Clouds

There are moments in my life that seem to blur together. When I am not quite there, just following the rhythm of the nonsensical world around me, letting the days blend together and noticing no significance between the past, present, and future. These are moments I remember not in any specificity, but as a conglomerate. I quantify them; coffees drank, meals eaten, ales and spirits consumed in droves, et cetera. I hold no malice in my heart for these moments in my life, for they represent the moments when I was neither sad, nor overflowing with immense joy, nor felt anger in my heart towards any living body. Moments in which I took a place right beside my body and brought my eyes to a close.

I think these moments in my life best represent clouds; the moment which I snap out of them being representative to the moment a mammoth storm brings abundance to a summer crop, or a hurricane brings destruction to a community, now so in need of help.

The polarizing binary in these instances brings me peace but deeply shakes my core so much so that I almost fear the step needed to become present in the moment, to feel every breath as if I am willing my body to do so, wanting to remain idle until I realize my last days are upon me. But, alas, I cannot will myself to live in the fear that I may one day have let my whole life by without feeling, thinking, or allowing my heart to face the elements which I shield it from so often.

Instead, I must paddle my own canoe. I must grab my own sabre, my own scepter, and realize that I am my own guide through the world. The man in the mirror whose reflection takes me by surprise in certain moments is the only human soul which can decide the moment I take my own life into my own hands again.

The path between idle existence and awareness of the self lies within me, the ground becoming resistant to every footstep I choose to take. Movement becomes easier with every domineering motion forward, the idle mind becoming fast replaced by life’s electric continuance. Life, in and of itself, is something I will continue to grapple with — the continuity of my presence something which will continue to ricochet indefinitely — but I will never step out of the arena. Sparring with existence is something I willfully and woefully must do, as my infatuation with life’s small gifts will continue to supercede the state of existence amongst the Great Unknown.