Rain. Again. Nothing sedates the fight for cheerfulness and action than a virulent sky and it’s viscose tears. As a victim of my own desires I’ve run amok these past weeks, through sun-washed landscapes like a fleeing prisoner, drunk with an ecstasy of golden freedom; I do not want to return to solitary or my emotional chains. Those moments now reduced to electrical impulses remain stored in my brain under ‘L’ for life… living… loving.
Restrained within a cube again, I’m resigned to making do for a while. How succinct the words have become; a lingering dialog from my previous life in England, a more disarming way of saying that the fires within are being suppressed. There are bills to be paid and savings to be acquired for the next round of travel, yet, making do should never be an option. Often we suffocate ourselves under the pressure of our own desires to engage something else, peer over the fence to the greener grass or just be a walking contradiction that will always argue the toss, no matter which side the coin lays. Life, as it currently appears, is a single shot of undetermined speed which ultimately will draw to a close when the metaphorical bullet reaches its target. Choosing an easier option of idling the mind and counting hours until the next event, robs us of taking part in the moment and filling our lives with meaning and growth.
There are many ways to conceive of life. One of many levels we need to elevate to, an education on Eden before the next metamorphosis, a rite of passage to enter some realm of afterlife, or as so eloquently put in the movie K-Pax, one existence that is continually repeated so that the actions we take now, will always be made again and again. It doesn’t matter how we conceive of life but how we use the tools that genetics, evolution and timing have handed us. It’s never enough to make do; be extraordinary, because we all are.