tides to go

It’s weird how at times, we are so stupid in our humanness and at others, we begin to learn, to see, to use time as a measure of change and to use it to change ourselves. And still, we fall victim to the inescapable pattern that births ignorance into experience and from experience into wisdom and then back to the bone breaking and the falls so that in getting up, we see yet again. That we both know and do not.

Perhaps this is it. To be human. It is life’s purpose, why we live. To live in such a way. To live in this way, and to experience the singularity of a connected experience that wields the same sword to its maker, human. That as one piece of it, we are granted a gift upon our first breath, or perhaps it began in the swimming of the seed as it joined together with the first breath of a cell that grew in gestation for a period of time that most often amounts to 9 months. Somewhere in the before or the after or the during, we find ourselves to be written and inked, the patterned theme of that one, to experience as we all do and yet in our own circle of what may ripple out and disappear, what we are drawn to and away from, and as that revolves to one side or the other, we find that still, we are themed in our approach. Perhaps I am not yet old enough to see beyond my own small sphere of circle, but I imagine it will always take on its new evolution. Through its natural course of action, to experience it all, but given eyes to see that see in such a way so as not to miss it at all.

At once dwelling within, I yearned for what was without. Seeking beyond myself as perhaps an escape or a remedy to what was once called introversion but now we may call a controlled attempt at trying to save the assumed pain, the let down expectation. Now as the turmoil of what was within has learned to walk an empty beach of rocky sand and gray waters, the mind finds rest in the waves, and the boat of the body seems to bounce on just fine, redirecting with the winds when it is proper to do so, and otherwise, trusting in the calculations of the path that never veer too far from course. The outside voice, the sun, or the rain, or the covering clouds it comes from, can speak because when the boat is built well, those things will age it in such a way that we shall call it “with character” and we know when to avoid the eye of the storm or that if speaking out as if to a god, that it is best revealed in the question that the answer is already right there. We must be honest. Life beckons it, and those who cover in its cast, find ever more that their inner child runs rampant, and some toddlers merely need a nap, a good “no,” and perhaps a carrot to consume their mouths for a time. 

We get second chances when we give them to ourselves. We are animals ever the more, and we have a capacity for creation that is often unacknowledged when we either buy too much into the man or try too hard to stick it to him. (It is duly noted that both are different versions of buying into the man.) Well, worry not because the man need not be bought. He just likes to be looked at lovingly as if through a store window as you pass by on the street, looking in and most likely listening to a song you like that might add a little something to your step. We can make of life what we will, and the will we have is sometimes overridden by the incessant thought pattern energized and recharged with a battery that by now should no longer be rechargeable or in a simpler way, the cookie and the extra one, and the couch that curves to your booty and makes your booty more curvy, but still, a human is an animal after all and will revel in comfort so long as we fail to use our mind to will ourselves away. The mind is our friend, 20% of the time.

Tell your younger self to let it be. Do your thing as you do it, and let time be an ally. It’s one of the few that we have so long as we are open and willing. Maybe tell it learn to be more of that, though when younger, there is a certain amount of stubbornness that is implied and is done finely so that later on we can again meet time to tell us that in contrast, there are better ways.

It is all an experiment, the never ending game of dress up and trying on, and somewhere in that envelope money slides into it so that even in financial catastrophe, see it again and say, it is something I am trying out and if I do not like it I shall change it and do it differently the next time, and for now, I shall pick up these pieces as best I can. Even when it becomes like the yard of raked leaves in the fall that will soon again be swept back in with the wind. 

Bonds are broken and some never are. Even with permanent goodbyes, what has tugged your heart, may never end and it may ever still. It doesn’t keep you from loving again and now, and don’t be a child that walks around and into the same relationship only to hand over baggage to another person without first opening the suitcase and seeing what’s inside for yourself. The x marks the spot after all, and treasure is a loose term for even things that now tarnished can be polished yet again.

Merge your worlds and your patterns. Be silent and loud, crazy and out of place. Though my mother will always remind me that manners are never out of style, for the world is never not want for kindness. So be kind and be more of it because even when the cat drags it in, it might still need some water and a place to relieve itself before getting back out there and back on it and backing down to the circle again. 

copyright 2019 ⓒ / forrest gallagher