The truth about letting go
It is amazing how some days I “get it” and others I fall so short… In keeping with the season, end of the year and my own personal story, I’ll play with images to let the truth come out. Let it be a lesson if you are willing… it’s always better to learn from others’ mistakes…
Good concept. Prompted by human interaction.. isn’t it always? Except instead of saying goodbye, it’s saying so long…
It burns the insides of my core. It drains the life I’ve learned to live… but the one thought remaining is that you must
And carving up new paths will come with bleeding out the old… if you don’t want to change, then
And though it kills you a thousand times over, and makes you lose the very thing that made you the unique being that you were… you have to bring yourself to
And believe that there’s life after death. There must be. The path can’t close… can it?
In time I’ll believe in life again. ‘Till then, I’ll have to keep telling myself this over and over… until my mind is numb, and there no more hurt in every blink or memory… I know it’s true… I’ll get there…soon… take the end of the year, all things must end someday…
Seasons of change
Strolling down the less traveled path, often times there is a fork in the road ahead. The eyes can see it, the mind processes the information, weighing the options, left or right, but without any real visibility, it’s very hard to choose the better path. So one can close their eyes and hope for the best…or in other words hope they don’t make a big mistake. Humans have a way of assessing situations, where they relate to past personal experiences in order to process future events and outcomes. Their history tells them, based on whatever life they had ’till then, what is “wise” to do.
Some are conservative, not straying from the straight line in front of them even one inch, even if that may mean better, bigger things. No. Safe is good. It’s known, familiar, can’t come back to bite you. Except that the same ol’, same ol’ makes them lose sight of the very things they should remember to always value and teach their young about. Like respect for life. Like solid christian principles that make a child think twice before any action. Like loving thy neighbor, praising your friend, recognizing your foe for the good things they do. Like believing that the “right way” starts within, and that by being really true to oneself, one can be happy in the real sense of the word. For the only one that we can’t lie to, is ourself.
Some are progressive, skipping steps and hopping over all fences in their way. They are a mile away from every “last thing” they did. They grow no roots and have an “open mind” to anything that comes their way… They have no roots… They teach their children that they can do anything they set their minds to. They teach their children to soar, but give them no real place to land. And how long can one fly with tired wings? They forget that a good nest is more important and more defining than any set of wings. For a tired soul needs rest, at least from time to time… and how is a child to find rest if there is no base line to land on?
Some are neither conservative, nor progressive. They grow shallow roots, form the seeds of the oaks they have fed from as youngsters. They remember all the lessons. They know all the paths. They can see the future. They tell their children about it, keeping the history alive in the in their souls… But they are afraid to speak. For what good does it do to remind people of consequences, when all they want to see is their own bubble? These times will see no saints…
In the bubble everything is known, whichever type they are. The one common thing they all have is the way they all pass down their experience to their children. Not objectively, but through their own lens. The bendy willow will not break in the strongest of winds. And when the storms come we’ll shut our doors and windows, and only a faint howling will be heard. It will not touch us. And as it’s gone, we’ll re-open the door to whatever is left. Our house still stands. We’re fine.
The seasons of change have been circling above us for so long, like vultures, quiet and dark…maybe the time has come to believe again in humanity. To make sure that all is well secured before the storms start again. To help thy neighbor secure their belongings, for his children will be your children’s neighbors one day when you are gone, and together is a much friendlier word that alone… whatever the storm brings.
Weightless
Once in a blue moon, a psychological or psycho-emotional breakthrough happens in humans… they wake up being different, seeing the world with a brand-new set of eyes. It’s neither bad, nor good, compared to the original, but the perspective is entirely changed, and never before imagined!
