I wonder whether it is the widening wisdom that allows me to withhold introspection from myself. Whereas the overflowing arrogance of some yesteryear dug too deep, striking some vital route for preservation of mind and spirit. And ever since some undisclosed date, the superficial examinations are all that gain admittance to these weekly musterings.

Though, I suppose that can’t be entirely true. I was told not but a few days ago that I could be visibly seen residing in my own head in a room full of other souls. Not intended as a slight, just an observation. One that I am inclined to respect.

Yet here I ponder on, wondering what it is I aim to squeeze out of a temporarily drained mind.

There is a correlation, me thinks, to the action of interaction with other humans and the honesty of self that gets pulled forth. Not something quantifiable beyond taking my word for it. I’ve sensed it in all sorts, time and again. Those that inspire a more unadulterated output of identity, and those that oppose such sentiments, be it conscious or otherwise. And of course, there are those that pull at the in-betweens, which so regularly results in the emergence of nothing much at all.

I should, and certainly do count myself among the fortunate with the souls I can regularly or recently call upon for a stance to share reflections. And despite the trends that can sometimes lend themselves to narcissism, I deem these other beings as a necessity for a sustained existence.

And still, the word escape and the associated ‘ism’ often floats about this here sentience. Not something I would rank as akin to running away, though I can see how easily that mistake could be made. Something closer to a lifting of the chains of a particular existence, be they rusted rotten or pure wrought gold. A lightening enough of the burdens of soul and electric skull meat to realize the freeing futility of it all, and our possibly boundless acrobatics achieved within those worldly and other parameters.

But all that thinking about the pliability of reality can never totally negate the factuals of our physical world. There are folks not that far from where I sit and write that lost many, if not all of their worldly belongings not much more than twenty-four hours ago. And only in this part of the world does it seem that such predicaments are entitled as rare occurrences. There are places burning right now. Many more than one location, and those incendiary existence are not recent in origin. Been burning for a while, and look to burning a while more still.

 And yet, so easily ignored by yours truly, exchanged in mental prominence by wants and needs of immediate survival. Or the even more indulging motivation of comfort. Both the bureaucratic and emotional descriptors applied. The pitiful flesh that I strive to keep from softening, and the consciousness that engineers the whole operation from its electro-chemical tomb. Wondering all the while which came first- the dope or the dopamine?

But I didn’t come here to self-deprecate. And even if I did, I don’t feel like doing that anymore. It already feels egotistical enough to spend this time (approximately one hour per weekly ramble) on this at all, with so many things beckoning and begging for my attention, if not adoration.

So up, or west, or onward we go. To a thought stream more engulfing. Or for you, at least more entertaining.

You see, I sometimes think in terms of centuries. Not that I have any right or true ability to. But it often occurs that way, all the same. I don’t know how many folks engage in such manner of thinking, but there are certainly at least a few. Otherwise, no one would ever ponder the impact of their work or expression. I’d like to think this idea pattern has a home port in the honest curiosity of time, but that would be at least in part a fib. There is something almost insatiable, were you to ask me, about the positive acknowledgement of the outside impact reflected back. I’ve seen toes tap when I play a tune I’ve penned and picked from my own creation. I like it and I wouldn’t mind having a go at it again. And am more than likely to try.

And that is but a singular example. There have been others, but I suppose that musical based one protrudes based on proximity, being the most recent endeavor to gain such discernable gratification from those who have no obligation to do so.

But before I get too far on all that, I must confess, I have sensed the scent of disappointment and disapproval. Inward and outward. And whether justice brought such sentiments to the center stage or not, the other participants were certainly convinced of my guilt in the wringing of such emotions. And all the good intentions in the world can’t seem to unbreak a heart, no matter how close it might seem to be repaired. Gotten enough of that myself, even if the cause resides solely in my own construction. Doesn’t make the vehemence any less verifiable, whether the accuracy is artificial or organic.

I do find it funny that this so often occurs when my mind is at something less than optimal. Regularly not even in the neighborhood or two over for would be considered prime operational status. And the comedy increases when I recall that is where all this started. A different day, back then. But as the molds and motions of my own life have modified, so has the deadline for all this. An evening, routinely at the end of a long stretch of weekend labor whose near identical predecessor in position and form was born amidst the exhausted Sunday morning of some young, dumb social butterfly. Though looking back, he might have been more of a moth. Clinging to some flickering lights of uncontested ideology, or at least with the ignorance of the instigation of actuality. Woe was younger me, the very fool that would be crushed to oblivion by my modern self’s day-to-day. That skinny charming BA Communications student would crumble under forces this fully employed, single dad dealt with today, and the day before, and before that still.

And with all that tough talk, watch me reveal the cruel and true admission.

The strive of the younger set of eyes and spine this older self still pilots- it is all derived from the same adored ambition of adolescence and before. It may be habituated by the occasional unhealthy or at least less than ideal habit, but quintessence resists complete contamination by some lesser sense of existence. Fit and at least temporarily confined to the available spaces and schedules, the aspiration to get at these feats and objectives I hold dear moves forward. At a run when able and/or required. At a steady march when more than the ordinary is difficult to muster. And set onward still in nothing more than a trundle, when all else seems impossible or beyond.

Acceptance has and will get made for that which is past a point of change, particularly when extracted within the scaffolding of my moral or self-preservation perspectives. But within the dead ends, there is a still a wall. And those can be scaled, if well-equipped and engaged. Or knocked down. Blown to pieces by the desire to find a path towards the perhaps unachievable sense of accomplishment. The carrot I set for myself. On the stick I hold. And I’d be lying if I said I was unaware of that identity centralized prophecy. And a further liar I’d be, if I told you I was going to let a little thing like moderate to medium delusion stop your humble narrator from going forward.

So onward. To all the things I’ve yet to try. To do. To be. Etc.