Entry Note To Self...RIP

Just A Collection Of Thoughts

Journal Entry: 1/15/18

As I progress into the last quarter of my life, I find that I have more time to answer people’s questions. Questions that use to bother me when asked, for example...”what do you want put on your headstone?” I use to blow that one off. “Who the hell wants to think about that.” 

Well that use to be. Now I have the time to answer that question. I have always leaned toward, “I have nothing more to say.” Seems like the “right” last thing to say as you are signing off. 

Lately this other thought on that subject has started to creep. If it were today, right now even, I think I would go with, “I always wanted to be a sheep herder!!”

Don’t really know why? Don’t even want to think about that. It’s just a thought, tucked away with other collections of thought.

The other thought I had, was to be cremated and put a pinch of me in these little glass vials on a necklace and have them distributed to everyone at my memorial. Maybe they will feel obligated to hang me around their necks for just a little while. It would be funny to watch and see how they disposed of me on the way home...:)

This whole dilemma would have not come up had it not been for someone referring to me as “ Looking Dapper” the other day. It struck me that I have never been called that before and for good reason. I wasn’t old enough. 

It’s an adjective that is applied only to men – never to women – after a certain age. It’s meant as a compliment: your suit was obviously dry-cleaned in the recent past, your shirt was ironed, your hair is combed, you shaved yourself within the past few days. 

It’s like that other indication that you have crossed a threshold and are drawing every closer to your appointment with the grim reaper. That’s when you meet someone younger than you and they look at you wide-eyed, with slightly raised eyebrows and declare with a hint of surprise that "you’re looking very well”.

It’s the sort of thing you don’t say to teenagers or to people in middle age. It is reserved for, well, people like me. You are not dead, it means you are not dribbling, you are not lying on a trolley in a corridor. No indeed, you are looking very well.

If I recall, there was even a doll in the 50s called Dapper Dan with his girlfriend Dressy Bessie...?

What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes...

Just thoughts...now off to do my chores here in The Sane Asylum 

Be Well...Doc
https://www.facebook.com/skyvillelive/videos/1995324297348804/

Photo By: Christopher Bryson

Entry Note To Self...Meaning?

Red Umbrella Under Moonlight Sky

Journal Entry: 1/16/18

One of my favorite things to do is walk around whatever neighborhood I’m in. I walk every day and I look at the sky, the fields and even the smallest of things and I say: 'Oh, what a blessing.' Then you realise it's important to put it in a context beyond this woman, this man, this city, this country, this universe. It goes beyond everything. It goes to the core of our reason for being here. ”What if there is no reason for being here and – there's no easy way to put this – nice walks around the neighborhood are as good as it gets? It's still a blessing."

Today I do not want to resolve the mysteries...I just want to walk...Doc

Photo: Christopher Bryson Collection

Lest we forget...

From The Archives

Dumb A** Mistake 

Well, it’s that time of year again. Lest we forget...

For the last few days I have been watching more football than my brain can enjoy. But what the hell, everyone else seems to be enjoying so why not join in. 

There is a lot of talk about the coaches...mostly about how much they make and second guessing their play calling. What I noticed most was the dumb ass mental mistakes by the players. Case in point. The Off Side call. The lineman execute this down set before you snap the ball thousands of times, but every once in a while they just jump off sides before the ball is snapped for no dump ass reason. The brain just makes a dumb ass reflex.  Can't explain it. The reflex just happens. Grown men slapping their helmet in disgust and lip syncing "What the --".

The other day I was backing out of my garage. I thought I put the car in reverse but guess it was a dumb ass mental mistake and I dropped it a notch or two lower into drive. Now when you accelerate and you sense you are going in the wrong direction your brain wants to help out and slam on your breaks. It knows how to do that, but the brain makes a big dumb ass reflex and presses the foot harder on the accelerator rather than withdrawing. "What the --", I thought as I sat in my storage closet looking at the rake and hoe hanging on the wall. Never use them but there they were, hanging neatly just outside my car door. Ended up off sides in my storage closet.

Now I must say, Ms. Ego was not very happy, even after I tried to explain to her that it was a big dumb ass mental mistake followed by a dumb ass brain reflex. "It was only a mental mistake and a brain reflex, can happen to anyone", I pleaded.  I even tried to explain to her that older people's response time is much slower and it never occurred to me to take my foot off the accelerator.  A lot like my recall lately. Things just don't occur to me like they use too. I went so far to explain that the average reaction reflex time to a visual stimuli is .025 of a second and .017 to an audio stimulus, and if she would have been watching she could have yelled at me and maybe I would have stopped sooner...She's not happy!

