I saw zen in a corner, waved at it and it answered me. Woke up one morning, teeth grinning all the way to Neptune, smile ready with its own parking space and flag, hair style screaming Doolly Parton, hollering I am here. Dressed to the nines, spirit running through the beautiful leaf-peeping red, yellow and orange pigments autumn canvas that is self, I hit the street. Radiant aroma reading bouquet of roses permeated the air. Mood, a tale for the ages moment written in stone living in a mansion, switched flags at the track. Flashlights of wisdom, makeshift of charisma and puree of dotted blunders thrown in a basket delivered to the massive carved wooden door, loving every butterfly that graced the air that I breathe. Grateful for the open field and luggage of yesterday, an accidental passanger, I hopped on the moving train, taking the first seat, on the right hand side, enjoying the ride on the caravan of possibilities that is tomorrow.
Good times don’t last neither bad times. Like drops of rain, it comes in buckets; sometimes sporadically and others, one continuous line of giving and misgivings. It feels like the end, the world closing in, grabbing you by the ankles, an earthquake of helplessness but it is not; just the universe waving at you. A slap in the face. A speed bump. A semicolon in your carefully catered uninterrupted life to say; hello I am here, can you see me?! Indeed. Dust off that dapper jacket, your gentleman stylish shoes and put it on. Walk up to the street and start trekking. Unmindful of the itinerary, brisk wind blowing at you, the acoustic sound of sand and gravel naked to the untrained ear whispers the pitch perfect noise companion; keep going it says, towards the ship in the far away land. Never fear but mutate. Never waver but stand firm. Never question but smile in gratitude. Make new adventure as twisted as imperfect lines it may come to be, rattled by uncollected evidence, never mind it; craft The stories. Be the anchor in the limitless water, a catalyst to the ship selling, to life as it is, for the living. Keep striving!
It is I looking at the universe and wondering were July has gone and who gave you permission to introduce yourself, August. Four months to the new year, I heard. Hello, glad you are here. Hope you brought some good news.
As if I could touch the ending, the invisible lane hoping all the burdens wiped away by the artist brush stroke, would be left at the curbside. As if all, one heavy, embroidered year that has been 2020 tidily arranged on a bucket of rocks and left by a construction site, would be done on earth as it is in heaven at the click of fingers. But as scripted on the book of life, stories will be told and carried over at turn of the page and dropped like one hot BBQ chicken coming off the grill. It is a given. It won’t just be discarded like an empty suit or used paper napkin at the dinner table. It will still be there sitting in a corner, dejected like a maggot waiting for another soul to devour and moons to touch.
We are all anxiously awaiting the death of the doom, the apple falling in the bright night bringing joy to pupils who wished the year was here today so, they could bless the freshly minted with a smile, cuddle it as their best toy and won’t let go. They hope to ring in the old glory that once stood. I hear hearts pumping, loud, louder, kicking and gesturing like a Radio City Rockettes but time is the essence, it will tell. It won’t be stingy but I suggest we invite faith to trail right along to easy up our burdens.
Pretending we have not, fake it isn’t but real it will be with scores of uncelebrated milestones, places to visit, family reunions to settle. Unless we are Him and we are not, handicapped by our own shortcomings we wait patiently with ease, unable to remove the entangled rope but sitting quietly at the beach, we hear the sounds of the boombox, the new wave majestically washing ashore, the page turner that will give us a new tune.