I am called to be if nothing else, true to myself. I have been in a hurry my whole life, intense my whole life. I also have more than the usual difficulty taking direction as it is offered from the ordinary sources. I am not the fellow next door.
I am not even the mainstream guy in my own fields of action.
The internet has opened up this arena for anyone of any stripe. This is good for me. I get to publish. I don’t have to cater to anyone to do it. I am not expecting anything either. It only costs me time. Because it was a possibility, I got astoundingly creative over this last year and a half. I have written over a thousand poems. I have also in this time written and published over five hundred posts. That’s enough. There is no question I am a writer.
I have yearned my life long for a place in the stream of things. I have it now. It turns out I am not seeking the fame I thought I was when I started learning the guitar. I wanted to be that guy sitting in the front with all of you willing to come and see me. I went through an early deep change and that pried me looser from the world by adding a depth to things beyond my imagination. It gave me a path as I strove to answer the question, “what the fuck was that?”
I wound up eventually trying for some sort of ordinary life but I had to take dope and then I had to drink. I kept to my path, my offbeat path. Along the way I got married but chose no children. I partnered with another man on some endeavors and for six years I strove to break free into an alternative structure, all the while also developing a more mainstream career as a designer for industry. That alternative structure would have connected my livelihood with my spiritual walk, or so I hoped. It never happened. I am not really a peer of my fellow designers.
Then I sobered up through AA and found an arena of service. I don’t need to go on with all this but by the time I came to blogging I was no longer young at all. I have nothing to prove and only do this because I am called. I am who I am.
Like A Weasel
What am I to do?
I think I know what I want
to do with it all
and I try, find walls
too high and wide, no way through,
so I do what can
be done, scurry like
a weasel down the rat hole
to do this thing, while
I live as true as
possible everywhere
else on the planet.
May 11, 2009 7:52 AM
Contraction
1 week ago
Oh yes, its all about living true is it not. I have missed you :) xxxx
ReplyDeleteThere has been a desert crossing, a parched land. In the distance I have heard rumors and whispers, as if the very land was talking, as if a tribal group on the mountain was working the didgeridoo facing another way, not my way, leading someone in, not me.
ReplyDeleteAh well, I trudge, I trudge.
Then a single drop of rain touches my cheek.
God blesses me with you.
Welcome Michelle, I suspect I match you, missing you.
Sometimes the way home is a jagged path...*hugs*
ReplyDeleteOr it is a warren dug beneath the light by an alien species long gone? My weaselly soul depends on the digs of others.
ReplyDeleteJust last night after posting I watched the science channel, a show on ants. They decided to check out a structure of a leaf cutter ant colony. They did this by filling it up with a gruel of cement. I fear they killed the colony. It took huge amounts of cement and must have felt like a never ending task.
Then they dug as if it were an archeological dig and they had to dig a very large expanse of grassland (if you are the one doing the digging) and down about 25 feet too. They revealed an amazing structure, and they called it a city-state. There were air intake vents and carbon dioxide releasing vents. There were a myriad of freeways throughout and also leading out to the land of forage. The structure was far too complex and organized to doubt intelligence of some kind at some level, taking place over a great swath of the soil beneath the African grassland, created by tens of thousands of members of a single colony.
Then in contrast, another fellow demonstrated the same concept taking place in an acorn, which housed an entire colony of perhaps eighty members of a smaller and less dense species of ant.
There are different points of view on what to do here on the planet.
In winter, the weasel is the most beautiful animal i share my yard with. Pure white (with a black tip on its tail). You.
ReplyDeleteI have a tail? With a black tip?? Am I expressive with it? As you may well know with cat language, the tail doesn't always move in a conscious pattern. Do you know my secrets then? Can I trust you or are you going to steal my heart away? Does this matter?
ReplyDeleteYou march to your own drummer. Those kind beat the best paths and ones I follow with tambourine in hand. I scurry with intensity also. My friends tell me I "hurry up and wait" as I am always early.
ReplyDelete