the seeds, the trees

"But once in a while there's a great dynamite-burst of flying glass and brick and splinters through the front wall and somebody stalks over the rubble, seizes me by the throat and gently says, 'I will not let you go until you set me, in words, on paper.'" – Richard Bach

Month: May, 2015

All the different ends

I’m walking on this path, the first path I found when I woke up that day.

As I’m walking I pass many other paths, some I can peer down and see to the end and their ends are beautiful, blue gold in a breezy light.

Others are twisted and dark and I can’t make out their ends.

So I walk my path, the one I found when I woke up, too afraid and hopeful to veer off.

Eventually my path ends, and I stand in the desert.

There is this

There are cloves of garlic, peeled, on the cutting board next to an onion and a cabbage. Ready to be transformed. They have waited all day as I smoke outside and sip whiskey from the bottle on the window ledge in the kitchen. I am working from home. I put them back.

It’s time to stop now, says the small, sensible part of my brain. The only part that cares about me.

I can’t, says the oversized brute who thinks only of itself.

I like this, it says. This feels good for now.

Drunks and drug addicts don’t get enough credit, you know. Do you want to know what it feels like to live in the moment? Every moment.

What I need right now is this. Not for tomorrow and not for yesterday.

It is what my brain needs to stop existing in the past and in the future and to be here, with me.

It is the only way to stop seeing black holes.