The Inner Life

Perhaps when zooming in on a leaf jagged patterns that seem random are, upon close inspection, predictable. So it is with the inner life. Deer move through it, of course, as do the wending paths of birds and the roughness of sidewalks.

Maybe every evening as I very gently tell myself to sleep, thoughts inside seconds and minutes escape as do feelings, both briefer and longer lasting. Don't be afraid of a little chaos (they say) as you are moving things around in bits and pieces. As long as you keep things moving you will be fine. Spiraling from one beginning to another ending may get to feel vertiginous. Inhale slowly, deeply as evening breezes fill all rifts and splits with the crisp fragrance of pine.

What if This Were Enough?

Perhaps anything and everything we say is a curse that encroaches on someone else’s experience. Words only set us up to have conflicting stories with everyone. With our words, what should come across as an inclusive, all-encompassing account of what it means to be human, is instead a tale that presents only one version of our fractured, tough, protected selves.

Maybe this ongoing story of the intersection of my life with others, constantly recorded and updated, can be checked at any time, much like an email. And while the creative act introduces me to a pleasurable place where I am able to strive and at the same time forget myself, what if each new word I write contains the same message that has come before, so in a way my own words continually come back to me instead of ever truly being sent out?

Swipe Tap Love

Perhaps while sitting alone at the café the brightened screen of my phone reminds me that a catastrophe is unfolding somewhere in the world. As I savor the first sip of steaming peppermint tea, my mind momentarily calms its draw to the rushing stream of world conflict spanning moments, months, and millennia that remains forever at my fingertips with tweets, pings and alerts yet to be received that I can’t and for some reason feel powerless to ever wish to control.

Maybe as I quietly strive to meet the demands of my digital existence with taps, swipes, and scrolls all around me people chat or quietly read books. There is a pleasant smell of baked goods, full of warmth and life, and for a moment I pause to enjoy the golden peace of a world delivered between the crisp layers of a buttery croissant.