Like seeing the backyard from your window every morning, and then, one morning, waking up on the roof, looking down at the same backyard from a different point of view. The colors are the same, the bushes are still there, and the palm tree seems a lot closer… a lot closer! And so interesting, too! Never saw it like that…the green is greener, and the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves sends one in sensory overload…
Or just like looking at the pattern on a zebra…the lines start mingling and the brain comes up with new and mesmerizing designs. Add another zebra to the mix and you get fantastic fun day! Two of a kind, put together to become one. Hmm…what a thought. Never imagined before…
Or like submerging your body, letting it float on its own, without any effort on your side, allowing your body to take over. And maybe even see a dolphin or two…maybe even swim with them… thoughts never acknowledged before, kinda’ scary, easily dismissed as unrealistic, having no place in your daily routine…
But, then again, can’t swim with the dolphins without getting in the water… so getting in the water is a good start. One might not see the dolphins at all…they don’t always come…it’s actually quite rare that they do… but that one day, when you float freely on the waves, and the sky above is the purest blue you’ve ever seen, and you feel something sliding under you in the water…no matter how many times you played it in your head…your heart just stops. It’s fear at first. It throws you completely off balance. You sink, and you flap the waves, trying to keep your head above water… until you open your eyes and see them. Fishy faces, hopping around you, just as amazed at you as you are at them. Only a lot more daring. A new sensation storms your whole being… not joy. Not happiness. Not awe. But all in one…euphoria!
It jolts your heart and sends spikes of hot flashes all over… and you’re free. Free to swim with the dolphins. Free to breathe in the scents. Free to feel the water wrapping your body in a fluid robe… weightless.
I hear many get there…in their own time, I guess…when they least expect it; but until you experience it, you can’t really fathom the concept…too strange of an experience…to unreal. I hope life throws you this curve soon…you can’t keep it forever, but what a wealthy person you’ll be! Richer than kings, happier than babes, freer than ever! May it happen soon! And may you welcome it without fear.
It’s all in a day…
I was once told that one day can change everything. I couldn’t believe that.. unless a tragic or otherwise earth-shatering event were to happen.. for why else would everything change? Change takes time. Change takes dedication, consistency, stubbornness… passion! It couldn’t just happen…
And one morning I woke up, got into my car, pulled out of my driveway, crossed the causeway, and as I was turning the corner into my destination, I looked over my shoulder at the ocean… first thing I want to see in the morning, last thing at night… There, on a whispering mass of dark, a sharp cry was pouring over its blood, filling my imagination with the wildest images… and my restless soul with the longing… and it was back to the drawing board… again.. the call of the wild..
The day ran with me, and waves of faces splattered all over my composure, and mid-through I just had to go dip my feet into the cool and listen to the whisper. A rope was buried in the sand, a noose more like it. Brought to me by the deep, laying at my feet, like an ominous warning. The skies were rebelling and the wind picked up. And then it happened. The world stopped again. Prompted to turn, I felt the pull, as if the dead rope was wrapped tightly around me. I didn’t fight it, I couldn’t anyway. The whispers got louder and louder. I covered my ears… I walked slowly, the wind trying to stop me from getting closer… the heat melted my resistance and I fell… again… for the same trick .. in the same way..
The day fast forwarded through my anguish. And as I stretched my arms toward the high into the first pose, the skies opened again, and called to me. “Look for the silver lining”. I don’t know that I’ll ever find it, but it’s all in a day’s quest… and most times I’m not even trying. It just happens. And it all starts looking new and scary again… silver lining and all…
It’s just a parade…
“Get your camera, the regatta starts in 15 minutes!” a half-breath squeak came from the office next to mine… “regatta, remember? We missed it by an hour last year! C’mon!”.
Usually, I don’t comply with commands if I don’t “get it”, but this time the thought of being out in the sunlight sparkled all over my brain. “oh, yeah! out breathing the salt. I can do that”. I grabbed my camera and ran.
The breeze ruffled my hair like a mother’s embrace, and in the cool, shimmering blue, they showed up. Bunched up together, like the floats of a puffed up dandelion.. wobbling on the waves, tiny at first, then bigger and bigger. The seawall was full of photographers, both amateurs and professionals, all trying to catch that one shot that will transform a simple picture in an animated message of greatness at sea. I aimed my camera and shot. From the depths of my soul, not from the tip of my gaze. No need for the perfect photo, just a memento of this moment, when time stopped and gave way to my feelings to go awry without any unwanted consequences!
