skinny dipping /indecision / expectations

All of the tiny pieces of life that ostensibly do not matter, but then really do, is what is tasted on my tongue today. Skinny-dipping seems so silly when I place it down on paper, but nothing in the world can ever feel so invigorating. Do it alone, do it with someone, but just do it, at least once in your lifetime. You need to almost get caught, but never get caught. The art of loving yourself, and letting go, is truly an art form. Beginning to make clawing gestures with at least one of my hands, as I dig in the dirt, all the while climbing up the hill, to finally be able to see the view from the top, where something fills the space and scent to the air of what is still missing.

The fact of the matter is, life can become tangled and broken, and then you build up again from there, from between the walls where it feels small and empty, that stagnant place, the place that leaves me barest. Life changes, and then we do, and we personify our lives searching for that perfect fit again, and then, suddenly, without cause or expectation, it arrives unannounced upon my doorstep.

Clean slates allow you to make something from nothing, from just scrapes of nothingness at all. An epiphany of sorts, a renaissance - an explanation mark at the end of your paper.

I'm standing alone waiting for the train, alone on the platform, as I see it moving towards me, barreling forward down the tracks. Then it's sound rushes over me, deafening me - and I am committed and ready when it gets here. It's wind blowing, tossing up the dormant riches that have been gathering dust on the floor of me.

The archaic need to wrestle just enough, to finally grab hold of something without indecisive decision having me, yet again, back peddling, I jump over the place between the locomotive and the platform, the one the conductor has always warned me about. The jumping has had to be learned, as I have never mastered the jumping into anything, easily. I do now know, that you need to take that jump, with no guarantee of a parachute landing. Letting old skin open, new skin in, and the wrestling of a failed convection of past history fall to the way - side.

The answer never arrives, unless you open the door and go looking for it. Yesterday's news, last week's novel, scattered across my desk...........navigating the territory between my heart and my head, even if the assumption is dangerous, as the clock ticks against the future, and beads of sweat form in my navel, and my indelible ink, for the moment, remains wet........