I remember when I started this blog with Misa, I used to feel inspired. Well....or I wanted to feel inspired. I wanted to write marvellous poems and short stories, I wanted to ink my dreams onto the screen, I wanted to be creative. I don't think I was. I still don't think I am. I think I write out of times of pure ecstasy, elation and joy. Alternatively, the odd funk will elicit desires to write and dwell in the pile of shit that is my life.
Lately, it is neither nor. Rather, it is some unfound normalcy (or at least it feels so) that has assumed its place. Not a bad place at all. How do you know when normal is not enough? You begin to day dream about all the places in the world to see, all the people to meet, all the lovers to love, and all the jobs to do. I don't think I could ever stop seeking.....when the world does one, I do two, and that is how it has always been.
This past year has been full of drama. Many people tell me my life is like a soap opera....I tell them quite the contrary, sometimes I am bored and sometimes nothing happens at all. However, when you least at expect it, as it always is, you are bombarded with stimulus. As I've gotten older I've started to realize that the romanticism I used to see in everything is merely a faded backdrop these days....and I don't say that to be pessimistic, actually it is not such a bad thing to have a more realistic perspective. Let me explain. I see things for how they are. I cherish them for what I know. I try not to invent what it is that I wish to see. Although, lately I don't wish to see anything. I let it unfold. I let it be. I know I am not making myself totally clear...but to summarize, the less expectations I have, the better. The more alive I feel in the moment. Nothing is directed and nothing is coerced. Everything is as is.
There is a lady in my life right now that made me think of this poem my Pablo Neruda...I showed it to her and she thought it was sweet. Well, truth is, there hasn't been anyone yet to deserve the words that man writes, but she does. It goes like this:
Cuando no puedo mirar tu cara
miro tus pies.
Tus pies de hueso arqueado,
tus pequeños pies duros.
Yo sé que te sostienen,
y que tu dulce peso
sobre ellos se levanta.
Tu cintura y tus pechos,
la duplicada púrpura de tus pezones,
la caja de tus ojos que recién han volado,
tu ancha boca de fruta,
tu cabellera roja,
pequeña torre mía.
Pero no amo tus pies
sino porque anduvieron
sobre la tierra y sobre
el viento y sobre el agua,
hasta que me encontraron.
Well, that is all for today. See you soon.