I looked around at the people, all in awe of the beauty. I stepped on the jetty, among the crowd, trying to get closer. A gust of wind blew my hair undone, and made it float around me like in a fall.. Then time stood still. I heard the squeak near me, saying something I couldn’t understand. I moved to the edge. Took the “one picture I will ever want to take”. Couldn’t see a thing with my hair all over the place… Turned around, and walked away. Walking back on the seawall, I gathered my mane back into a pony tail. Squeak dragged me into the street, we managed to get to the middle without any cars running us over, and as we were contemplating running to the other side, a truck stopped, and gallantly offered us way. I bowed, and my hair came undone again…oh, well! The person waved and kept going.
Back in the office I dared look at the photos… not too bad. But then, again, it’s just a parade… that feeling will always fill me when I see them, but not the others…or maybe they’ll feel a little bit of breeze… that would be great!
Captive orchids
It’s amazing what colors nature puts on to make the world we happen to inhabit appealing…Walking along the trail in the simulated paradise I couldn’t help but notice that lots of eyes were not stuck to the breathtaking colors…but to their earthly, but human, counterparts…not colorful in their own, but nonetheless, appealing to them…must have been the shapes.
In the serenity of it all, being so close to the orchids, I tried to sniff their famous sent. The colors were tearing my artistic soul apart! I had to match, in my egoism, their visual attraction, with its olfactive equivalent…I found a moment when no eyes were prying, and got closer, closer, I could touch the thick, lush, spotted masterpiece! No hands drew near, though, the sign is clear “do not touch!”. I comply with reasonable requests. Usually…I took a deep breath, and another, filling my lungs with the…plain, humid, slightly mossy air…I opened my eyes…It cannot be! No scent? I tried another one. Another one. One more! The beautiful creatures were staring their colors back at me, silent, still, unwilling to please…
“They’re captive, that’s why the scent is less accentuated” someone said behind me. “They will adapt to the habitat, but gradually lose their scent by the second year in captivity”. Captivity? Habitat? How do they even know? A flash of not so recent memories struck me. And I understood. We all adapt. We don’t even know how much we comply with our newly, well provided, extremely well mimicked habitats…until that day when a perfect stranger looks at us and says “You have no scent, I’m afraid”…
I don’t know if nature lets captive flora regain its full attributes, but I sure hope the dormancy of our restrain, once disturbed, will not have wiped out our revival skills…At least I hope my scent is not dead…just bottled up until it can be free to enchant, without the fear it might be overpowering…’Till that day, in the silence of the grove, sleep my soul, sleep…it’s not yet time to bloom again…
It’s almost never what it seems…
Often times mankind creates societal shelves, boxes up all the subjects who remotely match up the respective description, and stows them together for as long as they’ll be able to stand each other… before they either get out of that box, and into the next one, kick someone out of the box, or, worse, kill someone…that didn’t much happen in the past, but with the economy today, the continuous stress, and giving up on personal values just to have more chances to keep “that job”, we will see it happen more and more…
Take John Doe, for example. He was such an icon of society for so long! He represented the ordinary, nothing much special about, easy to fit in and deal with, kind of pawn. You could use him for anything, he would make a great puzzle piece in anyone’s plan. Nowadays there aren’t too many puzzles left, though…and John Doe had to make himself desired, kinda’ like putting on a new shiny coat of paint, to make himself more attractive to his employers…’cause there are so many of him, and he must stand out in the crowd if he is to keep “that job”. He changed his name accordingly. He now goes by Jon Dow, more appealing and intriguing at the same time, and not at all resembling the “old” one. More chances to be noticed. He put a lot of words on his resume. He “linkesin”, tweets and facebooks every day. What an improvement! A new man!
But at a closer look, Jon without H is still the old John, you can see the paint job showing the bare spots that he forgot to cover in his quest for the fast transformation…Must be all those self-worth books that he browsed through instead of really reading. Or maybe those books are written by other Jons, and the paint is still wet on them, too…
It’s a strange new world. It’s hard to find you sea legs in this mass of watery filler…if you can ever do that, that is! But, at the end of the era, when looking back at our own history, shouldn’t we be proud to tell our grandchildren who we were, what we stood for, and how we build their parents to follow in our footsteps? Is this concept overrated yet?
I guess I’ll contemplate the shallow mirage, artificially created in the middle of chaos…and try to always remember that my paint may be older, but the colors are original. And hope that there are more of “me” out there that will teach their children to be true, and valuable, and a little versatile, too…after all, we all want the best for our kids, and that includes them being able to survive this new age…
