Getting Lost In Possible Horizons

Sitting at the stoop I suck on my cylinders-of-sin, appreciating the spectacular, the mundane, and I have embraced happiness once again.

I read today the line “be happy for no reason, because then there is nothing to take“.

Village On The Rise

Village On The Rise

I am impatient, as the distraction recently pointed out. So no mr.blue.eyes at my door, nor text, nor one peep from that corner. The only regret I have is that I feel no sense of closer. So be it. I will keep my silence, and accept that he either does not care, or is just completely unaware. In conversation the other eve with MsLexter, she hinted that perhaps I’d been in err, that maybe he did in fact care, but I know that what is for me will not pass me by.

Good or bad, it always manages to find me, so there is no need to seek it, and no sense in hiding from it.

Tis so easy to get lost in those possible horizons, and forget to enjoy the ride. The here, the now, the present day out your window reality of where I am today, is not lost on me. At least not any more.

Your death Mom taught me that.

hands-in-the-bark

Can You See The Hands In The Bark?

I never told you Mom, but at some point in the past I found I could see things that others did not. Not visions in the way of sight, but senses of this, and tingles, ringing ears, and whispered truths that are born from symbolic gestures, and that which we can see just out of sight. Nothing earth shattering, thank god. Just angel cards found wrapped in their plastic at garage sales, and certain songs, at certain times. The earth provides the answers, it is only from our seeking that we may uncover the truths.

With our Irish blood coursing through me veins, suppose tis natural I should seek signs in the landscape, and superstitiously sweep evil spirits out my door with my broom. SWOOOOSH !!! Off and away go all that negativity.

Flying from my stoop with the greatest of ease are all the unfinished thoughts, and failed desires, and careless whispers are no more. Secret words traced on my back, you refused to translate, are swirling down the shower drain, and are lost.

So be it. I refuse to not be happy. After my swing on the weekend round the river, I decided that even if I’m to remain a party of one, there is no good reason to imagine that as failure, for I would still remain, I would still be me, and that is fine.

Always,

Paula

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