SORRY FOR THE MESS

Seventeen years she is. Where did that time go? Good intentions. A plan with forgotten goals and deadlines lay waste. Life happened and here I sit listening to the cars behind me. Wind cause the trees to sway and my goose bumps to raise. Vonda Shepherd has given way to Le Roi Est Mort, Vive Le Rois.

Sun warms my face and I’ve inhaled the prana. My chakras spun and I concentrate on UVs kissing my face on the cool brisk morning. Eyes closed imagining what she is doing today.

I am asking why. . .I am asking why. . .I don’t need an answer. I am just asking why. These are verse of Enigma on the Windows Media Player. I am asking why

A quiet prayer is sent to her. As the haunting chants of Gregorian monks and Rave beats intermingle, I feel very La Femme Nikita-ish. A picture in my mind of a different time. My prayer will be heard. Just don’t know if I will like the answer. It will undoubtedly be what I need.  Hope that Forgiveness follows and that Regret never to return. Still the buzz of the Blackberry wakes me. This annoying buzz disrupts my place of bliss and music-filled meditation in the sunroof opened Civic.

Closing my eyes to the Massari morning. Closing my eyes as the middle aged man completes his third lap around the second soccer field. In my mind I replay the Qijong. The Phoenix rising. The Monk looking over the moon. See it, Be it.

The UV rays warm me as I type blindly hoping this fifth attempt to catch the flow of this stream consciousness. I am a kayaker in the rapids. I’ve transformed into a new swimmer in the drink. With no floatie I struggle to my head above water. Trying to be effortless yet weighted down. Without the vest of air to keep afloat, I struggle drowning , gasping for air and taking in chlorinated pool.

That rising to the sky and the feet planted to the ground is tearing. Its messy. A part wants me to rise to the clouds; another has me landlocked. Anchored to what, I don’t know.

My creativity battles with the physicalness and baseness. Body and mind are in discord. Electric blue in change, yet the schism continues. Both are right so here I sit, Motionless and a Juggernaut. Struggling for Amistad “Free”, yet knowing that I’m Excalibur obligated, “King and Land are One.” Promises were made and at the moment it can’t be. For now that is what I say, For Now..

Dreams must be met with work. It must be more than ideal. Feet needs to the ground. The place where the rubber hits road is where destiny manifests. A part wants to overlook the Devil’s Punch Bowl for the first time (again). A part needs to ride the recumbent  With or without the Ipod. Jpeg trophies are missed.  Many DVDs remains unwatched. Room needs to be cleaned and laundry to be washed.

Choices need to be made, so I will flesh them out in this Fifth attempt to complete this post. No meaning just the exercise. Perhaps that is the meaning? Fumbling away unfocused and motionless. As the winds come early I find the need for a sweater and direction. This stream has me doing a dance of counteracting currents. I am the bag of American Beauty.

This dance is not pretty. Feels Modernish, but with meaning. It is not always pretty nor does it always have life changing meaning.

This dance is a thought cacophony. No direction. This is the place of percolating. Where different color beads are tried. This is where the mix happens. This place meaning remains unknown. . .for now. So I will finish her and let this be the work for the day. 

Gotta go on, Someday.

For now, Someday that is all I have.

Seventeen, I apologize for the mess. Won't promise anything, except, Vous etes  mon monde, mon universe. mon couer.