I’m a story teller. You already know that. I invent things, sometimes things that I can not have. I dream. I want more time. I fly. I crawl. I dance. I manage to become hundreds of people, while the me that’s inside is often lost and afraid. Do you love me? Do you hate me? Do you wonder who I am? Open your eyes.
The answer is very clear–so do I.
The simple thought of motion defines so many parts of life. In a smaller sense it describes activity in a microcosm of our day. I went into the kitchen and came out with my coffee…
Maybe not what someone was expecting, but apt nonetheless.
I find the concept of a quick turn around defining many parts of life, and I object. We all prefer in the hospital to be a quick out of the hospital, but in love needs to last a life time.
I insist on the permanence of certain concepts–liberty, happiness, choice, freedom, love—being among my favorites. It makes me wonder how these things can so easily fall into the category of temporary.
Yes, someone may point out that liberty, freedom and choice are the same thing, but that is not always true…
My mind is open. How about you?
In the proverbial forest, I fell without much of a noise. The subtle rustling of leaves, the scant passing of a single bird…no one was there except me.
I’d like to think that someone has noticed my absence, my tumble, but in the face of so many posts by so many talented people the chances seem minimal.
For all of you who have been waiting for Dancer, the book will be published on the 28th of this month available on Amazon.
For those of you who have been waiting for me to pick myself up from the forest floor…I am growing new sprouts, tending the flowers and about to bloom yet again.
Sometimes it’s a long road to crazy. I find myself objecting to being categorized among the outsiders of humanity. I’m too outspoken, too loud, too free with my opinions…or perhaps my opinions are too unrestrained. Whatever the reason, I am branded with the rest of you as “different.” Yes, we are a group of unusual people.
Now, I have no problem holding my head up and saying I prefer the unique. Life is too short for conformity. There has been only one major repercussion–I have difficulty selling books.
As an artist, I shrug off the discomfort. As someone who needs to eat, life can become interesting without money. I envision myself as an old man standing in a subway tunnel with an open guitar case. I read poetry to the passing masses. The upturned hat–yeah that’s right–it’s for change.
“Can you spare a dime?”
We are all unique in some way. Fortunately, I am young enough to sustain my lifestyle and my dignity, at least for now. I can’t stop writing. It wouldn’t be possible if I tried. Therein lies the insanity.
Snow–By the end of the day it will all be gone. Like everything it is temporary. I often wonder why as humans we are born with such an absolute sense of permanence. We mourn at the thought of death. Yet, the beauty around us–even as the temperature rises on a snowy day–melts and fades with each passing moment. All things change.
Even I am different. Touched by the watery ice that cascades from the tree tops, I embrace the impermanence. I touch the essence of forever.