I have found myself running into the girl I used to be lately. You may think that must mean some carefree version of myself, untethered by serious adult themes but that would not be the case.
I’ve definitely gotten younger as I’ve gotten older.
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There are points in your life when you want things to be different and you feel like you don’t get much say in the matter. The all consuming desire for that which eludes you… Sometimes when I am painting, I think my canvas may bow in the middle like a cheap swing set—a result of all of the layers of paint that are resting on it. You are a puzzle, my friend, a fascinating puzzle. You are one surprise after another, just like those crazy Russian nesting dolls. You’ve been clever and intricate with how you’ve bound up that heart of yours. I’ve been waking up every morning between 4-430 for the last several months and I hate it. I’m tired. There is no reason for me to be up at the crack of ass. Passion is such a ruling planet in all our lives–if we allow it. There’s a soft center spot, a place where things have not fully come together, a sort of hazy Bermuda Triangle where change insists you shed something old and pick up something new. There is a wind that kicks up in me on a regular basis—an enormous dust devil that obscures my view, a tornado that picks up my house but never sets it down gently. Do you feel it? |
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Copyright © 2012 an agent of change - All Rights Reserved |
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