Finding Wisteria

I didn’t realize that my words had such an impact on those around me. So allow me a moment to clear a few things up. I am at a literal crossroads with my life. I have a unique job opportunity that could prove to be highly lucrative but I’d have to leave a job in which I love the people I work with. I need a clean break to discover my full potential and be able to explore the states and maybe even the rest of the world but there has been someone who refuses to let me go. I fear that I will lose his friendship and a part of my life that was very developmental to me. I want happiness and success for everyone including this friend but I don’t feel that he or I will ever achieve that if I’m never allowed to leave my glided cage.

I want change, in fact I need it.  Whether it is for the best or not, maybe it’s time to quit always trying to “do the right thing” and live life as a normal human being. I can make myself more than a number or a dusty file. I have to break the mold and leave the pieces as they lie.  So what if my life isn’t absolutely perfect and I don’t have to leave things in order. What I do need to do is tell the people around me how precious they are to me and why. The small things become bigger and bigger with each post.

Even if it is something as small as a facebook post saying they had a great day. Life isn’t perfect and maybe I need to come to the realization that I could trail blaze the rest of my life or make mistakes and not take it to heart.

I spend my nights pouring over dusty medical textbooks and informational guides accompanied by the presence of water and maybe some static noise. Is this the way I want to live the rest of my life? Or is it time to break the cycle and step out of my graveyard decorated with Spanish moss?

Maybe it’s time to stop thinking of it as a graveyard of failures and think of it as a monument of a life well lived. The sunlight makes the moss seem like an ethereal gift from the angels above. Is this a sign to change in my life is coming ? That an expanded life is possible?  A life that would have many flaws that make it beautiful, a life that is still growing like weeping wisteria over a hidden doorway. I can reach my hand out and twist that gnarled doorknob. I can choose bravery over cowardice. After all, doesn’t fortune favor the bold? Or do they only reward gold shiny stars for trying?

Spainish Moss

I tasted the last tender bits of summer on my tongue today and came to the realization that changes, true change had begun to flourish in the shifting winds of the season. I have come to a cross roads as it is. Things in my life have to change. The old have become septic, infectious and a growing from of emotional gangrene.  I remember listening to music and literally feeling the essence of fire and truth beaming in every word. I never thought that I would lose my fire, my strength or my confidence to emotional staph infection and yet here I find myself writing about the state my emotional life which appears to be dwarfing all areas of my life.

How did I let it get this far? 

I was never so detached from reason that I could not see the power of my mental companies. Yet, now I am frozen in time. An apparition doomed to dance the dance macabre in a crooked fashion outside of the lithe fashioning’s of Spanish moss that hangs in the bitter tendrils of my mind.  How do I get things to change without the challenge of causing pain to all those around me? Do I run to another area to rebuild my life a new or do I stay in this area wading my way through the moss and music attempting to salvage the parts of my life that are still livable.

Or do I resurrect monuments to the failed exploits of my life thus far but life is for the living and monuments are for the dead. If that is true, how do I stop my life from becoming a graveyard of losses? This graveyard seems as if it is like an endless swirls of praying angels and tilted towers of ill spent pride.

To freeze? To fight? Or to take flight? 

Shadow boxing

Long time no post. Yeah, I tend to get into these funks where I just don’t talk or type or do anything  in the means of communication.  I just got back from yet another doctor’s appointment and I took my sweet time driving home.  I’ve been sitting back in the corner of my couch staring out of my window at stars that I can’t see and a world that I feel detached from.  I purchased a pack of cigarettes my first pack since I quit over almost three months ago. I didn’t intend to smoke the cigarettes as much as light them and watch them burn.

Something about the comforting dancing smoke in the air became comforting to me. I twisted it in my fingers lightly as the sunset over oblong clouds. I realized that I was truly alone in the universe. I’m not at the moment going to disclose what has happened over the last few weeks but it’s been enough where I have gone back to hiding to the corner of my couch.  My lap top had been untouched for days and my art had been collecting dust. Maybe because everything I saw in my writing, my photography, and even my painting- seemed to be shitty. I stare at the pieces for days at a time and all I see was shit.

As for my writing, well, even though I’ve recovered all that I thought was lost I can’t but to feel as if those pieces are slipping away. My life’s calling or so I thought seems like an unreachable dream.  If I actually had writer’s support or even a writer’s group maybe there was a way that I could keep my neurotic tendencies in check.

Artistically, I feel as if I am shadow boxing myself. Trying to move faster and become quicker than my normal self. That in itself is ironic due to the fact that considering I threw out my back and I can’t get back into my kick boxing regimen until the doctor clears me to go. I was excited to start jogging and kick boxing again until a subtle crunch in my back rendered me as helpless as a worm on the sidewalk after the rain. Even in this Quasimodo stance I tried to think of all the people I could call in case of an emergency and I began to laugh. MY laugh quickly squelched by the appearance of a doctor who asked me if there was anyone I could call and I laughed at him as if it were a joke. And then when I was in my car thinking about the prior appointment and I shook my head. I wanted to cry, yet I couldn’t. I’m finding myself unable to cry.

I’m shadow boxing my art

I’m shadow boxing my emotions

I’m shadow boxing well me.

I wonder how quickly I can keep moving before my shadow stops and start to shake its head at me. Until then, I’m going to keep trying to move one step ahead of the shadow inside.