in january, i must say, i changed my thinking some. and i am pretty pleased with what i’ll call the progress.
i needed it. my brain was all….leader and shit. poor spirit of the t relegated to second fiddle. sad.
but now…in january… it was good. interesting. small wonders. little bits of amazing.
the mental bending of events began (resumed?), i guess…
the vibing–like i used to…
the openness with which i found myself facing life…
the moments i really let go…
and most deliciously, the frequent occurrences of synchronicity…
were these things happening all along?
or did i just start paying attention to that which had always been?
i’m choosing to believe…
(*and that right there is the newness i speak of…. before, i would have thought and written something like, i’m inclined to believe. no, this way, this new (old) way is a choice, plain and simple…)
…that i am doing something right.
i have no idea where that thinking comes from…that confirmation from the universe thing, but it’s there, as strong as it was from the moment i first heard and believed:
when synchronicity rears it’s beautiful head, over and over again, it acts as confirmation that i am doing something right in my life, inching ever closer to my fate.
when synchronicity rears it’s beautiful head, over and over again, it acts as confirmation that i am doing something right in my life, inching ever closer to my fate.
but is arriving at one’s fate even avoidable? idk.
maybe there are two possible fates–the good one and the fucked up one. one can either heed one’s inner voice, or disregard it (isn’t either a choice?), with the outcome being proportionate to all decision(s) made. (does that work completely against the concept of fate though?
it seems quite obviously the case for my life…a basic truism that somehow begs to be re-stated, re-purposed, and retained:
all those little things that need doing, fixing, correcting, and addressing? (and loving, hating, leaving, taking, making, breaking?)
if we would just do, fix, correct, and address (love, hate, take, make, break, and so on), that shit would be done, fixed, corrected, and addressed and we could move on to the bigger things that need doing, fixing, correcting, and addressing. (imagine!)
rewards (and LESSONS!) would (could?) be automatic. immediate. and telling. guiding. moving us right along on this tide of life…or path of fate. before you know it, it’s your turn to die. it took 20 years to feel grown, but only 10 to feel aged. my father is in the ground1. my mother is moving to phoenix. she’ll never die. but i will. i, like my father, will die. and before i go, i better get my daughter some damned–wait–i’ve digressed. there’s just so many things to do, fix, correct, and address. i think of them constantly, do them, and gravitate toward the next set of things in an attempt to avoid the fate of fuckery.
indeed, the fucked up fate seems to come when we don’t do, fix, correct, or address.
shit runs amok.
that’s a semi-sweet way of saying fucked.
and isn’t it obvious? or is it just that my fate (will?) does not (shall not) court disaster.
failing just ain’t me, she says, perhaps a bit self-righteously.
no matter. that, again, is all she wrote….
hello, february.
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1 i want to say that because i think it constantly. the thought burrows itself into my plans for the day, my sleep at night, my walk through life. my father is in the ground. it’s still surreal. obsessively i wonder about the state of his body
the state of his body
the state of his body
the state of his body
and of his final moments, i wonder…
Nonfiction Woman 