Be Still

Certain mornings rouse rumblings that only seem to matter when it's dark and weary; the to-do list too long to list, the has-beens and what-ifs... Light streams through sun motes, sanitizing them in a display of keeping busy. Though that frenzy of foreshadowing soon settles into old, habitual mind-crevices, neglected again, until the contamination gets too big to be ignored. No amount of cleaning the internal house can guarantee, assure, or solve anything. If only these enigmas were deciphered with logical deductions and the best of brooms.

The oracle's answers, riddled with mystery, only make sense afterwards; when all is said and done, it reasons: that was how it was meant to go. The cluttering and muttering seem to waste time and space - it's bothersome but there's nothing left to do, except buy and sell, eat, drink, and excrete, collect and forget, dance and sing, listen, learn, write and read, and make messes to be swept...

yet, Be Still through it all, centered among the whirling dervishes and twirling dirt devils, for no other reason than to keep sanity among the absurd. What to choose? Choices are the middle-men between actions and words; picking through the nonsense of run-on sentences and polluted nothingness to clear a course that finally might make sense, if not now, later then.

"Wherever you go, there you are" 

"Keep calm and carry on"

"Be Here Now"

 and all that good stuff.



 

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