"There are things that I would like to say to you. But I don’t know how." Oasis
Ah, poetry. This is not morbid to me. It’s beautiful. I admire the full-throated blast of another busy day, and sometimes the quiet rainy humming of yet another.
Love is that kind of a song if you think about it, but it’s more like a busy butterfly than a dog shuffling along beside you. It comes at you or sailing over to you and delights you by its magical presence, but it’s much too busy within its pure moment to stay with only you. It has no loyalty except to itself. This isn’t malice. It is a colorful gift brought by the wind and the sun and wrapped in the hair of certain perfumed flowers. You can open it if you want to, and you should, you’ll find that you just can’t keep what’s inside all to yourself without smothering the heart out of it. That would be cruel, and unkind, and unwise. It would disrupt the flow of the melody being played and kill the essence of the spirit of its freedom. Pretty tricky stuff, huh? You have it when you accept it for what it is and don’t try to own it. Just be with it, be thankful for it, and respect its right to be with you as you are, too. That’s right—you are a gift right back! Imagine that--matching gifts! When that happens, look out world, you’ve just placed an atomic bomb in the hands of some innocent school children. Let’s hope they don’t blow us all up before they learn to use it wisely—for energy and healing and not for the destruction of the world or revenge. Time will tell.
Time always tells. Time has told me my body has been a good friend, but we are growing old together. I may need to pay a little more attention to what my friend is saying to me than I used to. I never used to question the need for physical strength for instance. If it called for it, I applied it, but now my body is saying maybe we should think about this before we attempt to lift that heavy box, that resting boulder, that VW Beetle. Perhaps getting up on a ladder is not as simple as it once was in our balancing younger days. Things like that. I’m not in the circus any longer—at least not that kind that a young man might find himself suddenly in. No. My pace is so much slower, even when mowing the grass, but my delight I guarantee you is as quick as ever when it comes to exploring my feelings about being here in this world with all of you.