Y E A R
At a certain point in your life the passage of time begins to warp back onto itself like a boomerang will spin out and away but then circle back around and if you aren’t watching it will wing you right in the head. The same karmic behaviors and reactions keep popping their weary heads up and like a whack-a-mole game (not the urban dictionary definition of whack-a-mole). My mallet is not the right size, shape or weight and I blame the instrument over and over for my missed timing, ineptitude and loss never considering the arm that swings, the brains that send the signal, the eyes that track the location nor the will to repeat my attempts over and over again not considering a new game.
Feel, Do, Act, repeat is all I have really got and the loop I feel stuck on is starting to sound like the needle bumping up against the paper label and not just the skip of the last hook as the scratch in the middle of the song repeats. I like to throw my medical acumen around and extol the virtues of medication and talk therapy behavior modification as a means to redirect one’s life toward a more forward goal. But sometimes I think it feels better to stand, with my feet in sinking sand, the water washing over and over them sucking me into the earth, the ocean the current pulling me back and forth with the wind on my face.
I can feel stuck or I can feel as though this is where I belong. It is an all a matter of perspective. I can see devils trying to tear my life away or if I can let go-see angels welcoming me to freedom. Looking on the bright side of the death of something is still pretty sad so my needle sticks, bumps into the paper label and I spin around and around remembering the sound of the song I use to sing so loud.