Sunday Morning Thoughts: 12.8.19

The music shop opens later today than I had originally thought. Gives me an extra hour, which I thought might be enough time to get something down here.

We shall see.

There was an apology, since last one of these. Profound, I thought, and overdue. But whatever it was, we might be something else now. And the deeds turned to something that time has crushed down to little more than the feeling of, ‘oh well, we were young.’

Or so she seemed to say. Not the ‘oh well’ part. Just the bit that we were young and now we are not so much. But boy, did it seem like the world within those moments. A world spinning wildly off its axis, and all we could do is hold hands and hang on, feeling, with the wave of youth and internal chemicals and a go few concoctions we added from the outside.

Down different paths and back out on the other side. Older, wiser and so on. I recall fondness, for this person on the other end of my apology. But that fondness was trailed by guilt. The cost of my own actions, inactions and words. Oh, the fucking words my younger self would sell into unfulfilled promise. Such a jackass, he could be.

Kid had some charm, though. Or so he thought, which at times, is enough. But charm can be hurtful, and mine, on this and other instances, was just that. So with the urge felt to make communication, the sense of duty that still resides within felt it necessary to put the request for reconciliation in as well.

It was received. Accepted. And viewed with gratitude, though receiving party felt it not needed. We were young, as she said. And that was the sort of thing that young people might catch themselves being.

She seems to be doing quite well. And then the wonder of whether our paths might ever cross again wanders in…

But that’s no good. Can’t be going around living like that. Or shouldn’t. Or I won’t, at least. Not without a fight. But the ease of being in the present is not what it used to be. And though the spiritual connected of the world (genuine and otherwise) all urge to the absence of conflict whilst trying to dwell somewhere other than the past and/or future- it is no easy task.

Funny idea, right? The sometimes (sometimes often) struggle to just be is one that can require plentiful effort- and yet, to achieve such a state, one must put forth the most minimal effort that can be mustered. To be at peace in the present, what a doozy- this time of year in particular. But as the story goes, being present means being a little absent-minded spirit. Or in the case of the version with the puppets, a ‘large’ absent-minded spirit.

They are still there, though. These blocks. These barriers between myself and myself. Between myself and the outside. And not letting myself get worked up has been made more in progress is grand and all- but it doesn’t get you around all the walls.

Likely, I’d guess, that many of the walls aren’t even there. That my own existential impotence only occurs when thought of, and otherwise constitutes nothing at all.

Yet, I think, therefore, I am- and, I think, I can. I think I can. I, think I can. The meditative stances to combat existential woes, instilled in children and stretched out as we go.

But it’s not so hard to be in the moment. You just do. Or be. And don’t think too much about it. In theory, easy enough. Just as easy to be, it could be even easier to have had been. To be, while the replay loop of what has passed seems to perpetually run in the background. You just have to turn, and fall in. Or let the unconscious mind do the work.

Those are the best, plucking from memories within nocturnal dream. There are likely the most abstract and dishonest version regarding recollection of things now gone. You get a level up in senses. You can always taste the kiss in the dream.

I’ll be going back out into the present again soon. Or have I already been there this whole time? Hard to tell, as it turns to past as soon as each word falls.

And maybe this was all just to avoid thinking about the things that should or shouldn’t be thought about. A scheme to keep active enough to never wonder about my vast inactivity.

But the muscles have to be worked, right? And even in the most futile, I have to keep clicking and scratching away at ideas, or I will be unrefined and unprepared for when an idea comes around that should be pursued. Patience is a virtue, sure, but so is hard work. Intentionally influence what you can and hope the ripples carry that which you cannot.

And, yet…

The randomized musical composition list arrived on the old tune that sent a signal to me that this should go no further. Not today. Too good a song to not conclude upon hearing. Guess its that cinematic way we can often see our lives. Timing and the right closing track. All that.  

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