Reflexes come in all kinds. Conditioned, unconditioned and just the ordinary kind when an action is carried out through the mediation of the nervous system but not requiring the cooperation of the brain for its execution. Just a response of a perturbing stimulus that acts to return the body to homeostasis. The reflex arc, the receptor at the end of a sensory neuron, the afferent neuron, the efferent neuron traveling up the efferent pathway. I know all that crap but it was of no value in explaining how I ended up in the storage closet due to a dumb ass reflex.

I needed some deeper insight on this reflex subject, so I called my good friend Jess Ben Rambling and related how I had been hit hard of recent by "dumb ass reflexes".  Now I don't  know what I was expecting to hear. Maybe some sympathy followed by "it can happen to the best of us". Or maybe, "are you ok?". Hell, I would have settled for, "that was a real dumb ass reflex". He was silent for a moment trying to make contact with his deeper self, I suppose, then responded..."Many times I reflex on past memories and friends."

What the --!

Somewhat-not-half-bad-on-a-good-day...Doc

From The Far Side Of The Screen...privacy

From The Far Side Of The Glass

My Bent On Privacy

Journal Entry: 1/11/18

One thing that intrigues me about Facebook is the amount of open transparency. I’m not faulting this at all. It is just the way it is. I just have never been the type to let everyone know I was having a fish taco at Don Juans. For some reason, I have always had the bent to be more private and I find that I am that way as I communicate with my G+ circles. 

Not much different than the rest of my life...I tend to keep a garden of friends and acquaintances just large enough that I can care and maintain but still retain my privacy. It surprises me in some ways, because I find myself prying a little into other people’s privacy. Mostly strangers, just trying to know them better and acknowledge them as my fellow human. 

I was up St. Augustine way a week after Hurricane Irma had made her dance up the coast line. She waltzed her way up the coast right on the heels of Hurricane Harvey. . Anyway, I introduced myself to this gentleman on the elevator. He looked like the engineering type. Very proper looking, I might add, as he reached out his hand and said ”my name is Harvey”.

When I asked him did he miss Irma, not a smile did he show. Never even asked me “Who’s Irma?” I suppose he is just very private that way.

Back to my original thought...when I started posting a few years back I still had some business and professional ties. It was really none of their business what I posted or had to say to the world...but it was. So I started posting under the moniker of Dr. Ego Prozac. That way no one would really know who I am. Well, as I got deeper into it I got concerned that the big Pharm would take me down for using their trade name Prozac, so I decided to go underground and started posting under the name Dr. Ego Prozac Underground. I still have an active blog today with that same name. I go there when I want more privacy. :)

This “Selfie Thing” has me a bit confused. How can I be more transparent but still remain private? I think it’s important to show our resemblance. Just some glimpse of our shadow helps. Funny how many post there are of people showing their shadow. For me, I have played with different forms but mostly it’s just me trying to look less vain, always looking down, and fuzzed out by this app. called Imagine Edit. Showing just enough to make me look real.

I don’t have those professional ties anymore, so I no longer have to hide my twisted mind and crooked smile, but even without the restraints, I am bent on being a little private.

Good news is, it’s just a few weeks away until Mardi Gras and then I can put on my mask and be anyone I want to be! Maybe I will just be myself this year? A Pirate!

https://youtu.be/ITDgDkqYbss

So, From The Far Side Of The Glass...here’s looking at you?

Let the good times roll...

Doc

P.s...Be free, impose yourself but remain discreet, mark your imprint on the world, be the masterpiece of your birth and the meaning of something for someone.

Entry Note To Self...2%

la part des anges...The Angels Share

Journal Entry: 1/8/18

Once upon a time there were two sisters...

Ura Aging is the sister of Imma Wrinking. They are Ole Maid school teachers. Both are retired and live in Fisher, a small sawmill village owned by 4L Lumber Company.

On most days you might spot them sitting on their front porch drinking the Angles Share of Pappy Van Winkle. If you ask them what they are drinking, it will always be the cry, "

”23 year old Angels Share."

