Intuition

 

There's that sound,

a hiccup in a world so largely a cacophony

that you strain towards the source.

All is not right.

All is not well.

Your gut takes a turn,

roller coaster of intuition...

trying to gain your attention.

All is not right.

All is not well.

The problem lies in the weight of sense,

a scale too largely favoring want against truth.

So you leap "need" first

while your heart unsteadies its beat,

and only the deepest parts of you can acknowledge

the lurch of decent.

You fucked up again.

When will you start to listen

with your body.

Ego

I'm just a balloon

filled or leaking with the air of opinion.

We are all just latex,

nothing more, and nothing less...

and air

is as cheap as it gets.

And yet with all the fluff blown up our ass

or huffed in our face

we give credence far beyond worth.

What you think of me is worthless

if I value myself.

Your judgement is worthless

if God holds me righteous.

So why do I hold my balloon beneath the spigot

just to feel the weight of water?

Ego.

Colorado Rockies

 

Sitting at the trailhead, I watch youth, vigor, and stamina pass me by, wearing Lulu Lemon tops with matching shorts the color of wildflowers.

The mountains stand stoic and resolute. They know my path and there is no pretending otherwise. We are the same. The weather has worn our edges and though theirs will take longer, we will both die of the same natural causes. Erosion and decay.

They say birth is the one thing everybody dies of. They also say that if you could feel all the pain that creeps up with age in one moment, you would die of shock. Isn't it amazing what we learn to tolerate as long as it's a slow build? The mountain with the climbers on its face and blizzard at its back. Me with my twisted trunk and cracked branches. Both of us at the mercy of time.

I say to my mom, and must to myself the same, "Make the most of the time you have left." To focus on the erosion is to rob yourself of the best it's going to get...for tomorrow the wind will howl again and the water will run across surfaces, creating deeper creases.

Today may be your best day, Annabelle. Get out of your head....

even if being in your heart hurts like hell.

About "These Five Hours"

Have you ever reached perfection?
I did
once.

I took a pain and reduced it for hours

simmering until it thickened

into something that could stand on its own.

It took few words

and less literacy

but it perfectly encapsulated 

me, us, then.

Perfection needed only one ingredient.

Death.