Don't Think, Just Write

A Man's Journey

…but we can never go back.

You write to remember, but also to forget. The heart bleeds like sap oozing from the trunk of a maple with nothing below to catch it. It bubbles forth in words and prose. In fiction and in rhyme. It won’t die. When two connect it causes a never ending spark that becomes its own embodiment of life. Two become one. The law of nature is reversed. We are put on this planet to multiply, to create, to forge new and better things for the offspring, but in a strange reversal of the law we try to become one. We speak the same. Look the same. Move in the same direction on well worn paths and only then do we feel good about ourselves. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that there is hate. It’s bred from our contentment by those who want to change us. To change your destiny. To forge new highways of creativity and life is to live. To develop an everlasting entity that the offspring will find boring but will envy the green path taken to create it.

We work hard to capture today. To bottle and preserve only because we fear the uncertainty of the next sunrise when we will be throttled by a truck while crossing the street to fetch mail that we dread. It will come as a relief to the troubled mind and the tortured soul. This sought after peace is our destination. We live at a speed of 100 miles per hour racing toward an intangible ideal not knowing that it’s only in our final resting that peace will prevail in our hearts.

Love will break you at every turn. The offspring will learn to talk, to walk, to forge their own way and the heart aches with every step. Man’s final heartbreak comes from the daughter who no longer accepts his hug. He wonders where it went, the time. The moments are so easily captured, then moved to a floppy, then to a CD, and finally to a cloud. They become less and less tangible with each step of technological progress. Let someone else save it for you and then you’ll pay to get it back, but one can never really get it back. We are willing to spend to hold on, to remember, to keep today sacred knowing tomorrow the sun will rise, life will advance, the calendar will turn over, and today will become like that maple sap, oozing from our memory. It can be photographed or written and posted to a blog that nobody gives a fuck about. We capture it knowing the purity is lost. The images, the words, even the feelings can be brought forth from our memory, but we can never go back.


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