I like the number 23. It's a fitting age to end on for whiskey and has played a central role in every important event in history. When you start looking, it all seems so obvious: Julius Caesar stabbed 23 times. Michael Jordan’s jersey number, and of course, 23 year old Pappy Van Winkle.  

Now if you know anything about good whiskey you will know the Pappy blend is quiet sought after and hard to come by. Considered the most expensive bourbon in the world. 

How anyone gets Pappy is somewhat of a mystery. Some serendipity combined with a little bit of luck I suppose. Each year around Thanksgiving, Buffalo Trace Distillery begins allocating their yearly allotment. Only a ridiculously small amount of Pappy is distributed to liquor stores; most of the bottles go to bars and restaurants where an ounce can go for $100.

Now don't get Pappy Van Winkle and Rip Van Winkle confused. Rip took to the woods to escape from a nagging wife, drank some Dutch elixir and feel asleep for twenty years. Since that time henpecked husbands often wish they could have a sip of Rip Van Winkle's elixir to sleep through their own wives' nagging..

  

No one knows how Imma and Ura acquire their Pappy. I personally think it is their good looks. All in all, it seems to help their arthritis. The sisters stay busy making casserole dishes for the widowed and posting on Facebook. On rare occasions, they have been spotted late at night, skinny dipping in the mill pond with brothers John and Vern Funderburk. Quiet the gossip around the village. Must be the Angels share of Pappy taking hold?

May all the Angels be your sheltering and joyful guardians...May you partake of the Angels share of life before it is to late...Doc

Entry Note To Self...Things of the heart

The Biology Of Love

I always think of my ole friend, Pablo, and our discussions of language and how language produces within us a Biology Of Love. Especially so on this cool and bright morning. 

As I made my normal rounds this morning, I happened upon this guy named Harvey. Looked like an engineer type. Very precise and proper. In a good way. I never took offense at his manner. Quite a nice surprise on this beautiful day. We even conversed, discussed and cussed our way around the world and then I asked him, "Do you miss Irma?"  "Just joking Harvey." And did I say he had no humor button?

Well, I was just joking...seems Harvey had no clue. Not even a smile did he give. But it did remind me of the many in my life I truly miss.

"I just don't feel like myself without you," is probably something you've thought when you've missed someone you care about.

This idea randomly popped into my head as I walked on. I remember the words of Pablo;

"I am not entirely sure if the science behind this is accurate because even the scientists aren't sure about the accuracy. Emotions are difficult to understand, and neurotransmitters are difficult to track."

So with that said, here's my take on things: a layman's definition of why you might actually feel like a different person when you're away from your significant other (or anyone close to your heart). Anyway, I'm out here on this grand morning, so why not muck it up with some thought....

Biology and psychology teach us that our bodies naturally produce certain chemicals- hormones are produced by glands, and neurotransmitters by the central nervous system. Evolutionarily these chemicals help us to form emotional bonds to be able to maintain group relationships, intimate relationships, and parental relationships. They help keep us alive. Today, there's a lot more added to the mix, and as a result there's a lot more grey area.

The hormones related to "love" are estrogen/testosterone, and oxytocin. The neurotransmitters most closely involved are seratonin and dopamine.

Again, we produce all of these chemicals naturally, but when you are with someone you love, they surge. When they surge, your body speeds up to process them all. When you spend an extended period of time with someone you love, you basically become addicted to an elevated level of all of these chemicals, and your body becomes used to processing them all more quickly.

If your body is used to producing all of those chemicals, and processing them quickly, can you imagine what happens when you leave the person that causes it? In short, withdrawal happens. Your body stops producing an abundance of seratonin, oxytocin, etc., and to make matters worse, the chemicals that your body does produce continue to be processed so quickly it's as if they were never there.

Now you might be wondering, how does this impact one's emotional state? Well, in many ways, but it usually mimics symptoms of depression and anxiety. This is why so many people say, "I don't feel like myself," or, "I miss my other half," because their body has become used to certain stimulation that they are no longer receiving.

If you think about it, that's why the honeymoon phase in a romantic relationship feels like such a high at the beginning. Because that surge is new, and it feels good. They're all happy chemicals after all. But just like any drug, your body gets used to it, and it still feels good, you just might need extra every once in a while (hello date night).

Anyway, when you're ripped from the person that you love, it hurts. It could take months for your body to get back to normal, and every time you see that person in between, the clock is reset.

So before you beat yourself up for missing someone so much, remember this: "you can't help it."

