They are just a memory.
I posted a photo of a flower from my yard that I took a few weeks ago. If I showed you one from today, which I might go out and take later, after the light of day comes, the flower will be unrecognizable.
Because it is dead. It has gone to flower heaven.
Although it will never come again, its ancestors will appear, next year.
Isn’t that marvelous?
I will dig out the dahlia bulbs and collect the zinnia seeds. I look forward to doing that. That is something tangible and real, in this increasingly unreal world.
Today, I am not going on the world’s path. I am choosing my own. The lyric to my song for today is, “Make the world go away. Get it off of my shoulders.”
Not bad, is it? For I need this day to construct my own life, one of value, joy, love and laughs.
I just wrote Winston’s post for today. He talked about how, although, dogs sniff butts, a lot of humans have their heads up their butts.
Uh. I think he was referring to me, moi, the grand champion of nincompoops.
It’s true. I have been. I have found myself not likening people, just saying that in general. I noticed every annoying thing out there, and I took it as a personal affront to my sanity, feelings, life.
I get like that, sometimes. It is usually when I am between projects and my head tends to go up my butt and look around in darkness. The world and everyone in it becomes too much for me.
I am a purpose-driven person, and when I have lost my purpose, due to things that go on with an aging body or when my creative spirit is diminished or challenged, and if the world is behaving badly, I turn into a nincompoop.
I just do.
So far, it has always been temporary. I find my way. Nut life’s hurdles tend to take on a life of their own and mysteriously, delusionally, grow higher and higher and instead of adjusting my stride, I tend to stop at the hurdle and say, “What the hell?”
Even with writing … writing for you and for myself, I wonder, what is the point? Does my writing serve a purpose for anyone but myself, and if it only for myself, is that enough? And if writing for others isn’t my purpose, what is it? And have I stayed too long at the writing fair?
And that question or thought, kills me.
It just does.
So, then I wonder, what is my purpose? Am I still bringing people together or am I only servicing my own need to write?
And then I cry a few tears and walk around questioning the value of my existence to the world.
I even told Nick, and a couple of friends, that right now, I feel a bit lost.
That is not usually, me.
Maybe it is because I have been putting the world on my shoulders. There are moments when I feel like I have got to do something to help turn this world around. And good Greek yogurt, I have tried.
And it hasn’t worked.
I have learned a lot, even with my head sort of up my butt.
People can be tough. Ideology runs deep. discussions are very hard, especially in this nameless, faceless, cyber-world, but also in person, in real life.
It takes a lot of energy to try to understand other people and not cast your own illusional and delusional shadow on them, or they, on you.
So, there are days when I want to retreat hold up the white flag and say, “I surrender.”
I surrender to the world as it is, to you as you are and to me, as I am. Let the chips or words or bombs, fall where they may.
And then that little voice in my heart and mind, says, no, don’t give up. Don’t give up on the world, the people, or yourself. Be hopeful. Be of good cheer. Do what you believe is right … follow a path of light, instead of darkness.
I think that is God talking to me. It is the spirit of life and the living and the hope that next year, next spring, the flowers will burst forth from the seeds and the bulbs, and color will return to this world, this world that can, at times, appear dark, cold, and lonely.
So, if I get too jaded or contrary or sullen about the world, pinch me, or better yet, pat me on the back and say, “Don’t worry. We are in this, together. And tomorrow, whether there is a collusion or a collision of different ideas, the stars will shine through the night, the sun will rise in the east and Winston will want his belly rubbed.
Blessings, joy, love and peace,