Definiiton

Whoa! Slow down...what do you mean I don't know the meaning of "love?" I exclaimed in total silence this afternoon. It was part of a personal conversation I had with my right brain today. You see,
as I have gotten older, my hemispheres have started to divide into a pair of me. They used to work well together. It is simply not that way anymore.

Right brain, left brain are on divergent paths...actually the left brain has stalled and I'm not quite sure if my right hemisphere is near derailment. The mental file cabinet in the cramped office of my mind
is overflowing. What I knew - isn't. What I don't know doesn't seem to fit into the once neatly arranged crib notes of my life.  School is apparently not out.

"Love" is synonymous with too much. "Desire, appetite, fancy, favor, like, liking, partiality, preference, relish, taste, craving, crush, infatuation, longing, lust, yearning, ardor, eagerness, enthusiasm, fervor, zeal, appreciation, esteem, estimation, regard, respect, adoration, adulation, deification, idolatry, idolization, worship, allegiance, faithfulness, fealty, fidelity, loyalty, and steadfastness. Quite a list, isn't it?

Today, I woke up concerned about the direction my heart is going. My compass is cracked and
there is an uneasiness and an imbalance in my footwork. I have hit a crossroads. The one represented by an upturned tarot card. The message has appeared in three readings in separate places by unrelated
psychics.

My left brain reviews the data. My right brain asks, "But how do you FEEL?"  Answer is I don't know.

Universal love is fluid, unconditional and does not require reciprocity. It is a simple concept that humans have misinterpreted forever. Universal love is not disquieting. It does not interrupt your daily life or request penance if forgotten. It is a state of being. Universal love is an awareness and for me,
it comes at a pivotal moment. It is the sign at the fork in the road. Truthfully, it is the sign in the rear view mirror.

I am learning. My teachers walk beside me in the parallel existences of my soul. They are my community. I could not exist without them. I never did.

Homage to the Tao of Pooh

In my head, I own my thoughts-intellectual property in the first-person sense. Thinking is my newest hobby and it is a complicated endeavor.  I have options in the thinking process. Among them are to allow, conceive, consider, deem, esteem, feel, figure, guess, hold, imagine, judge, reckon, suppose and believe.

     What or who I think about and where the thinking takes place further enhances my willingness to devote time to this undertaking. Subject matter is, of course, the catalyst and the antagonist.

     Using the options available, the outcome of my internal dialogue is varied.  Conclusions are elusive and require additional considerations.

     Decisions, solely based on thinking may be the inner voice we so often credit for spontaneous results. I'm guilty of favoring spontaneity. Not planning, however, is not for the faint-hearted.  Doing something, going somewhere without a backup plan is sometimes a questionable approach. I've been lucky.

     My inner voice has a committee. The chairman of the board has the sole veto power and the secretary doesn't keep notes.  There's been no change in board members - ever. There is a new agenda at the most recent gathering of my committee and it has been tabled for further discussions. So, I just sit and wonder what to do and I've been sitting and wondering for a few years. On the agenda is an invitation to the rest of my life. Perfect timing. I am open to suggestions.

     Travel is a given.  Where is a choice. Playing- a distraction and commitment to remaining tied to the familiar is apparently not an option. My committee has a guest speaker who doesn't like waiting in the outer office and is running out of patience while the debate continues.

     Fear and disbelief are powerful emotions. Why me? Why now? These two questions compete for equal consideration. Think, think, think too much and I'll be the next understudy to Winnie the Pooh.

There are believers and skeptics in the metaphysical community. I live with both; part of my dual personality, I guess. Seems the bipolar disorder is revisiting. The manic says "jump off the cliff"; the depressive replies "there's a frayed rope in the parachute".

     This thinking and not planning is exhausting. Certainly I would have thought (pun intended) that I would reach that light bulb moment. But no- I have to learn and practice what I learn-then I must teach and eventually enlighten.  I am finding more than a casual interest in otherworldly possibilities and balance this piqued curiosity with more than a passing glance on the topic of ancient aliens.  The topic has credence and I love a debate.  There's more to life than living.

     I am learning and thinking and researching and doing more thinking.  I am asking pertinent questions of those I trust to be on similar voyages. Then I think again...

     I just saw a quote go across my tv screen:  "Who looks outside, dreams.  Who looks inside, awakens." Thankfully, I am in no hurry and it's time to check on the guest speaker who sits in the outer office-thinking.

