The most consistent thing I do, at least currently, is reach out and make sure I still feel. As far as words go: that’s the closest I can get to share my meaning. I don’t mean metaphorically nor figuratively. I mean: whilst I walk I actually stick my arm out — right or left – and feel whatever it is that I touch. Most cases happen to be flowers or leaves but I walk around a lot in a variety of locations. By this point the motion has become natural to me. I’m still aware — obviously — but I haven’t found a reason to stop doing it.
I’m not exactly sure why I started doing it. It might have been because of my current/most recent state of mind. I think it helps give me some kind of certainty. At least…that’s probably where it started.
Now: it just feels nice. It gives me comfort; brings me focus. Call it a kind of peace of mind; my own Zen garden. It’s more real for me than a lot of other things. It isn’t that I can’t find other things that can grant me this tranquility rather that, being in my current situation, this is what I have; what I get. It isn’t my only choice but for me, for who I am, it’s enough.
I say “consistent” because it may be a lot more or a little less than I acknowledge. Even still, it is an active part of my existence and as far as I know: it helps.
…My smelling pretty much blows. I’ve worn glasses for the majority of my life. My taste buds are, at this point, prudes. And I think I hear what isn’t there as much as what is (that last one might be a bit of an exaggeration). All that leaves are my limbs and appendages. Maybe it’s just for this piece or maybe it’s truth but either way: I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the last sense I’m left with.
I’m not asking for help from anyone. I’m not really sure if that’s good or bad but it’s a decision I’ve made…
I don’t know a lot. I don’t have quotes to back me up. But I haven’t given up either. I still smile. I still react. I’m still present. I have morals and I’m personable. I want things to work out, I do, but if I never get that: I won’t be surprised and I won’t be disappointed. I’ll just be as I am: I’ll accept it, and if I have the chance, I’ll keep moving on.
I don’t mean to dissuade my audience or create doubt where there was none. I mean to share with them that sometimes, a midst all the zeros of people currently alive, and all those that came before, there is an occasional flood of overwhelming sensations for anyone living on a square foot of landscape. And sometimes those moments of insignificance or brutal truths are brushed off with a greater, more succinct, perception of reality.
My issues are my own. I wouldn’t wish to burden anyone else with them. As such I often struggle with turning thoughts into ink. Nevertheless I continue fighting to spend time alone attempting to create worth through simplicity. The Screwheads around me have granted me more reason to focus my actions and I consistently commend them — maybe not out loud — for their own labors and contributions, however disjointed. At the same time, I realize that my own efforts and desires cannot be discounted however humble or modest I may seem.
All of the parts of my journey, or fate given, or trials bestowed, or destinies granted are only markers in a timeline. The metaphorical footsteps paired with the literal ones are where my stories come from; where my attention is and where my focus is emphasized.
My feet allow my rhythm. My hands, what I touch, keep my pulse. But it isn’t just the simplicity of the individual actions. There is also the seamless nature of the actions acting in unison. The result is then perfection. Mistakes or hiccups are not destructive to this idea of perfection rather a part of it. The structure or foundation along with the creativity are the things that fuse to produce something that can last with time serving only as a place-holder for its existence.
Living is hard but somehow each person can find a way to make it manageable. Regardless of whether it is a gift, a decision, coincidence, happenstance, natural selection, or some combination of everything and anything else is pretty irrelevant. Relevance is created; tailored to the uniquities of the self. All those leave, shrubs, weeds, flowers, stones, roots, protons, electrons…exist — or don’t exist — for some reason, maybe. They have their own purposes.
I know mine. I think it’s time you begin to figure out yours.