Coffee isn’t going to touch it. Food doesn’t. But activity does. And writing can—if I bore below the surface, get beyond the same old rabbit hole. I’ve traveled that too much.
Morning came the same as it always does. Already, I’m a wreck. Exhausted. Confined. Head swimming with plans, to-dos, and what-ifs. I sit here, Deep Smoothed Brown Noise accompanying the ringing in my ears, and as much as I want human touch, sleep, and silence, I will fill the day with distraction.
Studio furnace needs fixing. Pilot light. Thermal couple.
Bay window wood is rotting. We do not need leaks.
Hole near back door needs filling. We have enough domestic critters inside. We don’t need wild ones.
Basketball hoop needs to be put away, so it can be taken out in the Spring to remain unused for another series of seasons.
Minuscule, meaningless motion while people die from everything. Slowly and in pain. Quickly without realization. All the while more babies are born to continue the cycle. Very few of them ever rising above all this long enough to see and hear, recognize and feel other dimensions.
There’s so much more than this, but we choose to focus on little things. Grind it out. Make unimportant progress. Not accomplishing anything that keeps us wise and strong enough to care for ourselves so we can find the keys that unlock the mysteries that matter most.
~ KJ
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