No discussion needed on this one...best we think for ourselves about this subject. After all, it's just what I think, and I could be wrong...:) 

Whatever may be the reason..."I would say it’s a very nice feeling to miss someone" ...Regards, Doc

Reflections From The World...

The Christopher Bryson Series...

As I sat there enjoying Jambalaya and Boudin Balls, I heard the trumpet play "It's the End of the World As We Know It"...It was perfection. Life In The French Quarter

Would you like

To ride on a train,

Walk in the rain,

Or feel no pain?

Reflections From The World...Pretending

Ed Valfre’s Dreamland...

Every afternoon, she would sit on the same bench under the same tree and pretend to read an interesting book. It had been her hope that a nice young man with intellectual taste would one day notice her and strike up a conversation. She finally met a sweet young man, who as luck would have it, also liked pretending to read interesting books.  

Entry Note To Self...Waiting

Waiting

Journal Entry: 1/2/18

Today, I had to wait for 45 minutes for something in a waiting room full of people. To most people, that may sound quite tedious. However, I didn’t mind. I like waiting. I know... that is strange. But I really do.

Why do I like waiting?  Older people are just good at waiting. We don’t mind, or we don’t show that we mind, to a point. If we do mind or get to the point when we start minding, we complain, but only in a very jolly sarcastic way. We complain with humor. We complain apologetically. That is, if we complain at all. Mostly, we just put up and shut up.

Now I have my reasons. Firstly, if I am waiting then I am not engaged in real life. This is especially so if I have no phone signal (as was the case today). Nobody can get hold of me while I am waiting. They can wait. Bliss.

Secondly, waiting gives me thinking space. All I can do is think while I wait. Thinking is healthy. We all should stop and just think now and then. It’s amazing what your mind can come up with if left with it’s own vices.

Thirdly, I love reading really old copies of Women’s Weekly.  Who doesn’t?

Fourthly, I love reading the random signs and notices that are always present in places of waiting: the adverts for coping with dementia, what to do if you think you have an STD, how much water you should drink a day, where the local support group for people with random unusual disease meet or the signs that tell you ‘please be patient if you have been waiting a long time’.

Finally, and most importantly, I love people watching and eavesdropping on those people. So for me, waiting is like being in the Frozen Frog Yogurt shop.

Today, while waiting, I heard all about one woman’s issues renovating her house and what happened when a curtain rod fell down on her sleeping husband during the night. I helped an elderly lady of 85 work out what day it was. I amused a random man with my desperate need to know more about a ‘Tilt Test’. He asked the receptionist for me, she wasn’t sure. I exchanged mutual society horror stories with a lady called Julie . I watched as a doddery old man with a thatched head of pure white hair called John, (the man, not the hair) as he was called into his appointment. I observed a lady called Florence amble past to her appointment shortly after John. I created a life for her in my head, (lives in the country, higgldy piggldy house, too many books and cats, loves Walmart, eats a lot of potato chips). I saw a youngish man called Paul with a funny hat get called into his appointment. I amused a random couple with my grammatical pedantry. _

_If only I had my sketch pad today. The adventures my pen and I would have told. As it were, I decided that an hour in a random waiting room would make for a great Broadway play or a Samuel Beckett story. It was an existentialist’s dream- waiting for something you don’t want to experience, and waiting patiently at that, and more importantly, being forced to consider your mortality and meaning on this planet while waiting for that thing you don’t want to happen. Arguably, there isn’t anything more existential than that.

When my time waiting came to an end, 45 minutes after it began, I hate to admit it but I was sad. For I will miss my new friends: John, Julie, Florence and Paul to name but a few. Perhaps our paths will cross again, in another waiting room somewhere else?

P.S. hope you like my Andy Warhol selfie??? 

Waiting Patiently...Doc

From Inside The Sane Asylum...Jess

”Hallelujah, Doc said my give a Sh_ **er  is in remission.”

Journal Entry1/1/18

Let’s start the New Year with a friend and a grin...here is to Jess B. Rambling

I don’t know how many of you will remember my friend Jess B? You just may recall that Jess is one of the original Sane Asylum homesteaders.

It is Jess B in present tense and Jess Ben Rambling in past tense. Jess is a wondering pilgrim and not seen a lot in public, but on occasions he will have something to point out and in his cynical way make his presence known.