Complacency

     Status Quo is leaving things as they are- no disruption or deviance. I come from this generation.  I am among those baby boomers who are dipping into the last available social security funds.  My appointment, at the Social Security Office is next month and it will be at that appointment that I will learn what it means to have squandered most of my earning potential on ...well ...complacency.

     There is an omission in my gray matter. Not knowing which hemisphere is deficient, I'll just blame it on short-sightedness.  Don't get me wrong. I have stuff, which in its vagueness, represents my status.

     Okay, but that's a facet which when not in the bright light fades into obscurity and I am left with "but WHO am I?

At this juncture, ego reenters the picture. Only on its rebound, the focus is on my legacy. What will I leave behind?  Ashes and carbon footprint will not define me.  Words on a headstone will be wasted for no one has the right to limit me to a few well-chosen adjectives.  Enter- the universe and suddenly it is the defining moment of ME.  Primed for nothing and equally unprepared, my decades of cocooning are ripe for evolution. My wings are unfolding and prepared for flight.  Albeit the remaining life span will conclude before I fully understand how I got to this point, I am steady upon the breeze.

     Learning to embrace a new direction is not unfamiliar.  I am certainly adept at change; although change has always been tethered to what I understood was humanly possible. What I am gifted now is far beyond scientific probabilities.

     As I undergo this metamorphosis, the pages in scrapbooks, entries in journals and yellowing photographs will seem a ridiculous homage.  Yet, separately the tangible remembrances will document my journey thus far.

     Restless intuition sits uncomfortably in my gut. Wasted adrenaline consumes the energy reserves and leaves me in a constant state of atrophy.  All this is necessary.  Decomposition begins.

Connected

     Comfy in the reclining rocker with laptop at the ready, I am listening to the Commodores hit "Three Times a Lady" and thinking. The Deja vu moment causes me to pause and remember a me I used to know. I find great comfort in the music which defined the 1970's.  I suppose each decade revises and creates a musical homage to the numerous issues, struggles, and successes of the times.           Not that I remember who I was then, but some of the lyrics tap into the defining moments of my twenty-somethings.

     Now in my the sixties, I wonder what musical period of time defined me.  Since I am a fluid soul, perhaps I can pick and choose. That would be a research project for another day.  Limiting me to one era would discount my evolution. Let's just agree that music is inherent in my DNA.  Messages came that I am connected to Franz Josef Haydn, so who knows?

      Even out in the natural world, sounds reconnect me with me. It is comforting for me to witness conversations that go on in the animal world; sometimes I jump right in, feeling that I also have something to add to the topic being discussed. Conversations and nature's white noise confirm that I am part-not separate and not alone.

     I am in a period of transition, that which elevates one from the third dimension to those dimensions that transcend linear thinking.  Not completely understanding the conduit to this realm, I am heavily dependent on awareness-awareness of messages which come to me as I am a safe harbor; so I listen-to everything.

     I listen with my eyes. The visits from my animal spirit guides keep me focused on priorities on this path of learning. Trusting that the universe has my back, I am fully engaged in the unspoken union between us.  They are here, I am here with them.

     I listen with my hands and arms.  An embrace of another and the energies exchanged heals. I quiet myself and just listen. Directives come, one note at a time.

Parts

Am I the sum total of my parts or am I part of the sum total?  Play on words?  Perhaps.  This is my thought today: my being is rather small in comparison to recent astronomical discoveries.  My mass would be calculated as a negative integer, I think, on the grand scale of things.

It is exciting to learn about the expanding universe. It gives me immeasurable hope that I am also infinite.  Where did I begin and where am I destined?

An unsolvable problem; for the value of "x" cannot be defined on either side of the equation. Maybe it's not meant to. Maybe there's an element so critical to the journey of one's life, its discovery would jeopardize its purpose.  Maybe the "God" complex is so controversial, that its continuance should be banished.

I am not in favor of extending the natural life span. I am, however in favor of enhancing the experience. Quality of life versus quantity of life.  The scale has tipped the other way for me and I am so comfortable with it, that remaining time is no longer my biggest fear.

The evolutionary process which sustains species, through adaptation of the environment, will challenge science and it will win. Its track record is undeniable. Whether my specie survives is an open ended quest. But, all the "breakthroughs" in the realm of dedicated science will not change the soul.

