Off Of My Teeter-Totter

     You know when you’re on a teeter-totter with your best friend, and somewhere along the game of ups and downs and back again, the two of you for a moment allow each other to sit at even length, perfectly balanced, perfectly calm? Or that zen-like still moment when you first open the blinds early in the morning? The sun caressing your face in an instant, lingering and warming your skin, and for a moment, all is quiet, all is calm, all is still.

I don’t like feeling off-balance from my teeter-totter of research or my sunshine of delving into depths of information. And yet, so easily, even spending too much time with other humans, I find that I have fallen off of the gentle and sure balance of knowing that I am who I should be. I’ve said it many times, in many ways, to many people, and even to my trusty little leather notebook I scribbled the words:

     I feel as though who I am meant to be, is who I am when I am in pursuit of the truth, of answers.

But more than that, it’s when I’m pursuing information in and of itself. When it’s just me and my books and my piles of chicken-scratch notes. Why is it so easy for me to fall away from that state of self? Here I am, off of my teeter-totter.

I think this moment, as I’m writing this, is one of the reasons I so entirely love writing, love blogging, love WordPress.

Because this is a place where one can go and document a flicker in time that says, “I’m not okay right now, and this is how my heart feels.” And then the next public journal entry smiles softly and nods while quietly speaking, “I’m going to be okay, it’s alright.”

Talk to ya’ll soon,



Murder Of A Future Once Certain

I think the impossible dilemma when dealing with time, is the unpredictability it contains. Not regarding spacetime curvature or the actual counting down of a giant glittering sphere on New Years Eve, but the curious, human pondering of the contents of the meaning of the evershifting hand dancing pleasantly inside our pocket watches. Time, and what it contains for the human being.

We use our minds for memories and planning; the wonderous cognitive, executive functions of the frontal lobe forever biased by the amygdala when it comes to our overall view of our futures. Such beautiful roadmaps we create using experience and ambition. Such plans, using the key players we are currently focused upon, like a child using the nearest dolls to formulate an improv fairy tale, in which there is always a damsel in distress, and always prince charming to save the day.

What a shock to the system it is, even for a moment, when we glance down at our plans, schemes, and future mapped out before us, and suddenly grip the paper in utter terror when we realize that the page is white as snow, without a mark or a timeline to be found. An impossible fork in the road, leading a million places at once, and nowhere to go, because we have obliterated our own compasses for the sake of the everchanging heart. The unreliable beat of the ripping and tearing drum of every step we take, until we fall through into a formerly acoustic hideaway, once comfortable and safe, is now unsure and dangerous.

But time has a way of gentle healing, just as it specializes in the act of murder of a future once certain.