He usually likes to do nothing on most days and seems he never gets finished of doing nothing. He often relates, that if you never start anything you will never have to finish. He is also quick to remind you that Lolly Gagging and Dilly Dallying are skilled behaviors that must be practiced often.

Jess has this gift of finding Hysterical Sites. He will ponder, travel great distances and investigate well before he documents his findings. He is credited with documenting several pseudo normal sites in The Sane Asylum.

No one really sees much of Jess, but from time to time he will send me facts and pictures from some hysterical site he has run across. Like the time he found a street in Austin called West Street, but it really ran North and South. He sent me a picture of him holding a compass under the West Street Sign to validate his findings that it truly did run North and South. Or how about the time he traveled to St. Augustine to find the original St. Augustine Grass. Picture to prove it.

Then there was this intersection in rural Louisiana where North Tucker Road crossed South Tucker Road. That corner still puzzles Jess to this day. There is not a visit that goes by that he does not discuss it as a true sign we are living in The Matrix.

Well this morning look what walks through my door...Jess Ben, wearing an old pair of fatigue cutoffs and a green t-shirt with the inscription, “Johnny Barber co-ed benefit Softball Tournament 2008.” Don’t know why that caught me as rather strange, but it did.

I asked Jess where did he get that old t-shirt? He mumbled something that sounded like “County Jail”.

“A long story”, he said.

Nothing like a long story from Jess to whet the appetite or is it wet the appetite? Always get those confused. So, I pour him a whiskey over ice and listen to his tale.

The First Lie Of The New Year

As he tells it...

”I went down to get my drivers license renewed this morning. Made it through the long line, passed the eye test after a few tries, took my mug shot and went to the clerk’s office to pay for my renewal with my credit card. The clerk looked at my card, then at yours truly and said “strip down please”.

I really thought it was some new security requirement and proceeded to take my cloths off. It only took seconds and I was subdued by a large swarm of Security Guards, followed quickly by the local Police department Swat Team pushing me in the back of a Paddy Wagon.

The holding cell interview was just shy of water boarding, but I am sure it was to determine if I had been radicalized. Imagine that.

I kept telling them over and over that the clerk told me to strip down! They kept telling me that the clerk meant for you to slide your credit card ‘with the strip down’.

I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding, but I am out on bond, and wearing clothes from the discarded box in County Jail.

They said they needed to keep my clothes as evidence.”

Not half that bad on a good day...Doc

P.s...and yes, Jess’s give a sh**’er is still in remission.

Entry Note To Self...New Year

Journal Entry: 12/29/17

As I am sitting at my desk on the eve of a new year, I am reminded of a quote from a young writer in Melbourne, Australia by the name of Beau Tarplin...Beau, please forgive me if I do not get it exact...it goes something like this...

”Don't stress so much about settling on a path for 2018.

The division of time into years is a human invention,

And the fact is, every moment of every day is an opportunity for resolution and growth.

So, when the fireworks fly, relax and enjoy the moment.

The rest will come to you."

So...as we honor the passing of 2017, I leave you with my prayer...

For those I may have wronged, I ask for your forgiveness.

For those I may have helped, I wish I could have done more.

For those I could have helped, I ask for understanding.

For those who have helped me, I am grateful.

Resolved to sense more beauty, express more gratitude , and experience more forgiveness...See you in the new year...Doc

Through the window I spy stars, I walk  quietly in, to not wake the sky and dance barefoot on the stage of chaos. ...Doc

Reflections From The World...

"There are a lot of places I like, but I like New Orleans better. There's a thousand different angles at any moment. At any time you could run into a ritual honoring some vaguely known queen. Bluebloods, titled persons like crazy drunks, lean weakly against the walls and drag themselves through the gutter. Even they seem to have insights you might want to listen to. No action seems inappropriate here. The city is one very long poem. Gardens full of pansies, pink petunias, opiates. Flower-bedecked shrines, white myrtles, bougainvillea and purple oleander stimulate your senses, make you feel cool and clear inside." Bob Dylan

At The Reception

Faubourg Tremé

New Orleans

2015

Photo By Christopher Bryson...

From The Sane Asylum...notice!

On my blog site I always post this Up Shit Creek Paddle Store when I will be away a few days. Well, I will be away for a few days so you get to be shamed by reading my ramblings...Doc

Up Shit Creek...

