The bright spark that fired so long ago has never really gone out, but have you ever gone down the street and seen yourself with someone else? Someone you least expected? I'm sure a lot of people have.
See, we walk and talk our lives away with so much intensity and intention that we can scarcely remember our own original selves. How can we care for someone else when we don't even understand ourselves?
Sometimes we can re-kindle old fires, sometimes we can't. I guess I wonder how you can tell the difference? Why do some people live their lives with the same person they started with and others, alas, spend their entire life trying to figure who that first person is supposed to be? Why do some people have to wait for the happiness that finally comes late in life?
I envy the lovers, the ones that can make a life together and feel joy with each other even in the direst of situations. I am humbled by their ability to cling to each other when all else is failure. I take refuge in their ability to continue happily. maybe I can do it too?
Relationships are difficult, even under the best of circumstances. We work and toil to make them work but, too often, we screw them up. There's plenty of psycho-talk around to decypher motivations for doing things, but none of it addresses the core dilemmas.
Why aren't we happy? Why does everything seem so desperate sometimes? Why do we walk and feel like, any second, the earth will open up and swallow us?
The new day will bring new insights and new revelation. But, somewhere between now and whenever, the anxiety will creep in again. I pray to God for light to understand, but I still wish it were night. The comfort of darkness is warm and inviting.
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It gets dark early up here in the North Country. 4:00 – the light is nearly gone. 7:00 – the sun has barely risen. And still the days get shorter.
Long long nights. Sitting and reading under a single lamp. Who can know somethin?
Why does life have to mean something? Why am I still alive? Why don't I have an olive-green motorcycle and a babe in a red sweater and pearls? That's the life!
I know! Here's my plan. Next spring when the daffodils wave we'll all fly off to Mallorca and joy will reign eternal. I'll be happy again and Leo will be laughing and Foghorn will be jumping up and down shouting ya-hoo. And Patrushka will be shooting forever snaps of the old beatniks of joy.
Why should we sit in the comforting hidey dark any more? Where's Patrushka's red sweater? We're gonna fly. And you're coming too!
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