This month of March has been as far from what I planned as I believe it could have been. Centered in a pit of insanity with every shoulda, woulda, coulda encircling each node; I should’ve seen the consequences, I would’ve worked harder but…, I could’ve cared more if…

Rushing through, jumping to any formality of predicted pacifications. It’s hard not to tally the many offenses committed against what I say I want and who I aim to be. Each decision, a weight placed changing the way the scales favor outcomes of freedom contested for or acquiescence stumbled upon. 

Against the better judgment of a rehabilitated mind, so much was said and done with no relations and was impersonal by nearly every metric in all of their contents; I was losing the ability to see myself. 

I listened for the signs while feeling for a touch, not one gentle and gracious but arresting and arousing. Anything that could, no matter how, fill the spaces deserted of life, lost. But I went too far. Out of sight and out of my right mind, now all that’s left is an innumerable mess of…fragments of ambition all around:

When I began to allow the existence of multiple layers, perspectives innumerable, and the mere possibility of other spirits at play, life’s instants expanded in presence. Constrained in a place where time slows down, here in between the macro and the micro, we influence each simultaneously in differing ways with one set of actions. A two for one, universally. I don’t know how else to say that…I feel Time and its Space. Or is it Space’s Time? 

Between every pole and every point lies a string from this to that, and humans are representative of each iteration. But when the physical appearance changes, it’s easy to forget the same rules still apply. The centering thread to the centered point. Discovering/naming this thread and point gives meaning to the sea of events encircling our daily lives; every piece of a part of the whole of who we are.

Right now, the information is too unknown for me to talk about directly. Similes and metaphors are the closest orbiting systems I have access to describe the particulars because relative to me and how I perceive the world, they are just as special as they are true. Conveying as much of what is lost in between each gap, break, end, and beginning. Delivering elusivity into physical embodiments.

Absence is sometimes the best spotlight; it holds space for the light to shine into just as silence promotes amplitudes and frequencies. But not the absence from and silence of the world, rather the absence and silence of my own interfering opinion upon the world. How can I hear and learn when I’m constantly speaking and acting over it? 

Like jazz borne from the duet between passion and duty, life has the potential to expand in meaning beyond Cartesian limits and life is really quiet right now, so I have to make the small things loud and big in order to fill the space and broaden the meaning.

Here’s my vow from now until then, when the tides turn upending the journey, maintaining the mast towards pathway restitution will forever be the proper spiritual attunement. Follow the hum beneath the noise that draws towards groundment. Nothing can remain unbalanced. 

Sending a shock of matched potential, the dream of each singularity.

With immature tolerances of discomfort and childish displays of agitation, there is only a small percentage of people who can handle the moment when a mirror is held in front of them, revealing all of their actions, choices, and character. Vainly arrogant by choice, they can’t see how much their ignorance distorts the perception of who they believe themself to be. Don’t be mad at the world for a lack of maturity within your own self. 

A tantrumous rejection of accountability demands. I haven’t proved my penalty period to be purposeful. 

All of these fragments colliding against one another, trying in vain to form some coherence. 

To not be as influenced by what could be, but by what is and has been depresses the pressure to be perfect and intensifies the incentive to be intentional. These are the steps to settle back into my own state of affairs rather than attempting to live solely in a fantasy of dreams.

The story isn’t written so stop looking for a script. The meaning will arise from each walked step.

Freedom is the fulcrum upon which this country’s purest intents lie. From where to what is an individual’s game, but time after time again it’s proven that when you put all of everything into whatever it is you choose here, the odds will find its way to that favor. 

The fight for flight from too many days spent drifting, undefined, and waiting to be shown what I already know how to do. Because it’s always something else or someone else that’s at fault for my own inability to command myself mature.

What happens to a mission marooned? 

This life I’m trying to live doesn’t fit anymore. It’s not worth it anymore. I’m losing too much time, too much time is being lost on all of this worthless, useless stuff. I sacrificed everything for it and now all I can think about is its death. Isn’t this how all love stories end? One’s death comes and in mourning a new star of hope is discovered. Distant. Is there an opportunity for a switch up? Is there an opportunity for a turn around in the near future? Or is it arrogant of me to wait on tomorrow’s flush? 

And as I close these fragments out, I give myself the gift of closure.