The wonder whether I was ever as able as I once thought, or if my ego disguised my own powerlessness from me- that conundrum weighs heavy on my mind.

     There was a dream. Not last night, but the one prior. A dream that pulled at emotions I thought dissolved. They were not, it seems. Only buried deep.

     Potent enough, she was, to pull a few tears from what I thought were dried out oculars. A rather pathetic scene, I thought. Not the way I would hope a day to start. But certainly, a way I’ve thought up for some other thought up protagonist.

     The world bleeds and screams, whilst I still am able to call upon the luxury of lost love in my unconscious. I suppose that, is within the privilege of my existence. And though not a strange thought in my mind, it most definitely is an idea stream I cannot ignore. That I get to beat myself up over personal matters of past and present while other folks on this rock starve. While they suffer. While they die before what nature would have called their time. To worry ‘what’, and not ‘if’ I am going to eat today. To be certain of the next paycheck. And to have the space and peace and quiet to think over not only my own life, but the woes of the world from the comfort of abstraction.

     But my heart, she aches for humanity. And the guilt is present, as well, to have been able to, if not ignore, certainly deprioritize my self-assumed role as a pusher of better things in society. That feeling I’ve had since adolescence that I’m sure at least one of my ex’s would call a mild messiah complex. Not being wrong, either. There  would also be many matters of positive light to speak of, as well.

     I want peace, he said from the comfort of his mortgaged property. He said returning from work at his dependable and respected middle-class profession. Though it is one with the regular threat of danger. He said, knowing that his appearance by both choice and non-choice grants him social mobility in many formats, with many types of contenders.

     I want peace. And I work towards that peace in small ways. In one on one, or small group situations. In my dealings with strangers and acquaintances alike. In the amalgamation of beliefs I hold, compiled from others and art and from all the good parts of the dogma and tradition left behind by the several tribes and nations that came together to biologically create me. Whether they wanted or intended to, they did. Here, I am.  

     I want peace. But I need help making it. As, I imagine, is the case for all. All us humans, anyway.

     We are all human, aren’t we? Even the broken beyond repair? Even those who have forsaken humanity, must have had it to forsake in the first place?

     But these days, we don’t see much of each other’s faces. In person, I mean. Close enough to observe in certainly with at least once sense that the aforementioned other(s) is (are) breathing. Which is, I believe, is a very important part of the human experience.

     I know there is anger and fear. And a massive sense of global anxiety. And such seemingly insurmountable levels of distrust in all sorts of directions, though some are tremendously more pressing than others. And I know people are projected into impulse based upon varied circumstances and situations. Always have been, but in times like these… well, I’m sure you have heard all about it. And I’m more than certain that you have an opinion about at something. But not all things are subject to ridicule by opinion. Rationality need reign, not supreme, but a milder level of leadership in many cases.

Yet our emotions are what make us human. Be our hearts always at least a bit warmer than machine.

     Thoughts of my own hypocrisy are never much further than a lingering away. I think of my still unfinished works. I think of all the might-have-beens, had this, instead of that, had happened. I think of my own struggle with topics of behavior and morality as I try and impress upon my own daughter what is right and wrong. Along with what and why.

     I tell her, that she controls her emotions. That her emotions should not control her. That it is important to feel and feel full, but that feelings that you don’t work to manage can so easily be destructive. In simpler, more situational based ways. She is only halfway through her first decade, after all.

But then I think of all the emotional devastation I have left in my own wake. I need not think far to come up with examples where I let whatever mood I was wielding deal damage of all shapes and sizes to someone who deserved nothing of the sort.

     These ramblings are self-centric. This whole act is a selfish endeavor, I know. But it does make me feel better. The need for more selflessness is present already in my life, but I know there is more I can do. The exacts are where the trouble comes in. And it hangs around to get at my insecurities. What can I do? What should I do? When and where should I do all these whats that I still don’t know?

     Now, I suppose. Now is the time to do the next best thing. And what that is, I guess, will be something discovered whilst doing it. I’ll lend a rein to instinct, and the other to rationality. Let the mind and body work as one.

Like an awkward first date, with four left feet.

Ah… one, two, three. One, two, three.