Time Heals All Wounds

Look, I am no mystic.  I hold no keys to the kingdom.  My mind functions along the same lines as your's does.  What I am is not special nor unique - but also is not flawed nor condemned.  I haven't found Jesus or met Buddha on the road.  My IQ means nothing in the greater scheme of things.  At some things I am better than other people, at other things I am not as good.  I live relatively.  Or, more precisely, relativity lives me.  My identity is as skewed as a Picasso, my reality as clear as a Franz Kline.  There are more questions in me than answers.  And more answers in me than truths.  Sometimes I think I know better and other times I berate myself for not knowing enough.  Photography is a passion but time is limited.  I'd love to do whatever I like in life but boredom would take care of that exuberance.  The idea of a higher power seems so silly to me, yet when I am at my wit's end I ask for God's protection.  I don't pray.  My meditation sessions are not scheduled or constructive.  I constantly have to reign in my thoughts because left to their own devices they create some ominous fantasies.  My body yearns for food, drink, and sex.  My soul tries to limit all three.  I can be a very dependent person.  I can also claim that I need more alone time.  I've loved and lost the lovers who were no good for me.  I've neglected the lover who is.  I try very hard to give to my wife freely but random selfish moments squander some of those attempts.  Life can seem overwhelming.  Life brings joy that can be found on no other plane of existence.  I long to evolve my body and mind into the fourth dimension but my third dimensional reality keeps me grounded.  When winter drags on I long for summer but when summer enters its third month I fantasize about ten inches of snow.  I am afraid of my vulnerability but forget that others are just as soft inside.  I wish I could freeze the moment, hold my wife and children close, and live out eternity just as things are now.  I hate it when the baby wakes me up twenty minutes before my alarm goes off.  I love to write but I am critical of my work.  I am human but so much more.

What's the point of all this?  I have no idea.  The mind churned and the fingers obeyed.

Thanks for listening.

Peace Out,

Nathan J.