Light hearted and heavy handed

For all those of you out there who have become bogged down in the minutiae of day to day survival and as a result have resolutely taken the view that life does not move very fast and offers only enough in the way of variety to ensure that you continue paying attention, I have come to deliver tidings of hope. This does effectively mean that I get to prove you wrong, so everyone’s happy.

In the course of my sage musings on the fragrant fruit of life, the depth of the oceans of thought and the way lint accumulates in belly buttons I have been bombarded by revelations, epiphanies and the occasional consignment of pigeon poo, to the extent that I lost sight of where my closely held beliefs began and where possibility ended… but come, what does that mean to you apart from the fact that I have just wasted a minute and a half of your time on a preamble?

The problem with mankind in general and opinionated Middle Eastern males in particular is that they were never taught that they could be wrong. So the individuals comprising the world bumble along, shouldering through the myriad of obstacles that they encounter in absolute conviction that this is the only way. And why? Simply because they never stopped to consider that there could be an alternative as simple as stepping around the offending igneous formations.

I believe that everyone has a day, a moment, be it brief or prolonged, in time where something or someone happens to cause, not only a existential shift, but a desire for said shift in the being of an individual. The trick to harnessing the potential of this altering force, and this is crucial, is to be awake.

116 after that ‘that’ day, I find myself trying to reconcile what I have long held fast to and what I want to put my faith in, and just getting this far has been arduous. I want to believe that things will turn out for the best, but my ragged intestines tell me that is romantic hogwash, I need to be good to people, even those who are fleeting on the stage of my life, but my insides scream, ‘what for?’

A paradox to be sure, but one that I endure and embrace with the brightest of eyes and bushiest of tails, there is change to be had, and I want to feast upon it.

This one’s dedicated to my life catalyst, you know who you are.

May your toenails pierce not your socks.
Malice