back into my archives of all the friends I have had. I look closely at the encounters we shared. I take the closest look at the photos of people now dead. I read their letters. To look into those eyes and remember the exchange while knowing how they ended it. To know you’ve surpassed a person’s time on Earth is like winning a very confusing race. I’m not sure if it’s actually winning, because I don’t know where they’ve gone.

Why do we do so many of the things that we do? More so, why do we spend so much time on all of this when we appear to know there’s so much better time to be spent on that. I don’t want to work on nothing. I want to work on something. I have a lot of something.

But then why do some stay up all night playing video games? Why do others spend the entire Holiday Weekend scrolling Facebook? What is with all of the “moral panic and outrage” when it accumulates to nothing more than exercises in irrelevancy? We all end up angling our lives in such bizarre directions. We seem to waste all the time we swear against ever wasting. We keep tumbling around a lifelong hamster wheel and we never seem to get it right.

I can’t tell you how many Sunday mornings I have lost to the temptation of sleep. I love sleep. I love dreams. Dreams are so delightful. As my body aches to awaken early and take brisk walks in the Summer dawn. I yearn to wake up “on time” but my body and brain have far more dreamy plans. They’d prefer to stay in the dark room and have another exciting adventurous dream.

My body and brain know all too well what awaits on the outside is nowhere near as exciting as what is to be conjured from the inside.

We keep doing it. I keep doing it. I keep plodding along looking for the path. A continuous debate regarding forks in roads. I think I know it. You seem to think you know it. There’s a reason for it. Somewhere there is a reason waiting impatiently to be unveiled.

The Artist D, May 2018

The Artist D, May 2018

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