Keep it simple, silly

Monday, October 29, 2007

The bun is in the oven!

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Fluid motion

Trees dance fluid in the breeze, performing as one: spontaneous choreography. The wind blows by me, but I remain steadfast, unmoved. A wall of resistance as a door slams shut in the distance.

I am the defender. Jaw and hands clenched, bracing in readiness for the next attack. I will fight to the finish though the only thing finished will be me. I am the warrior; I am the worrier. I am entrenched in a world of my own design, readying for the battles ahead: the ones I foresee in the strategies I make. The strategies, oh the strategies. I have a plan for every eventuality, plans for the eventualities of eventualities. I see so far ahead that I overlook what is directly ahead, and the plans, the strategies, crumble before my perpetual readiness.

Ready for what? There is no war to be fought. The wind flows through me when I am as free as a tree. There is nothing to win – no grand prize at the end. Indeed, there is no end. Fluid motion is all. Fluid motion.

Wednesday, October 03, 2007

Yellowing leaves

Leaves yellow and drop as the sun fades into winter. These seasons come but four a year. Seasons of the heart change faster. Seasons of the soul … well … some would say there is only one.

They could be right, I don’t know. I will content myself with the yellowing leaves for now. It is not for me to theorise. God knows I’ve tried. I’ve contemplated, drawn diagrams, put words on paper in attempts to understand, and all I’ve learned is the trick of self-confusion.

What works for me, I’ve found, is simply to experience this. Take it in and move on, leave the analysis to the experts, the posturing to the politicians. The less I know, the more I understand; the less I have to say, the greater the freedom. I don’t know what anything means, and I am glad for it. It is easier on the mind not to dwell on what it cannot hope to know. Leaves a little room for the soul to speak, for the silence to sound like peace.

Let the leaves turn. I shall be the spectator, nature the magician, while my soul waits gently in the wings.