How do you define yourself?  As others see you or as the soul who fulfills its predestined design? I choose the latter because I am not so conceited as to think that I had any choice in the matter. Being open to possibilities far beyond my present physicality has given me the freedom to re-prioritize each day's gift. Realizing that this journey is not dependent on how I choose to live it and is not self-limiting within the confines of a spiritual heir achy, I am joyous in the moment.

The shaman relayed the following message:  "You are the truth".  That was an uncomfortable realization. I took it to mean that my travels thus far have culminated in my being validated; that my existence is for the benefit of others. How freeing it was to release all guilt that I have not done enough; that I AM enough, I am complete in my passage.

There are more lessons on the horizon. The existential travel I experienced, while in her presence, reconfirmed my belief that I am just a part, a fragmentarily painted canvas. I have been in the dark, protected by universal love and have guided souls (who have done their work) into the light.

So, again the question: Am I the sum total of my parts or am I part of the sum total? The question is not important, the answer is not either-or. The journey is not limiting, the destination is not finite for the soul is the solution for "x".

What's Happening...Again?

What's Happening...Again?

I am a left-brain thinker. Information overload is nothing new as I pause and reconsider and then consider again the data which is being downloaded from the universe. Trouble is what if the topic
is not new? Where did I store the last discussion? Perhaps it moved over to the right side of my brain and I'm analyzing the creative aspect.

The topic which has me in a perpetual revolving door is why now.  Every exchange between a practitioner of metaphysics and me is validation. Same messages arrive whether through tarot and readings, palmistry or remote artistic renditions of my soul.

Why can't I just allow and bend to the universal will? Perhaps fear which translates to ignorance on steroids. I am ignorant of many things and I'm not embarrassed for my journey as laid out, deliberately avoided many of the junctures on my path. And here I am and if someone would just
inhale and blow in my direction, I'd reach my destiny.

It doesn't work that way. I am not a feather whose flight is determined by external forces. My body is in the way of my soul. My physical form contains DNA. I like who I have become.

But, I could like the person I have yet to become, right? Just because I've been practicing being me
for all these years, doesn't mean I have already experienced the final reveal.

The universal voices whisper, they are gentle and affirming. I am a Light Worker and a safe harbor for restless souls. I am tuning in to the earth's vibrations.  My compass is pointing due north and there's no denying what is on the horizon.

 Maybe it's time...again.

Rewind

Rewind

I am lagging behind myself. The facts have been preserved on paper. Some have been sent through the internet with no final destination, no letter of introduction or warning label. I just hit "publish".

Takes balls to send dissected pieces of myself into everywhere the English language permeates.
I guess I grew a pair as an experiment to determine my power. Little did I realize how freeing
it would be to share with no one in particular. Actually, I am finding the act therapeutic.

Tired and angry at not being respected, my revenge comes in the form of a carbon footprint which will never disappear. My words are in the cloud. They are my proof of existence and are the metaphorical fodder of future archeologists.

Looking at the dates of my collective thoughts, I have been jockeying for the lead position on this
track for several years. Now is the moment to solidify the fractured writings into a cohesive
published work.  In order to accomplish my goal, the writer in me needs to collaborate with the internal author.  I am ready to begin.

Not wanting your opinion is not disrespecting you. I simply can't risk any deviation from the original words. Carefully phrased word combinations represent my truth. The written word is an existential component of my spoken vocabulary. There's no ghostwriter here. When I read aloud my writings,
any intended audience recognizes me. That's the point.

Do I reveal the collection chronologically? Do I sever and regroup the thoughts? There is such a strong pattern carried through the years. I rewind and fortify my intentions. What I have written, it seems, is an instructional manual to my remaining journey here. There are reminders that commitments are not to be taken lightly. The timeline is fluid and forgiving.

This page (post) was not planned. None of my writing is planned. The thoughts are not mine but rather gifted through me as tools or signposts for you.  You have free will.  Be open and kind. Question
everything. I'll be seeing you.

Change

Change

In my pre waking hours, I had an internal debate. Debates get my blood circulating and my senses heighten in the chance the winning team needs reinforcements. This morning's discussion is timely.
A simple topic - change.

Just to give my teams an advantage, I looked up the vast listing of synonyms. Each word shaved off a little edge, softened the keyword. In my authorly world, there is no accidental match of a noun to a verb. The exercise is precise and at times aggravatingly so.

