My writing has changed; I have changed. I use to see myself as an originator of thought, then I moved into what some might consider old age, in the last year—-and concluded I am only a promoter of what is good. There are a thousand things in a day, a million things that match what I have done in my life, and more. I have done nothing. We all have “profound thoughts”. But now, after only a few weeks of trying to come to grips with who and what I am, nothing, and everything—-I need to push on with my life, to live it as though I won’t be here tomorrow. Life is terribly short so live it as such.
Now it is time to give away what I am not using—-to give away what sits around my house like monuments to myself, on shelves, in drawers, on desk tops, awards, photos, souvenirs, decorations, things that reflect what I think or want to believe I am. I need to be free to walk where I want to walk, to be whatever I think I am, to read whatever I wish to experience when I am still to learn.
Dena Cavins would have my place cleaned out in three days. She is the consummate junk dealer. I should pretend that her spirit is within me until this place glows like a rental owned by a renter who has left his home in the kind hands of a neighbor who CAN take care to keep things in simple but neat order, indefinitely.
How ironic that life is so long, and then it is gone as though it was never any more than Spring snow. Pretend it won’t be here tomorrow, because it is just that way. And in the meantime, let it be everything that it can be. That is the only way to live. Death is an advisor in life, as Carlos Castenada would say. So make your choice like you don’t have another day.
rubberboa 