Sunday, February 26, 2017

Am I turning into someone I'm not?

The view from where I stood.

Some weeks are difficult not just because of the effort and the work they require, but because they throw everything you've been moving toward into question. Not an epiphany, more like an antiphany. A "this is everything that I don't want." Those are actually harder to swallow than plain everyday disappointments, especially if you've moved steadily in one direction with purpose. So you find yourself thinking you've erred, and erred terribly. Have I ignored the real me, mistaken myself for someone else? Have I sought security at the risk of any chance of satisfaction? Of freedom? I don't know what I feel right now, and I'm bothered. I will be 54 soon, and I STILL haven't found a way to make a life for myself in any real capacity, and still retain my passion for rising in the morning. Is it really only a choice of prison or starvation? Today, I feel a little defeated. I don't quit easily, but I'm in crisis. Where do I belong? What the hell can I do to feel that I've made reasonably correct life choices and feel enough passion to grow in that direction? What am I missing, what clue? Or am I so unable to know anything about myself that all I'm capable of doing is stumbling around in the dark? But, my gut is telling me what it's telling me, and I suppose I'll have to give it due attention.

Am I on the wrong path?

I took a walk out in the sun, put my feet on the soil in search of some sort of magic, mystery made of grass and loam and soil and seeds. I listened to what the wind whispered, but feel no more enlightened than I did before I struck out into sunlit solitude. I feel marginally better, so that's not nothing. I took photos of the beautiful West Virginia landscape, a lovely place even in the dusk of winter, a month before spring begins to assert itself. I've always felt the ghosts of something moving openly across the spaces here and seek them out willingly. But I've never been afraid of ghosts, have I? It's the living and breathing that chill my soul.


It's kind of buggy out here...



A melancholy meander


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