The very generic word  "change",  allows for interpretation. I need to be cautious in its use for there is power behind it. And that power is overshadowing my journey.  One step, balance, second step, pause has become the rhythm of my life. Didn't use to be; I could run and never reach a goal. My life was all in good fun. Sprinting to nowhere, in particular, was enticing, life-affirming, frightening and
left me wanting for more.

Change - I don't feel used up, exactly, just cautious. No more bounding out of bed (metaphorically) and filling my moments with multi-tasking shit.

Change - I now shop in the universal metaphysical version of the hardware store. My archaic toolset
is useless. The skills, so carefully honed over sixty years are obsolete.

Change - Hours pass and I am not in control. There is a new cadence and it is strong. Passivity is necessary for focus.

Change - What defined me no longer serves me. Remnants leave cavernous spaces in my life's
hope chest. I do not need to restock. I am enough.

Change - Trust is necessary. Fear is dark and I am of the light. The universe does not exist in the subtlety of Payne's grey spectrum. Creation is only cast in a momentary shadow. My path is fully lit and even if I stumble, the sting of failure can not scar me. I am because I was destined to be.

Change - I am here at the perfect moment. There is little preparation ahead. The awareness of the soul
allows me to ascend and to be that which transitions the question of "who am I" to "I am".

Stagnation - Nope; just destiny.

Puzzle Master

Puzzle Master

Now that my heart has been opened to accepting messages, I am tasked to complete my life puzzle.
Challenge is that I am between lives. I barely have time to consider where I have been as a point of reference let alone deciphering what I am about at the moment.

Found out I had a Cherokee spirit guide in a past life. That alone was an astonishing revelation. Someday I hope to uncover the past life me who benefited by his guidance. Spirit guides are one of the most exciting discoveries of late.

I am in training along this metaphysical walk. The first hurdle is trust followed by the establishment
of routine. I have to give my 63-year-old self pep talks. Knowing what to do is the easy part,
practicing is well...quite the challenge.

My Life Coach laid it all out for me: Awaken - focus on something I love. Meditate. Write.
As a published poet/author, step three is where I get to exhale. I'm stuck looking up at the high bar.
With pole in hand, I back up and inhale. But before I step out. I stop.

I need a space with tools. Talking myself into this routine interrupting practice is being met
with much resistance - mostly from the negative energy I reside in. Learning how to protect myself
is beginning to evolve. Learning how to live aside chaos rather than immerse myself in the vortex
takes so much concentration, I am afraid I will have nothing left for sustenance.

What to do?

Step one - set physical boundaries. Establish a "me space" - a safety zone.
Step two - light a candle,  chant, protect, listen to guided meditations
Step three - trust
Step four - focus
Step five - tune in and allow.

Wish me luck.

Endings

My world is encased in opposites.  I came to this realization, not of my own accord, in the office of a psychiatrist maybe twenty-five years ago.

Moodiness and inexplicable extreme behavior quickly led to the diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder. That diagnosis led to the quick fix drugs of the day.

Not too many months into drug therapy, I quit taking the prescriptions.  Right then and there, I knew that loss of control, to any degree, was not going to happen to me! There would be no termination (ending, if you prefer), in order to begin a more socially acceptable version of myself.

Years of boxing with myself in the ring of reality, I began to accept that I was different. I knew instinctively, that taking off the mask would jeopardize relationships. Being raised by ultra-conservative parents, my immediate task was to lie and I became pretty good at it.

I was a closet Bipolar.  Knowing that my husband's career depended, in part, on the perceived stability of our marriage, I kept to the straight and expected narrow path of a military spouse.

Private moments, when he was on remote duty, were liberating.  I could be who I was, both of me. The year he was living on Guam, I celebrated daily with two toddlers in tow.

Family visits were always hellish, especially because I had the role of social chairwoman.  Always playing nicely with the relatives... ending my reality and beginning theirs.  You may not understand the tremendous effort involved here. It was and continues to be a pseudo-suicide.

The quick love affair I had with my first published book, "Bipolarity", is now the visible bridge between my worlds. It is an offering of my gratitude to universal wisdom. I am inherently conscious of all my thoughts and their role in my interplay on this momentary journey in time.

Endings are not possible now, interruptions- maybe. Life, for me, is a continuum.  I am part of the mass, just cosmic dust in between travels-the never-ending gift of living between extremes.

