I have got nothing but time. “The same old thing” to me would be brand new to you, and yet I can’t slow down. What is that? I’m plagued by this constant sense of urgency. But to my credit, I’ve been doing really good lately. See what I mean? By lately, I meant the past two days. Come ooon. I’ll give you credit if you make this present content last a month. See if you can’t do that.
I traveled somewhere last night. I went on a whim with a heart full what it once felt. The last time we traveled to that place together, actually. But My heart was all that it was. I wasn’t received like before, and people were different. But it was beautiful because it didn’t matter. My heart had grown from before with what it was given and it outlasted the external influences and was finally giving back. Oh– and I learned a few secrets, which is always interesting.
…And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And for a hundred visions and revisions
Before the taking of a toast and tea…
abre tus ojos
Everyone has a drug. Some fix they can’t deny…a certain temptation that likes to toil with their sense of time. Either one eats too much in one sitting without thinking forward enough to temper the immediate craving. Or one does heroin to temporarily avoid past, present and future consequences of any sort. Different things, different effects, all reality-controlling/altering. It’s been agreed upon too many times that Too much of anything is a bad thing.
Which brings me to my fix. I don’t do drugs, I don’t watch TV, I don’t over eat, but I, like most, can’t stay fully present at all times. So I dream. I think of scenario after scenario of ways which my life could be lived, ways I’d like to see it grow. I’ll get stuck on a dream that will last weeks, giving me a natural high and euphoria as it sweeps me out of the present and into a future world that I’ve made up. If I wasn’t so serious about them, it wouldn’t be so hard to come down. I want them to happen so badly that my dream addiction takes life out of the present.
Today I arbitrarily decided that I’ve been getting high on dreams too often lately. I have to ween off of them a little so I can better get there. The present requires much attention. Much attention, for best results, anyway. I do know that for sure.
I want to be as free as the spirits of those who left; Through death-grew conception; New breath and resurrection
Told inside is where the fight lay; And everything one does may not be what he might say
Killers immortalized; We got arms but won’t reach for the skies; Waiting for the Lord to rise
I look into my daughter’s eyes; And realize that I’m gonna learn through her; The Messiah, might even return through her; If I’m gonna do it, I gotta change the world through her
When drunk nights get remembered more than sober ones; Walk like warriors, we were never told to run
The present is a gift
and I just wanna be
I know those feet. They love more to be bare but they’ve become used to the comfort and warmth of coverage, lately. They are so much like you. Give them time, let em be bare and regain their weathered form of protection.
Let them take you.
The road changes every day that we wake. Most of the time we share the driving but sometimes we really don’t know who is actually sitting in the driver’s seat. If it’s me, if it’s you or if it is some other deeper part of me or you, so deep it could be considered another being. A higher being. Or maybe I’m sitting there busy with something else so your steering from the passenger’s seat. Or maybe I’m sitting on your lap in the driver’s seat, you have the peddles and I have the wheel. All I know is that the road keeps changing. Minor changes, but still. Enough to make me wonder if these have any great effect on the destination. We continue forward with a goal. The where of it, unknown. Our present actions all representative of our goal.
There’s just one thing. Your feet. Once they’re ready…we’ll be gone.
It has almost been one year. I feel it approaching like I would the surface above the water line while swimming up to it for a breath of air. My lungs are expanding. We are almost there. While the pitch of your darkness is blinding, the light of your shine is warm and comforting like unmeasurable time, constance. We will always be. I know that now. Be always, whole. Together, apart, whole.
I think we’re big together. Too big to fit in the box we’re in. I’m willing to grant you the freedom every man deserves, and be granted mine in turn. The strife of a man in need of something, whether attainable or not, is unlivable. And I think the peace of a man living a dream is beyond imagination.
My love for you is unending and permanent. The purpose of our togetherness is defined by the love we have for one another and this is why we can only live as necessary.
I’m confused about something. Lately, I have noticed this tendency people have to site confidently what are dreams and what are realities. Where does this need to control what makes each what it is, come from? For oneself, it is necessary, to a certain extent I suppose. But for others? Is it envy, dependence or something else? Actually, I don’t really care what the origin of this tendency is. I don’t think there is an excuse for telling me what is just a dream is and what is really “attainable.” If you are going to tell me out of sincere thought for my well-being and purpose, based on what you know of me, I will gladly listen to your opinion of the options my life can handle. However, I don’t think you know well enough. And I think you design these lines out of selfishness, why else would one doubt? –They wouldn’t.
Don’t let my tears persuade you, I had hoped I wouldn’t cry
But lately, teardrops seem a part of me
Oh, look around you, take a good look
At all the lonely used-to-be’s
Are you sure that this is where you want to be?
I hope it’s not you whose in my way.