On The Way to Feeling Better

Dear Distant Friend:

Remember, not so long ago, how I'd just spill out with ideas and thoughts and feelings about anything from the fat squirrels on the lawn to the order of stars in the heavens?  Did you consider me quite mad?  Lonely? Parched for connection or the milk of human kindness?

These days, months, now years have progressed, and yet, do we know one another better?  Or just those passing details like appointments, illness and general day to day benchmarks about where we thought we were going.  As if we knew.

   Even now, I go back and look at the messages that I had written, and on occasion I can recall the spark that had me write such a proposition.  I also experience a tweak of embarrassment at my then narrow approach or inflexible response to an innocent observation.

Reminding me once again that 'time' is an issue of measure that is only meaningful if we want to compare it to now.  Otherwise what does it serve?  The past is shaded, I know.  The future is just a reproduction with names changed but desire for a better result if we choose our lines more carefully.

Perhaps past calamities even serve as a lesson of avoidance.  What does that serve but restricting the experience of new?.

Nested in the future is the elusive fairy of hope. Where our wishes will be delivered.  Perhaps that's why we spend so much time looking over the horizon's tomorrows.  I've lost track.

  It can be similar to that in-between state of dreaming. Hearing my own voice in a dialog of trying to solve a puzzle, or dialog with a mythical companion whose agreement is important.  Then in observing my presentation I realize I'm watching then find myself confused suddenly by what is this I am doing?  What was the point?

I've watched movies that depicted similar situations as that feeling.  Where the principal actor is disoriented in a world that wonders what is wrong with him.  As I grow older and notice more and more of the duality of living, of words, of interpretations.  I am reminded of a song I had learned as a child Row Row Row your boat, gently down the stream...some say the stream represents life.

Merrily, merrily, merrily merrily...life is but a dream.

Really?

I walked up to my mailbox in a drizzle of Bartlett Pear tree petals hearing in my skull, "Charmed life" and I wondered that if I just touched the bubble of my objections, I would deem my life quite charmed.  Look at the wonder before me.

All that love and I stumbled on the unnecessary of obtaining permission. Or seeking approval of those that cower at the fear of living.

Thank you so much for assisting my shaping me into a place where I can see with fewer filters

Yes....that's the ticket, as the doctor might say.

On the way to feeling better.