A Personal Archeology

     A Personal Archeology

The thought of my remains (if I choose to leave them) being a repository of other life forms is intriguing. To be interred and archived, to be rediscovered and analyzed is seemingly appropriate.
Curiosity does not define a species but rather the evolutionary process of said species. Right?
     So here lays my body in tandem with the other me's. I have become nutrient-rich soil and the new me is wriggling up into the light. That's one hell of a wake-up call.
But it's possible.
     It's preferential treatment of one so in tune with nature. When the human life form ceases functionality why not encourage a new beginning? The art of storytelling could be oh, so much more
enriched. The blending together of reality and fantasy. Of course not knowing what exactly my relations will wiggle themselves into as they greet the light makes the whole spectrum kind of magical.
     To want to experience that which is unfamiliar is the polar opposite of playing it safe.  Who wants to transition into what didn't work the first time? If the lesson was a failure, why would the universe
guide the soul to repeat the process?  Surely, the lesson wasn't that important in the first place. I'm in favor of finite attempts at anything. Perfection is unattainable. Why not try something new?
     Really, the evolutionary process is always forward-moving. Yes, I laugh at the comic strip of Darwin's Theory in reverse; ape into man into ape again. We, as a society, have limited hope for the inevitable.
     We think that age and wisdom stalls only to revert into child-like mentality.  I don't believe it's that simple. What if the aging process is a preparatory step which will eventually bridge the gap to who we really are?
     I think about these open-ended questions all the time. It is the latent scientist in me. Having ascended into the fourth dimension of late, I am grasping to stay there. My purpose is to enlighten. I can do that once the chaos of living in three dimensions dissipates. I can do that once I let loose that which no longer serves me. I can do that knowing that everything in this universe is fluid and I am carried in the gentle current of time, which is eternal.

Release

Release

There is inherent danger under my skin and I am conflicted. Knowing full well its release will scar me with an emptiness (the likes I have yet to experience), I am reluctant.  The inside of me has multiplied into razor sharp facets. I am not who I was.
     Redefining my journey has changed my historical perspective of me. Memories have shape shifted
to fit the mature adult. Childhood memories have been reworked and replayed within the arena of
experience. I better understand the part I played as I am no longer burdened by the innocence of youth.
     Am I ready to acknowledge that I dreamt too deeply and too desperately? Shall I let go of the
affirmation that I lived a life designed by others; to complete their dreams? If this is my truth and
the release of it destroys my earthly shackles, where shall I go? But then, where have I been?
     All I do know is that I am tired - and it's taking a toll and I'm running out of quarters. Understanding that this state of being is manifesting itself in both my dreams and consciousness,
makes me fearful.
     Change is coming. My spirit animal totems present themselves and I am fully aware they are here.
My guides have prepared these days for an awakening. I am not in control. The lesson is choice. The choice is discernment.
     I don't even know myself well enough to risk letting go. I can't be finished.
Perhaps I'll just bleed out; allowing the blood to erode and soften the sharp angles. Perhaps emptiness
will not scar me after all.

Hall of Mirrors

    Hall of Mirrors

 I pass them and gaze - accepting the reality of what I see. This is a learned pattern and of late, I believe it to be destructive; the outside is packaging.  The inside is me - the dark and mushy, the wet and stretchy parts of my body where light does not penetrate.
     To have a reflection, there must be refraction. There must be a light source. We've all played with
mirrors, we see our images multiplied and distorted. Sometimes the distortions are enhanced by the flawed surfaces we rely on for autoplay and instant gratification. Being caught up in the momentary
selfie is validation. We are here. The experience is real. Maybe the crack is not in the glass but rather
in our soul searching.
     I often wonder why and by whom we are told to look at the reflection. We are being indoctrinated into a belief that what others assume about us is true...after all "just look!"
     Preferring to step back far enough where the other me is out of focus, I begin to believe that I am still evolving. Who but I can judge progress?  Who but I can affirm that the packaging is nothing more than a disguise? The lesser animals I share my planet with are startled to see multiples of themselves. They believe the reflection will animate and join them or perhaps devour them.
     In works of fiction, mirrors foretold and provided safe havens for the paranormal. Poor Alice fell through hers and journeyed through a parallel world.
     In my own journey, the mirrors are route markers. When I pause and rest, they offer options. I stand and gaze at where I have been.  My life accumulates one moment at a time. If I break one, the journey is redefined and I must carefully consider the truth that my whole is nothing but the seamless piecing together of shards.  I shall never realize my final shape - I'm in flux.
     Mirrors are also my shield. I use them against you when your energy is unwanted. I allow you to gaze at yourself and if you like what you see, you're welcome to it. If not, please turn and leave. I wish you safe travels.
     I may stop gazing for a while. There is no need to impress either you or me. There is no need to measure my worth by its packaging.  I am a continuation  - an anthropomorphic edition of myself. Perfection is a myth. I am the seed of stardust and infinitely beautiful.

