It is so nice to sit here writing by the fire on a little candle stick lighting up the room. The only light except my clock and the computer screens and the desktop, or whatever you call it. The core of the root of the computer, that makes all this happen, that makes my creativity process and come to life. I understand there is a certain thing about life that may seem slippery, that may cause us to know that sometimes there is a bowling alley away from our heads and we just want to sink into it. We just want to run and slide down it until we end.
To believe that we could be what we are meant to be… Creators, perceiving the world through its own eyes. Living ourselves in full beauty in discovery in compassion and love for all. In peace among heroes, among strangers, among boa constrictors, all who land and squirm and sink in the ships and mysteries of our days. I want to believe that writing is something that will flow with me to the grave. I want to believe that my dragon in the swamp with its sharp teeth longing for a part of my meat for breakfast will discover my longing for sex and that sometimes I just want to party and sometimes I want to have somewhere within me, in the heart, that makes me feel more alive and alive and alive and alive and alive and alive and actually present with the being-ness of what I am.
I looked in the mirror today and I thought, for the first time perhaps, what it would be like to look old? To be an old person, in look. and I started to see my face as an old man, and what wrinkles I would have and from what. What would be my character, my essence? How it would shine through. What my hair would be like, long or short? How I would look, my eyes still young, but my body old on the outside, decaying. Slower, but happier, would I be?
Would I move freely and without care for things that do not bother me tomorrow, that are so laughable that I may share with you now their secrets of being, why they are, these little mysteries, wanderings of the mind. What they are for and what we can do to help ourselves live with them in more ways than one, because chance is so much fun and I wouldn’t want you to ever stop changing, because you know, that’s what life is. That’s another word for it. Change. And to think that life doesn’t change is to think that you could put water in a hole and it won’t drain. I’m hoping not to control you, but to watch with careful, brilliant, sharp eyes, who you are, now and in every moment. Like an old man would see a child playing and be wise to know that this change is taking place in this child, in his wonder for life.
That every moment is a precious one for the imagination to unfold, to be bold, to make mistakes. Fantastic mistakes and every once in a while we will not be blind, but open our eyes to the child inside, who still plays. Who laughs out loud in public, who might be seen in public with a bad hair cut, with boogers in his nose, with clothes with mud and sand all over them, and waves of tears in his eyes, with crying moments and angry ones and peed pants and silly sounds and unforgettable smiles. Or just a duulll look that says, man, life is beautiful, I am so impressed with life right now. Everything in it. Everything it can be, everything I can imagine it is not right now, I know it is, because I’m imagining it, and that is, and that is so special. And that everything, no matter what it is, it is amazing, just because it is. Just because we are and I can see we are because we are. I can say that we are because I am, whatever I is, this ball of memory, of impressionism, of surfacing emotions and training notions. What do I fear? What do I know? What do I see that is new? What do I want to carry out of this world? The same thing I saw coming in. My hands. My sensation of compassion for all that the parent who brought me into their arms went through to have me be.