The Ancient Within

Born an old soul?  I am beginning to see the wisdom of this cliche'.  I am beginning to believe that I was never an innocent child. Hindsight, being all I have, memories of growing up are sparse and the circle of friends just as sparse.  I didn't fit in then, I don't fit in now.

 I am coming to terms with the unpopular mindset of my peers.  At our age, we long for youth; search for it and if it comes in a jar with a money-back guarantee, well gotta have it.

If I started this journey with knowledge far beyond my earthly years, I wonder when I will
use it.  I just started a quest to know more about the year 2020.  Two years' future could be my undoing or unraveling or discovery of the why of me.

Dad called my perspective "common sense", Mom didn't comment, but my grandmother could
speak with me on an adult level from very early on.

Today is much the same.  The not belonging is rather powerful.  The sense that I am alone among
the masses is not scary.  Solitude dwells in chaos and sometimes thrives there.

Understanding that I must elevate to a higher universal vibration, I wait.  I wait and I live out
the days based on this life experience.  I do what I have always done until...and I will know
because the agony in my gut will leave.  The world will not define me and I will exist beyond
boundaries.  Boundaries of prejudice, and physical form.

Already enlightened, tomorrow is full of possibilities.

Awakening the Muse

My fate is sealed. It could be worse.  Free will could delay the inevitable and there I'd be
enjoying my retirement on the reel end of a fishing pole.

I spend countless sleep deprived days waiting for inspiration.  I had it once, published two books in a year.  Now the gray matter is putty.

Where does one go to spark the mental kindling wood? A change of scenery-something beyond the rearrangement of my living room furniture-is what I want. To be physically immersed in the unfamiliar might be my short term goal. A new vocabulary to describe the new environment would
benefit both myself and my readers.

I am not studious by nature or choice, I dabble and try on.  There is no desire to become proficient; there is a drive-indefinable that keeps me questing.  How remarkable to be so old and not know
what or who I want to be when I grow up.  Latent desires are sparked by boredom. I guess
that would not be a surprising revelation by any one who is more comfortable with solitude.

There are unlimited moments of inspiration in both my waking and sleeping selves. We all have
unspoken glimpses of the universe.  Some of us pay attention.  I need to pay better attention.

My desires float on a single word sometimes. Other times, creativity reveals itself through an unexpected shared moment in nature.  Something catches my attention and I have to rely on my memory to reproduce the encounter.  It's remarkable that given the immense clutter in my gray matter, I am able to recall the insignificant interruption.  But, I do eventually.

The muse is stirring and restless.  Her path travels through the recesses of my darkness
and peaks of my luminosity.  My being transforms through her.  You will discover my truth
if you listen.

I want to leave nothing behind but words on a page.  Considering that to be a fairly green
carbon footprint, my legacy will keep me company through my existential journey.  The words
which I borrow and repurpose, as my own, are gifted to the future. Take great care of them
for I was worthy.

Pause

Well, the universe is at me again.  At least I hope so, the alternative would be early dementia which is also a possibility, but I'm optimistic.

My lifestyle has slowed and the minutes can now be extended into moments; sometimes

unexpected, other times anticipated or planned.  These tiny immeasurable units of time define

me and validate the journey.  Knowing that I have traveled with purpose, I welcome the moments

which remind me of who I am.

The pause today, came without fanfare on the warm afternoon breeze.  Windows were open and the fresh air was a welcome respite from the recent deluge of heavy rain.  I smelled hopefulness.

Several months had slipped away and I missed the piano.  I missed the part of myself that used

to play every day.  I wondered what had taken me away from joy.

But joy is subjective and I'm to blame for its banishment. I allowed the complexities of day to day living to interfere and I'm tired.  I welcome interruption of self; I believe in a life fragmented. Living

in pieces, chunks and snippets is freeing.  I'm not advocating for remnants, shreds or merely the lingering remains of a purpose driven life, I'm grateful for the opportunities which come by way of a full stop, deep breathing and choosing to continue on or selecting another path.

Given that mankind follows a patterned existence and is guided by an internal clock tempered

by instinct, perpetuity is optional.  If we choose to limit our routines based on these factors,

we soon run out of that which distinguishes us from the lesser apes. Accepting the belief that

the universe is indefinable and our place in it is transient, makes the opportunity to be awe inspired

so precious and life affirming.

When was the last time you paused in your rush to get to the next whatever?  Do you now regret

that those missed seconds resulted in your not changing? Second guessing yourself and living

with remorse, for not being in the moment, is the fodder for many a great poem.  The what if's

have a tendency to weigh us down.

Challenges can be simply overwhelming. Living and experiencing life are not synonymous.

Perhaps it takes the cumulative missed moments in our lives to make us appreciate the unexpected

interruptions.  Perhaps it takes the unexpected interruptions to make us grateful that there are

more than twenty four hours in our day.