Jumbo No. 1.

Putting the coffee-house receipt into the receipt folder makes a crisp rustling sound that lingered in my ears and on my fingertips. It’s time to write. My hearing extends to beyond the screen-door: the distant roaring of the traffic blends well enough with the on-again-off-again rustling of the leaves. I don’t tune out the background noise for a change, for who can resist the spring breeze and the sparkles of the sun. If I were a plant, I’d be down right anxious to express my joy of being here and being enveloped. What more can I do? A cloud passes, the world changes, a shadow also passes my mind. Oh no, not again. But by degree, the cloud out of the view fills its way across the sky, leaving grand theatrical effects on the earth below. A yellow palm-sized butterfly presents itself as the main attraction, tiptoes in and out of the greens and the flowers. What beauty and drama, how many interactions, cause and effects uncollated, each has its own path, and yet as a whole…

As a whole, I don’t know what to say. Keep trying to continue the stories but can’t shake the feeling that they all have played out and to say anything more is to kill them when they are the least deserving. I know they will continue one way of the other, but not because they need to continue, but because they have to continue. I fight against my urges, then fight against my urges to fight against urges. I stop there, I have learned that much. Conflict is good when you know when to let go. Sometimes the obvious way is the wrong way, the planned way is the evil way. There can be no such distinctions when things are playing out, we don’t intend it, but our nature says so. So we get out of ourselves, noticing the sun is in no hurry, and the wind plays no favors, and we, we don’t plan internally but do what is required of us. All the other animals have the nobility to do just that.

What is doing? I have memorized whole books, giving the lotion to the soul and the shades to the eyes. But nothing I read can transmit the feeling of dread I feel. I’m losing too many moments. Every ambitions and insecurity I had, they took me away from myself, which in turn, numb me to the multitudes of dramas that are unfolding around me. Where is this dread coming from? I don’t know, it’s been there as long as I can remember. I still am not quite sure I want this. But I’ve learned that I have no choice, to fight against it is to live a miserable life. I know, I’ve tried. I knew where I was going, I could see the end, and because of it, I wanted something more, or something else. Did I get anything? I probably did. But all that hate has led me right back here. I have gone a circle. I still recognize myself though, that is important. I can’t shake it, I have to live with it. Until the day I die. It makes sense, now that I’m no longer young and full of chaos, mentally, psychically and physically, I can breathe. I can be gentle, I don’t resent others and hate myself anymore. What’s the point? I can be gentle with myself. And that makes all the difference.

Once that’s in place, I find that I can finally start to grow up. Not by crutches but by wings. By the wisdom that’s granted me, I can see the sky is full of them. The vision of youth has to be true then. I saw an endless grass field, with a clouded sky that has an opening to the left with winged creatures flying in circles towards the source of the orange, yellow, golden light that is out of sight. Multitudes of colors and uplifting spirits. That image has stayed with me, and I visit it often, like now. I think those winged creatures are just wide-winged birds instead of angels as some may assume since I don’t feel any individual presence when I’m in that landscape. They are as quiet and as natural as the waving waist-height grass that are doing their synchronized dances. I can be there for all eternity, I have been there for all eternity, so I guess I will be there for all eternity.

I don’t know if anything ever changes. We get old, people die. But the background still pumps the same signal. It comes in and out of our consciousness, but if I don’t get to feel it for some length of time, I go crazy. I think that’s what happened when I fought against my path. But I had no choice. Circumstances just cut me off. I guess in some ways, I was only trying to find my way back. But am I firm yet?

No. If the journey has taught me anything, is this: it’s fun, it’s necessary, it’s what life is all about. It’s not just about peace and smooth incline, but also desperation and dark places. Maybe it is what it takes to survive.

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