8/13

There's this tree.

There's this tree and it stands so tall and immense and it doesn't complain.

Never complains.

Most people don't even know it exists. Most folks just walk right past it. Never give it any mind.

It'll out-live all those people. Every last one of them.

Sometimes children will play on and around it. They'll climb the enormous, stooping branches. They'll run around the massive trunk. Sleep in its shade. Dream on its base. Then leave. Don't say bye or thank you.

The tree will out-live them too.

Sometimes, though, the tree just stands there. Alone. Jutting up into the sky - a backdrop of clouds and blue. Reaching and stretching outward. Roots sprawling underground. Digging. Growing. Being.

There's this tree.

And it's so tall.

7/15

I'm on a mountain. I'm on a mountain and other mountains stand before me. They roll over each other in waves of green. Shadows from the clouds passing above creep atop the trees. Flowing onward and onward.

There's a woman sitting on a rock below me. She places a hand on the back of my calf and exhales slowly. Contentedly. Peacefully. She exhales.

And I look down at her for a moment, before a breeze brings me back to the view. To the wilderness sprawled out before me. I must take it in. I must remember this.

This seems like something to remember. Something worth looking back on later. Something.

So I open my nostrils and suck in the cool mountain air. Let the sun heat my skin. Feel the rocks under my boots.

Yes, this is definitely worth something.

7/11

Daily, it seems to me now, I see glimpses of lives I could be leading. These doors open. Curtains pulled. Veils lifted. And just for a moment, I see something magnificent. I see possibilities.

And, yes, maybe it is a fantasy or an enabling of some childlike dream. Maybe I'm giving way to grandiose temptations. Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself.

But how attractive that other life! How pleasant and debonair my other self. How exciting and thrilling my other daily activities. How tantalizing and energizing the food. How suave my clothes. How accommodating and caring my lover. How composed my stature and secure my finances, but free my will and peaceful my spirit. How -

Oh, yes.

Right.

Not giving in to such things.

10/15

What happened to this thing?

When did I decide to let it whither and die? Am I giving it life right now?

As a couple sits to my left, possibly engaged in sexual interactions. Her hand, possibly on his member.

Is that the life this thing needs?

Or the gentlemen to my right debating how hard it actually is to quit smoking? To cease breathing smoke into one's lungs?

Is that the life required to keep a blog alive?

To keep my fingers moving on these keys?

I'm not sure.

But I've been a victim to a toxic relationship that has fallen apart and I've been sticking my days out with hope for better days in the future and I've been here.

I've been here.

I've been here.

Is that enough?

Stark contrast. Complete opposition.

Beauty, right.

So, what's beautiful about tonight?

What's beautiful about not being able to go home? About not feeling ok at home? Not feeling alright with a loved one?

What's beautiful about finding comfort alone, leaning on a bar, with a beer in hand? Sitting next to strangers. Staring at the television but not registering what all the pictures mean. What everyone else is talking about.

What's so beautiful when the people in close quarters are laughing and singing and it does nothing but cause irritation? Agitation. When the music playing overhead just fills the silence. Provides no emotional response.

When finding joy seems more troublesome than anything else.

When hope seems like a waste of time.

Where is the beauty?

What is so beautiful about all of that?

And there is the beauty I yearn for.  It catches me.  It finds me.

When I'm on my way to the gym on a Thursday evening, after working for twelve hours.  After schlepping from one job to the other.  From brewing coffee and serving espresso drinks to brewing coffee and serving espresso drinks somewhere else.

After all that.

It finds me.

Somewhere before North Avenue.  Outside a church on St Paul.  

It finds me.

Five people.  Three sit.  Two stand.  Three violins.  One banjo.  One acoustic guitar.  They're playing folk music.  The kind that makes you want to strip off your shoes and go dance in the grass with a friend.  They're playing it and I can feel nothing but happiness.

With each step of my feet I feel buoyant.  A rhythmical bliss.  A sense of belonging.  As if these five people gathered on the steps of this church to play music for me.  To wait and wait until I decided I'd like to walk to the gym on this Thursday evening.  To select the songs according to my mood and my spirits and play them as I pass by.

Yes.  There is that beauty.  Even if I've fooled myself into feeling it.

So what's wrong with enjoying a bit of sadness? A little melancholy? Depression?

What's wrong with it?

This crisp white wine, as the box tells me it is. This hot shower. These defeating lullabies.

What's wrong with it all?

Why can't I like it? Why can't I look forward to it? Why can't I yearn for the few hours of night I have to just lay around my apartment drinking shitty white wine and listening to disheartening acoustic tunes?

Why can't I just have that?

Why is there so much guilt associated with it? Why is there so much shame and revulsion?

Why do I type these words behind the large white door of the bathroom?

I don't know. I don't know at all.

But damn if anyone is gonna stop me from this delicious crisp white and some tub time. Damn it all.