Sunday, January 12, 2014

Be Wild, Be Impromptu

Some days it appears, to the astute viewpoint of a dear friend, that I live my life in a reversing fashion: settling the whimsical desires of youth at an earlier age of life. Trading establishment and the desire, that many adults achieve through the hoops and hurdles in life, to be "settled and stable," relinquishing adventurous offerings of the midlife crisis to just that, a midlife point.

In remarks about her father, a dear friend shared with me that he was wishing he did this or that differently when he was younger - feeling regretful in his age. I understand that hindsight is seen as 20/20; or, as I like to say, 50/50: fifty percent of one or fifty percent of the other. Often, as we see through the lens of age and maturity, we wished we would have seen clearer, chosen the other fifty percent of possibilities; traded our cards for those cards, instead.

With this type of thinking, what does it do for us? And, how do we go about feeling empowered in our current course? How, then, are we thus removed from our current stasis, and ability to act in stability?

I feel trusting, perhaps honest, about the future. My hair cut is not going to change; I don't imagine buying some piece of property in the islands somewhere (unless it is really as good as it sounds), nor do I see myself jumping on the brakes and yanking the wheel to try and reverse the course my life is taking.

I say, what is, is!

Spontaneity, something I revel in. With roots tied in loving friendships and seasonal jobs, I always seem to have an avenue of escape if needed. Dualistically choosing a fitting fifty percent over the other. Perhaps this gets at our primal roots as humans - always keeping a safety valve in sight or mind.

Ever wonder why you prefer to sit with your back towards the wall and your eyes on the entrances? Why you find yourself distrusting, and feeling anxious, in a new situation you know to be safe? Chances are favorable that you are experiencing some primal upheaval within. Connecting with an innate survival mechanism that was born, not bred, into you - regardless of your conscious mind.

It is something I have been drawn to explore more of: why I choose a parking spot for the van in a quiet corner; the bike ride home from work, sans headlamp, on a cold, starry night; the flirtatious and not committing association I have with stuff I own; and, the lifestyle I desire to live, placing me in the wilds more than the tamed existence of everyday human this, human that.

This to me feels like the nutshell in life that I trace with curious fingers - sometimes day after day. I am not waiting for some magical unseen point where my boiling point has been reached and I scream out, like the tea kettle upon hot stove, lashing and leaping from one end of the spectrum to the other for sake of expression. I desire to express now, here! Each day of living, loving and breathing!

I acknowledge deep roots with something. Often times my familial roots give me the brazen feeling to branch out, knowing that I have a loving support system to catch me, should I fall from the tree tops. And, even though the pile of leaves looks enticing to fall into, I would rather acknowledge its potential padding, than need feel it. Perhaps this is how I judge myself, how I assess where I am, and where I am headed.

A roller coaster ride to some who know me, a thrilling ride worth the admission ticket to others. And, to sit here and read how I seem to flow, I reach a point of perspective, witnessing how my life is easy for me - because I am mostly with just me - and challenging for another in my themed life of undulations.

And then, I channel into something - her - this drawing creature that paws at my heart, pulls at my physical form to return to; a saturated and steeped-in something, continually mysterious existence, that I cannot deny; the underlying, fundamental love of mine that feeds my branching out: the wild Wilds.

And for this, I am grateful.


Saturday, January 11, 2014

"Life Marches On"

In the country
The farms and the orchards swell
With oranges and peaches
A little bit of truth as well

In the city
Politicians beat their drum
All the suits come a runnin'
It's all degeneration

Life Marches On
Life Marches On
Life Marches On

In the country
Everybody thinks we're dumb
But we built the fire
Why'd you come and get you some?

In the city, skyscrapers touch the sky
What's the use in being so high up
When it's only gonna bleed you dry?

Life Marches On
Life Marches On
Life Marches On

In the country
The stars shine brighter
Than in the city
In the country
In the country

In the city
I turn on the radio
Only leaves me down with the question:
What happened to our generation?

Life Marches On
Life Marches On
Life Marches On
Oh yeah, yeah
Life Marches On
Oh yeah
Life Marches On
Life Marches On
Life Marches On

Sunday, January 5, 2014

Warm tea in Winter's time

The escaping vapor of heat from the tea cup sitting upon the table swirls into the warmed inside air of the cafe. I recognize this familiar pattern of vapor's levity upward, seen in the chilly air of winter. Laying in the back of the van this morning, captivated and content in my prone form, smothered in a warm down sleeping bag, observant of the twirling vapor trail issuing from my mouth - existing in a space of being, just being.

An hour later, I feel in the midst of this space still, with no definable future boundaries, only a beginning point to the space; perhaps another marker in the sand, so-to-speak. Call this an epoch and I would not argue with you. Call it a session with trail and error and I would feel fully supportive of that notion.

A month-long relationship is now over. Not seeming to find a middle ground, from which I was willing to compromise with, I chose to walk away. Inevitably, all things end. This is nothing unusual to admit, though, do I take comfort in this thought of endings?

The snow of winter's time falls outside, light in its dusty dance downward. Fueled by a slight wind from the Northwest, I admit privilege of being inside and out of the van, my winter home, for this space of time before an afternoon work shift. With this freedom, I feel content - something I know to be easy for me - when I am with just myself. At my mother's remarks last evening on the phone, I recognize the sentiment I take in being with myself - a comfort I've watched develop conversely with age. And, I acknowledge how that can shift - though, am I too particular to shift when the situation seems right?

I often listen to music when writing, finding comfort in the out-pour of what is my current mental reality. Whilst composing today, Rain Song, by Led Zeppelin came onto my music player. The last set of lyrics holds me, pulls me into a world of thought:

These are the seasons of emotion and like the winds they rise and fall;
This is the wonder of devotion - I see the torch we all must hold.
This is the mystery of the quotient - Upon us all a little rain must fall.

Perhaps into a world of cerebral comfort. And, I will not fight it. For, from inside this comfort, I have only to expand out -  and out again - into the world I live in. Smiling and greeting it by its appearance to my heart: a grateful and overflowing cup of privilege! Just like the cup of tea, steaming and welcoming with warmth from the cold. 

For this, I continually feel thankful; I have everything I truly need, and realize the details of desire yet to be worked out, future-tense. 

Thank you for your love and vested interest in my life - again and again.