As of late yoga playlists seem to have taken on a purple persuasion. It’s strange. Weeks before your passing I was listening to you on a daily. And now you’re gone.
I hate the celebrity tributes and calculated wording by publicists representing those who never represented you. I hate the coolness of others as they try to hip folk to that which is optimistic when really it’s just another post about themselves.
I weeped in class the other day because I’m still not ready to share my loss with strangers. Not in that moment. Not in that setting. Yoga didn’t help that day. Nor did I bend hope or expectation in an upward direction silently wishing for your return. I looked up anyway. You were not there.
So I carry you with me. Forever in my heart. No matter how heavy the vibe gets. I love you Prince…
Fell asleep a few hours ago with the lights on again. Holiday hours in the land of retail have kicked in. Rearranging my fit schedule. Disrupting all things balanced. I’m usually annoyed and pissed while slipping in and out of my cranky pants on a daily. Don’t get me wrong. Love Christmas. The lights. The tree decorating. The music. The Baileys. All of it.
I don’t have to necessarily get anything. I just dig that people seem to be a little bit nicer this time of year. Of course when they’re not trampling each other during these ridiculous sales that seem never ending.
As I lay here contemplating it all. Those things said. That which is not left to restless spirits. I know that this is not it. There is so much more of the world to see. People to meet. Tea to drink underneath a different colored sky. I am a child of the moon. I propose no new changes. It is already happening. Perhaps that is why I’m so unbothered by schedules, numbers, corporate jargon and the angst ridden ramblings of my fellow employees. My spirit is calm. My nature resilient. The shift has begun.
Let everything around you motivate you. Especially the things you don’t like. I have a long list. Have stated this enough times in previous posts. No need to go all Rambo repeat on you.
But seriously look at your life. What’s working? What’s not? It becomes easier to spot these things once you let go of perception. Our own and others.
Take myself for instance. I don’t like anything about my current life situations. Instead of focusing on such I’ve turned my attention to the two things that are working. Fitness and writing. My two loves.
Recently I was given the green light by Dr. Schacter to return to a more active fitness regimen. This time around I’m taking a more common sense approach to training. As for writing I’d rather show you than tell you. Stay tuned.
Each day I’m learning to not give permanence to life’s seasonal things. Relationships. Jobs. Relationships that feel like a job. Okay, so I couldn’t resist a bit of the list. It is the only way that I can successfully achieve those things that do matter. All those fluffy clouds once aimlessly floating around inside of my head have started to take shape. And that is a good thing.
Missed two buses so far in my attempt to head to a job where I am invisible to most. Hardly seen by others. The humidity that swallows the air burns my ears. Head is on fire. Too many thoughts. Could be attributed to my unit’s lack of air conditioning.
A slight rain specks my phone. Cooling nothing. Is it possible to be this alone?
I live in a city where everyone wants to be someone other than themselves. Sad really. I lived here once. Much younger then. Unfinished business is why I returned again. Or so I thought.
My dream. Now shifted. Replaced with a purpose. One I run headlong into every day. I wonder if anyone thinks of Amy?
As I pace my tiny apartment, jacket still on. Beanie in place. Incense burning. Dry meat rots the space. Ears plugged. Don’t wanna hear the neighbors race. It’s enough that I have to smell your plate. I wonder if anyone thinks of Amy? I spent a few hours with her present today. Finding no watch in her past tonight. I wonder if anyone thinks of Amy?
Big theater. Too many seats. Maybe nine filled. Two hours and twenty minutes of winks, cusses, music and pain. Love and drugs. A constant rain. Perhaps a 27 year doc would have been a bit too long. We’ll never know. I wonder if anyone thinks of Amy?
I’ve always hated that phrase. Deep sigh in. Need I say this again?
There is no box. Do whatever it is you like, love or have always been afraid to do because you were too busy giving two shits about what others think of your many hues. Hey, Joseph, there is no robe. Bring ya’ own paint. Fin.
Accept nothing that makes you question your desire to be happy. People. Places. Things. All of the above. Enough said.
She writes because one day it will save her life. She writes and all the world halts. She writes from a place of anger. Despair is the political correctness that slices our throats. Leaving us unable to render the truth.
She writes because she says that she always has. Dust blown dreams cease to exist once the window has been shut closed. Strewn papers light her floor. If only she had a match. A burning desire to rid herself of all the reasons to etch each moment.
She writes because she doesn’t recognize time. A fossil grows on a beach now littered. Perhaps she will go for a swim. Her ankles weighed down by the stories that line her soul. It is a gift as well as a burden. To never grow old.
I hate my job. I hate having a job. I hate having a job that has absolutely nothing to do with the person I am. I hate having to explain that to coworkers who’ve bought into the whole idea of the American dream. One that I don’t ascribe to because it doesn’t exist in my world. Never has.
Even as a child I never believed the hype. School, work, house, car…The order is of your choosing. Success in these areas meant good fortune for life. A pauper’s existence seems to be my plight. I’ve spent a century living in and out of boxes. Trying to avoid the mold.
Not because I desire no responsibility. I have no desire for your responsibility. There are enough cookie cutters to go around. And plenty of dough. You fake it. Then make it. So you have something to show. To whom? And for what?
God made me free. Although I’ve yet to experience such a state. But have managed to live in several. Turning my pockets inside out. Finding more lint than loose change. My heart always heavy. Panicky sleep. It is the life I’ve sown. No reap. My harvest lies in the stories that I keep. Not a time sheet.
Beautiful dreamers, not of this world. Put your lighters in the air. Know there’s no sky up there. Let your edges burn. Resigned to no one’s existence. ‘Cept your own.