Monday, December 21, 2015


Skin can hide the workings of the mind and heart. True, the eyes offer access to those with the ability to see, and the nuances of the face betray the state of things below. But most people don't look closely enough or are too wrapped up the workings of their own dramas to see much of the subtlety.

What does one do with the churning oceans of feelings when there is no way to express them?

One keeps them bottled up, that's what. Or, if one is lucky, one does some kind of art. Music is good. Singing is the best. Visual art works too. Sometimes writing can be an outlet. Bike rides under a desert solstice sun help too.

Eventually, though, one has to sit with and accept the company of raging emotions. They demand action, but no action is possible in some cases. The restraints, external and self-imposed, are too much to overcome. It ain't easy sitting in the middle of the fire, taking one breath at a time, infused with a heat so high it is unbearable in any other circumstance.

One likely knows too, that with time and patience, the fires will die down. Days spent walking the halls of work and responsibility throw waters on the glowing embers. Envelopes full of requests for work and time pull one's mind into the concerns of others. One puts on the reading glasses and attends to the business of staying alive, one minute, day, week at a time.

It is the case that one dies a little as the moments pass, the actions postponed again and again. The dream deferred sinks deeper and deeper into the workings of the flesh, where it waits for peace and the relief of sleep. 

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