If we venture into the past too often, we stay there
And if we write the next line of Now
our future is our prognostication
I lie under an oak tree planted 15 years ago
cut after one year
by my irresponsible sister
with the electric weed-eater
My dad was mad
and she was surprised
because she thought she had hacked
a particularly invasive weed
The tree grew back with my dad’s attending
and it got mowed over by me
unknowingly
and when my dad found out
he cursed and I was unapologetic
Dad abandoned his tree altogether
and it grew on its own accord
the way trees should grow
without interference from pruners or grafters or meddlers
Now, I’m lying under that same tree fifteen years later
and the oak leaves offer me shade
on a lazy summer day
I feel a lack of control
without much desire to control anything
and it grows without my assistance
like everything else
I find that mysteries are revealed
when we don’t desperately seek them
and I find that curiosity helps
You can fight for oh so long
until you realize that you don’t have to fight
the struggle is somewhere else
it’s liberating
like it shouldn’t be
not that problems don’t keep happening
just that they don’t seem to be as big as they used to be
tender projections of my soul turn different shades
even as I bike towards oblivion in the heat of the day
I can’t wrap my mind around the present
not likely to change
Is it wisdom to recognize futility?
unwashed cups
a bedroom full of trash
a friend to talk to
a mood that wavers like the wind
with howling hormones and raging beliefs
that change faster than the seasons
How much is enough?
just a bit more
than the other guy
what absurdity
to talk and then not to talk
for some built-up feeling
or higher morality.
And even as I write these words
the courageous man lingers
waiting
to spring
into action
A testament
of change
to not know my next thought
I don’t worship this unpredictability
or look down upon it
I only hope
my rudderless ship
moves
in the right direction.
Sometimes that’s the best we can hope for.
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