Choice.
Within my own skin, am I learning, am I growing, am I helping?
Am I healing, am I gathering, am I forgiving?
Am I putting myself out there to be embarrassed, to be ridiculed, to be wrong?
Or am I sad, am I injured, am I reducing?
Am I then fearful, bitter, and scared to move?
Should I blame others because of my own shifting judgements, not what they did but what I wanted them to do? Might I be offended by people behaving exactly in alignment with all they believe to be correct for them? Duh, of course not, both of those arguments sound like stupidity defined.
Such statements of orientation are an interesting matter. Orientation, meaning where I go, what I do, and how I do it…my focus, the care practiced, and the meaning created within every minute of my existence. But to be clear, I am diametrically removed from perfection. There is much more that I don’t know than I do. I screw shit up every day, and despite best intentions and meanings, my foot keeps finding its way into my mouth.
Awhile my circle of support shrinks, and my influences reduce as I spend more and more of my life alone. It’s a funny thing when you spend the majority of time by yourself. Time becomes you, and much of what once mattered becomes irrelevant. Humility grows, and dirty-ego lessens. Material goods lose value, and ponders about death creep in with surprising peace. Easily the memories of loves lost visit me, while hopes for one more great woman to walk alongside begins to fade. Priorities become clearer, and grace begins to rule.
My father the Father died sixteen years ago. My mother-type person has been deceased for twelve. I’m estranged from two of my three sisters, I live 300 miles apart from my kids, and both ex-wives curse the ground I walk upon. But my dog loves me without condition, and truth be told, you my friend family completes me.
I like to believe I am wiser, more patient, and thankful for it all. I try to recognize reality as it is, and maintain love even for those who despise me. I am less influenced by the drama and the negative. I am more hopeful than not, I accept loss better, and honor that which once was. Actually I cry less, because my chance to be heard is reduced. And paramountly I question purpose not, because I have found it.
If somehow associating with a familiar figure, I shun the notion of chameleon, or some flexible varmint. More so I am the caterpillar and the butterfly, an earthly being going from death to life in one fell swoop. Everyday makes for transition, and how I face such interchange is perhaps my greatest choice of all. I must change and keep changing, here I have no choice.
