POKER of SORROW

I could use comfort right now. But I would officially be deemed a crybaby if I would insist on that. With the current volume of space that I occupy, and the increasing number of strands of wisdom that I have, being tagged a crybaby would be the most immature of all acts.

 

I am in anguish. Perhaps the most painful part of dreaming a dream and visualizing it into realization is the fact that everything could still utterly go wrong despite the realization being a short step away. At the moment, it feels like sorrowful mysteries come alive.

 

I am bleeding. I am sore. I am spent. And through all these, I find it so odd to beam with pride over having been poked through every possible opening in my human body. I have never felt so defenseless in my life. What, with the consent that I have awarded to pokers, they could remain as focused and intent on poking even if hell breaks loose.

 

Taking in precious air for basic life support is made more challenging by outflows from the windows to the soul. Contrived, or not, they offer that exhilarating release from the captivity set about by disappointment, depression, denial, and even self-destruction.

 

Perhaps, days are numbered, and today is assigned to be commemorated under the mysteries of the sorrowful. And now I have to force myself to sleep peacefully amidst the enduring discomfort reminiscent of the sickness that was.

 

Do not let your minder wander too much. Take things as they are, or leave them.

 

 

NEOCORTEX, PLEASE TAKE OVER

What is it that makes you imagine laying side by side with someone, and spending the last waking minutes (or hour) before sleep for a sensible conversation about the day's events? I would like to wish for a lifetime of such moments. Or an experience of it, at least.

More than companionship and memory-induced happiness, the recent meet up events have exposed my fundamentally-functioning three-part brain into a mill of higher than basic ideas, aspirations, spurs-to action, and imaginations of an exciting, awe-inspiring, and life-supporting adventure.  One worthy noting and sharing, one to be modeled on for sustainability of an enriched life, one to serve as an epitome of witnessing life and transforming one's innate powers to their maximum potential, more for the benefit of others rather than thyself.

I have my long-time friends to thank for for the brain-washing aka ultimate inspiration aka challenge. It may sound so far-fetched, but I can assure you, it is only true for me. Perhaps the greatest blunder that applies to yours truly is the fact that opportunities abound, and the static me almost always choose to doze off on the sand, in the comfort of the shore, even never minding the sweltering heat of the sun. The sea has been calm, cool, and craving for company, even showing clearly all the crazy journeys that appeal to the most simple of senses. But ♪♫ here I am, is it I, I have heard You calling on my name...♫♪ remains to be the theme song of the immobile being.

The past is a pool of lessons learned, skills developed, and extra powers accumulated.

The present easily becomes dark without the occasional spark from external motivators.

The future is bright, but the end of the tunnel is still too far away.

“Rarely if ever, moments come that are so defining in our lives. The years are glutted with benign matters which impact us more deeply than we could have ever imagined in our youth.” 
― Joel T. McGrath

Perhaps staying afloat amidst the water, and the wind, and the wisecracks is one step enough to that journey of a thousand miles. I hope to get there. Lead me. And, please, take the wheel.