Another Place, Another Time

   Another Place, Another Time

I have changed. Looking at my reflection, it's not evident. I have shifted. Listening to my voice,
you will not notice. There has been an infusion of energy; a quiet disruptive shock wave which knocked me off my pedestal.
    There is a difference between change and flexibility. I have always been flexible. It's a pattern
of survival in my lifestyle. Military families adapt. Being able to pick up and move, resettle and blend in and repeat becomes the norm. Once separation or retirement interrupts the pattern, some cycles
of habitual living remain. It is the burden I live every day. Having devoted years to perpetual interruption, I am uncomfortable with predictability. I embrace change, or so I thought.
     Seated in the blue under-stuffed easy chair, I knew what was coming, but I didn't know what to expect.  Across from me was my life coach, who with a soft voice and reassuring smile, began the dialog to my awareness. "Close your eyes," she began. For the next hour, she guided me through my inward journey.
     I was warm, safe and willing. Meeting my soul's incarnation in a place and time only history books reveal was comforting to me. I was not surprised to be there. Truth is never surprising. Truth is
validation.
     Refreshed from my subconscious travels, the conversation between us was deeply engrained
in a comparison of life lessons. What did I learn then?  How do I use that truth to change my circumstances? Can I complete the lesson and ready myself for ascension?
     There was no fog upon awakening, but there was a steely calmness which masked my personality.
I was focused and braced for conflict...a deeply mind-altering conflict. The result of which presented itself as a migraine.  One so forceful, that I was unable to control it.
     The next day, in a short text with my coach, I was told that my body found the whole process hard. It was a first journey. Sometimes virgin exploration can overwhelm. Today is the third day in a new mindset. I am on less shaky emotional ground. I feel fortified and no longer need the armor of another's perception.
     As I have said numerous times before: I am. The universe is teaching me and I am its perpetual student-whether in this lifetime or the next.

An Angel's Perspective

An Angel's Perspective

As I become more empathic, I am tuning in to nature.  It's the animals in my life who uplift and sustain me even in their final earthly breaths.

Spending the traditional Easter holiday in the company of exotic animals, I discovered the serenity I had been searching for - unsuccessfully -  through my connections with people. People, in my life, love to unload their baggage at my train stop.  Navigating the toppling piles of luggage and boxes
results in my tripping and falling my way to the next train. Sometimes, I miss my connection and am stranded in the chaos.

But why?  Habit.

I am and always have been a "fixer". I love that my life is organized and have been more than willing
to extend my skills to the less orderly people in my peripheral view of the world. Sometimes they are grateful. Sometimes the agitation in their bewildered expressions sends me back to minding my own business. Not usually discouraged, I wait and end up doing it my way anyway.

Is that wrong?  I hardly stop to consider.

Everyone is entitled to using their own toolbox to fix their life.  It's just when my life is affected, that I become unraveled.

The animals don't plan.  They adjust and move on.  I watched a lion pace, with each paw deliberately placed upon the ground. He stood solidly for the second it took for him to lift another paw. He was assured of his position. He stood his ground.

Elephants ate with deliberate intention. No need for thinking about it. No conversation between them.

The anteater scavenged, carving a path against the enclosure. It changed direction twice to take
refuge in its three-sided enclosure.

A solitary Bengal tiger's attention was drawn to something on the other side of its habitat. I tried to
send a silent message that I was there. She knew it, and tossed me a glance as if to say, "I'm distracted."

The breathing in and exhaling out went unnoticed by me even in the moments of changed elevation where I followed the path up the incline to another exhibit. I didn't even think about it. Normally,
my knees would have given me a shout out.

I changed in the hours I was there. I will try to be less human in the future. It seems the
wiser choice. I am not the top of the food chain. I am, however, a link to my destiny for whatever time I have left in this existence on planet Earth.