Moments as pictures

Moments as pictures filling spaces in my mind. A history of observation from a unique perspective unmatched anywhere. I am but a catalogue of my experiences. Each interpretation flawless and impenetrable by external criticism. Golden sunsets and perfect skin. Burning fires and witnessed sins. All formed by the same light that has created your reality. I think of frivolous things, like if I might see a map of the world with every footstep of mine recorded. What would that look like. And how many degrees of separation are between the little old Chinese man running the local confectionery and I. What would my life be like if I replaced one small detail. Would there be any change if I had not bought that shirt or if I ordered fish instead of pasta. Would I still be here if I went back in time and consciously chose every other option along my way. It's not regret see but curiosity. Regardless it makes being present so difficult. I wonder if I could photograph every moment I crossed paths with a dangerous person...how long would that album be..would I be surprised by any of them, all of them? But I digress, hard to focus but easy to digest.
So then am I avoiding something. I am not here or "there" (referring to the future). I am back there. My favourite thing is watch and recognize passion. Not in myself of course but in those around me. Not in envy but awe. I love seeing people commit so deeply and without reserve. I have a naive notion that they are all so sure of themselves. Having unlocked some secret box or discovered some hidden treasure. It is not the work ethic I lack...it is the motivation...or inspiration. You can only live vicariously for so long before you wake up, lost. So worried maybe that I may have stumbled on my life's work had I just done A, B, or C. Maybe I choose the wrong way and that is why I am misplaced. But I have been wandering for so long I can not find my way back to start again. But then again there is nothing stopping me from finding that same future from right here. By building my own bridge, digging my own tunnel or cutting my own path forward. Why do I always want everything to be so neat. Looking for life's mulligan. Life's a messy thing whether I am or not.
I also conclude that there are those who travel aimlessly. These people I think I may envy. For to live without haunting thoughts or fearless drive, this is what I admire. I imagine a blithe disregard for the wall of rules I have built in my heart. Successful gratified being. Like zombies taking in what they need in the moment and almost completely unstoppable. Not a wasted moment of worry, only existence in it's purest form.
This paragraph was to be for all those whom could shoulder my blame but I am so over it. I own this moment. Life is good. I have gotten exactly what I have put into it. It is not over yet and everyday I meet fantastic loving people with good hearts and honest souls. Some as confused as I am, many an example for me. But it is in the end- my movie. My photographic equation that leaves me standing hear as the answer. I  own the magic sweet spots of my life. Some days I am just grateful to have a memory beyond what I imagine a squirrels to be. Past the knowledge of where I have stashed my nuts is an excess of smells and sounds and sights. It is my fathers talent and my mothers heart, the smell of Nana's house and the time I sat motionless watching a ship sail by. There are the fall leaves and that girl's laugh from first year college. The smell of oil paint and burning wood and lilacs and chocolate rocks. Cheap Christmas tinsel and the love of a stray cat. The warmth of my husband huge hand more rugged 23 years later. Little toes and angels song. The causes, and leg warmers and cartoons and curlers and magazines and hope and grapefruits and more. So much more.

in love with two

I have the perfect marriage. By no one's standard but my own. But there is a catch. I am madly in love with two men. My husband and my father. Together they are the perfect partner for me. Naturally I can not imagine a life without the father of my children but truthfully, based purely on logistics, I can not have them both forever.
I must ask my dad to train me in all the ways of peace, in the moment, in myself. If ever I should lose him I fear that I will lose all that is magic too. I may stop believing in fairies and elves. I may forget the big picture of the universe and our small scientific place in it. I may not stop time to imagine I was a bird riding the wind. What if I should forget I was a child, a daughter, someone who was loved as much as I love my babies. I think I shall forget what true perseverance is. Walls may become taller and puddles may become wider and deeper. Life may seem so lifeless.
And yet because of his belief, not mine, I will be sure to see him in the wind, and in the marvel of a hummingbirds wings. I will know he has not stopped working his magic but he has finally become it. I will believe that his feathers are spread across the sky and that for eternity he is riding the wind.
So this is a reminder to love who you have before you forget what they mean to you. I only hope I can inspire my children in such an extraordinary way. I slowly store a little strength away everyday to draw on when that fateful day comes. I should need an endless well of it. And I suppose that is why I was given him. My husband the rock. He may not believe in fairies, although he plays along, but he is the strongest well of giving I have ever seen.
Now don't even get me started on my mother.... love now, don't be foolish. And don't feel like it's too late. If you missed your chance with someone do not swim in regret and lose but use that gift to love who's left there holding your heart, helpless and hopeful to see you smile again.

Why does it rhyme...

Why does it rhyme and when did that start? I have little control of my thoughts as they transfer to word and  spread like an undeserved grey sky of nothingness. Repeating similar themes, solving endless amounts of self indulgent pity. I struggle to solve the same blank puzzle every hour on the hour. Then I choose to burden the innocent with the truth of plight. Said baggage is truly weightless and empty and in all honesty unclaimed. Let's be honest, by comparison there is so little to fret over. Mountains of grammatically incorrect misspelled rants on nothingness. Speaking to no one of no lesson or valid moral. But it helps me, and holds me and sometimes rocks me to sleep. Have you placed your head in the lap of release lately? Have you let your dreams comb through you hair and then rest heavy with the release of thoughtless sleep? I know you, because you are me. With the same abandoned security. Every easter chick turns into an ugly adult that is all but eaten by the world. I cracked a thousand eggs myself today. It's the complete fragility of life in your hand. Stolen. I'd head to the core if I knew what that was for me. Destined to want and not do. To think all is still possible. To fear fearlessness. But I've seen my opposite and she looks tired. No further ahead in the truth of life. Pulled along by the green with the hope of early retire. Ironically we know she can never stop working. As I can never stop wondering. Wandering. Thanks for the thought, my rhyme was like a tick, something I could not unstick. It lingers still and will visit I'm sure but for now I am free of it's demand on me. One down...one thousand to go.

Silence of the deafening kind.

Frozen standing in my mind.
Silence of the deafening kind.
A perfect balance of right and wrong.
Shamelessly aware of where I belong.

No angst or worry or dirty air,
No shooting pain with every stair.
Liberated thought in a sea of blue,
Abandoned search for all that's true.

Self protected and bolted in,
resisting all my gypsy sin.
Back to back I grab my friend,
He holds me tight and blocks the wind.

Look at us now, pulling the plow,
defeated and not giving up somehow.
The warmth of the sun on his aging face,
maybe we can survive this place.

Just then a shake befalls the ground.
my heart in my throat begins to pound.
Letting go, of I don't know,
going where the wind blows?

Strong leaves grow close and shelter me.
At last I have a friendship tree.
I am my own worst enemy.
They unwilling provide bounty.

And then the backbone falls apart,
resorting to it's likely art.
But we hold firm, and decide to check,
Where that leaves us...I don't know yet.