Thursday, August 27, 2009
It wasn't gray or even dim. It was happy with a slice of pie. Side order of hope and a glass of ego. I always have a way of getting by. I break my fingernails on throats who dare to vocalize a "no."
But lately, I've been grounded by Lot's Wife Syndrome. Too much accomplished? Too much at stake? Too many time passages begging re-visitation??
I used to know a boy who told me he woke up one morning on a roof top in Greece and he opened his eyes to see a ripe peach hanging there in front of him, so close he could smell it, and he picked it and ate it without rising first, letting the juice pour down the sides of his mouth.
A moment of floating for sure. No past or present or future in it. No hint or entendre. To hear. To here. To be. To float.
I am getting lost in the what if's and what could's and am losing the place I function in best: What is.
Got to get my what is back on.
*this post was inspired by Tricia's Floating Post*