It's earlier this morning than usual. I'm laying on the couch in the living room, sorting through sativa-induced thoughts, wondering how on Earth I'm ever going to get back into music and art. I feel so far away.
Two weeks ago I cut off all my hair, and just yesterday I shaved my face clean. People look at me like they are upset, and older people will always point out how grey I've become. In some ways I thought I was going to be sad about how I look these days, but it's nice to blend in a bit. My neighbor told me that I look like I'm wearing a disguise. I like that.
So, while I put in a few months of growing out my hair and never shaving my face clean, I'm finding that perhaps I was reaching out for the 'reset' button, and perhaps also I need to stare at the loading screen for a while. I think my system needed to be shut down and restarted. Maybe I missed an update somewhere. F@cking drivers; they get me every time!
My life belongs to my son now, and I'm trying to stay focused on that. I'm trying also to stay present, but it's harder than it sounds. Staying present means being a better listener and eating slower. It means entering a room with a purpose and committing to not thinking about unfinished business in the room you just left.
I sometimes wonder if there would ever be a point in my life when I'm so far away from the person I used to be that they become a storybook character I'm only learning about from old pictures and conversations. I might be pretty close to that. However, I believe in valuing the importance of thresholds. I believe that the lesson to be learned will sometimes be so glaringly obvious that it blinds you when you crossover. It's right there in your face, the painful truth, and it always comes with wisdom as long as you can relax your eyelids enough to let it in.
It feels good to write about it. I'm somehow less worried about it only twenty minutes after loudly clicking on this keyboard, a little too much for early morning ambience. The moon was beautiful last night and it probably came up loudly over the water. I didn't see it though. I glimpsed it from my window, but I didn't drive down to the lake to see it. I should start doing that. It's right there.
It's right there. Somehow that seems so relative. The beautiful glowing mystery is silently peaking her bright eyes through the trees, through the clouds, and I'm pretending I'm too cool to notice.
