I’ve been sitting here for a couple minutes, wondering what to write. This happens to me once in a while, but then, I just start typing, and the words automagically start appearing on the screen. I’m never too sure where they are taking me to, they just end up, taking me. I usually have something on my mind, but sometimes, it’s just a rambled clump of mixed up emotions, twisted in with the usual tantalizing transformations that take me hither and thither, across my own private Idaho. No one knows where I am going, and no one knows where I have been, and that usually includes yours truly. Grin.
How do we sort out all the things spinning around our heads anyway? How do we work through all the possibilities, all the trials, all the misguided mindful adventures, all the stepping stones that lead us across a never ending pond full of unstable lily pads and floating froggie logs? How do we know what to expect next? How do we figure it all out?
As I have consistently grown older, I have consistently opened my heart more and more to let in, what I feel is the trusting hand of God. There was a considerable amount of time in my life when I didn’t give Him a second thought. I just lived my life, and it was all good, or so I thought. I didn’t think about faith, or religion, or pray for much of anything. I just kept on keeping on, unguided, with wild abandon.
Do you see me now? Can you see the real me? Do I sound like Roger Daltry? Am I behind blue eyes? I’m pretty sure they’re still hazel, but then again, I’m consistently changing.
As I have grown, boy, oh boy, how I have grown. No one told me that after I finished growing up, I would start growing, out. Eeeeesh! As I grew up, I grew into something totally different than I expected. I grew older, and I grew even older still. Do I fall under that category that with age, comes wisdom? I’m not too sure, but I do know that half of it is true, because I am definitely getting older, and grayer, and shorter. Yes, that six foot four dude is now about six foot three, or maybe even shorter. Gulp. I feel like Benjamin Buttons for crying out loud.
Well, here I am, older, perhaps wiser, assuredly grayer, and I can probably honestly say that I am more experienced. Heaven knows, with all of the things I have done wrong, gotten wrong, screwed up, mixed up, banged up, broken in two and trashed, I should know better by now, right? Can I have a hell to the ya? I can’t hear you!
Ok, then. Be that as it may, I should probably be moving on, after all, it is a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world, right? I mean, just look at all the chaos that spins this blue marble around.
Trailing back, and, there we are again.
I always wondered when I was young how in heck I was going to be able to grow old. I wondered how I would be able to fake all of the wisdom that I could see in the older folks. I wondered how I would ever possibly turn into an adult, knowing full well that I was having hard enough of a time figuring out how to be a kid. How could I get away with it? How could I fool all of, you? How oh how oh why on earth would I think I could fool some of the people all of the time? I mean, look at you. You don’t really look like the type of people who can be fooled all of the time, well, umm, ok, maybe you, and you, and yup, you too, just because you are noticeably hopeless, but the rest of you, no frikkin way!
But then again, I also figured out that a lot of you were, or are in the same boat that I was in. You all were wondering away, the same as I, about all of it, and how it was ever going to be able to fall into place.
It did fall into place, with me, and all of you, stumbling into the room, right behind it. Taa-Daa! Here I am! Instant adult, just add a few spins around the clock! That’s all it takes, just a little time. Ok, a whole truck load of time. A kitten ka Boodle, full of time. All of the time, and then some. Pink Floyd had it right. Fritter and waste the hours of life away. Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town. My Red Ball Jets had a hole in them. Probably from all of that kicking, or dragging my feet while riding my Schwinn Stingray.
So many sneakers. So many holes in the heels. So many broken laces and folded under tongues.
I guess if you lined up all of the shoes and sneakers and boots and sandals and slippers and whatever my feet fit into through all of my years, the line of footwear would be incredibly long, and I would look pretty old, or at least as old as my feet look.
Now then, let’s see.
What can I possibly write about now?