What is enough?
What is excess – what is not enough?
Can I trust this yearning inside that tells me
yes, this is lacking, and no, that is surfeit?
There is no better judge, no better measure
than resides in this heart
that beats in this breast
in this body
that is the center of my personal universe.
There can be no better understanding
as that is the only understanding
I will ever, ever know.
Trusting what is within me
to be enough.
I cannot help the way you choose to think of me. I am sure what you think, you believe is accurate, and it is – from your point of view. Problem is, that isn’t necessarily an accurate location from which to view these events.
Try putting yourself into my shoes for a minute – the person who cared for you much more than you cared in return, and who still cares more for you than you care in return.
I cannot help your views. But I do not have to hang around while you figure out how limited your views are. It’s probably going to take quite some time, and I am not holding my breath on you getting any smarter anytime soon.
Your loss – and by extension – also mine. That’s the sad part – what you deny us both by continuing to believe you are always right.
I already know neither of us is that, and won’t ever, ever be that. You, however, have a lot of learning yet to accomplish, and I am not holding school for you any longer.
You will have to finish growing up all by yourself. If you can.
There is a song I first heard in a Harry Chapin concert that says “all my life’s a circle, sunrise to sundown” and that is so accurate.
I am on life’s merry go round, listening to the manic music as the cylinder turns to the hurdy-gurdy tune. I watch the blur as what I suspect is the “real life” continues beyond the passing swirl as the ride (that I am somehow on) flashes past what I can clearly see (even if I see it in glimpses) is a slower, more sedate, more relaxed pace. As I ride my pony (up in the morning, highs and lows during the day and down at night), I see others who are also on this ride (my fellow inmates) on their fantastical mounts (each at once more beautiful and macabre than the last) bobbing up and down as I am, on the waves of the un-soothing music.
When did I buy my ticket for this ride? Was that when I was born, or did I choose it somewhere along the way?
When did I stand in line to get on this ride – was that my long years of schooling? Was that when I accepted my first paying job? Was it when I married?
How did I end up here?
More importantly, those I can glimpse who are clearly not on this merry go round, are they more content with their experience, as it appears that they are?
And most important of all – if I choose to go the other way (scary thought, that, as this manic ride is all I’ve ever known) – how do I get OFF this ride?