I'm sitting here on the banks of Shit Creek just giving some thought to what's up the Creek. I would like to be having some deep philosophical thought about humanity, but that effort seems to be dissipating like the smell of Shit Creek in a strong wind, if you know what I mean.

Stories abound on how this Creek received such a name. Some ole English tale would be my guess. May have even started as just up the creek without a paddle and someone wanted to intensify a bad situation and added "up Shit Creek." Makes little difference since we all have our days where we feel like we are "up Shit Creek without a paddle." Seems the real question should be how do we navigate up Shit Creek without a paddle?

There are a lot of things to see up Shit Creek. I recall being up the Creek on one occasion and seeing this old house covered in rose bushes. The story goes...there was a sweet ole lady that lived her whole life next to the Creek. She planted and tended her rose garden to add fragrance to the occasional downwind blowing across Shit Creek. She loved her roses so much that when she died, her roses absorbed her and now there is the smell of her sweet essence...:)

I hate when my mind wanders and comes up with some silly made up allegory. We have a more problematic issue to deal with...navigating Shit Creek without a paddle.

People constantly worry about being "up Shit Creek without a paddle." I don't think being stuck in this infamous body of water is as bad as it sounds if you make the right decisions. Luckily for you I have come up with a few helpful hints:

Step-by-step

 1 Make sure you are in fact up Shit Creek and not a normal creek that was unfortunately named. The most telling signs are a rather pungent aroma, murky water, and a feeling of utter hopelessness. If these signs aren't present, then you are up a normal creek.

 2 Attempt to hail other boats. Many people get stuck up Shit Creek and most of them won't have a paddle. Hopefully, someone brought a paddle or has a motor. If this is the case, hop onto their boat or have them tow you.

 3 If nobody has a p addle (the most likely scenario) attempt to pry some loose timber off your boat. This can be slightly tricky, since you don't want to cause your boat to sink. Stick to boards located near the top of the boat, and the sides, do not touch anything on the deck.

 4 Once you have a board, use this as a paddle substitute, it isn't the fastest method but more effective than drifting.

 5 Paddle towards other boats, and recruit other rowers. Since nobody likes to be up Shit Creek, these people should be more than willing to help you paddle. Insist on using your boat, and once you have enough rowers, sit idly by and let others do your work.

 6 (Optional) Resort to piracy, and plunder those in your path. Some people up shit creek are lawyers, bankers, and doctors. Seek these people out since they will have more money. The booty must be distributed among your crew...a 50-50 split between you and the crew should be appropriate.

 7 Once your boat exits Shit Creek, immediately pray to whatever deity you worship. Only by the will of God/Allah/Buddha/Vishnu/Zeus/Posseidon/Thor/Shenron/Nightrider/Chuck Norris/Flying Spaghetti Monster/etc. did you escape. (If you are missing a deity you are back up Shit Creek, and thusly must escape again, the method you just used should work, but if not guess where you are?)

Tips:

 ▪ If you are the kind of person who constantly finds yourself up Shit Creek, do yourself a favor, buy you a paddle from Shit Creek Paddle Store.

 ▪ Don't agree to be in a Jamie Kennedy film, by the same name, no matter how much you are offered.

 ▪ Make friends. Since most people find themselves up Shit Creek more than once, it helps to get to know the regulars. Not only will their advice prove invaluable, idle chatter can help pass the time and stave off boredom.

 ▪ Avoid mutiny at all costs. You'd rather be up Shit Creek than in it.

Warning:

 ▪ Beware of pirates. If you can read step 6, so can someone else. This may mean you are not the only pirate on Shit Creek...so form a large crew and be wary of the surroundings.

Footnote: I'm doing a little remodeling of my blog site, Dr Ego Prozac...Underground. I hope you will like the new look. I will be posting again soon...as soon as My mind gets back in order. Anyone interested in buying a Shit Creek Paddle Store? Just checking.

Not Half that bad on a good day. See you soon, Happy Holidays ...Doc

Entry Note To Self...moments

A Thoughtfull Place

Life is merely a series of before and afters, beginnings and endings. Sometimes we are a fortune's king, wielding the key to open or close doors. Other times, our control is lost and a line is drawn by the sword of a skillful hand marking a change of heart or opportunity, and inevitably Death bows to the governing power of Chronus holding time in his hands.

But in between the before and afters, and the beginnings and endings are moments...Defining, turning, quiet, some stolen, and those of no return.

Moments…

The rhythmic newborn baby's cry, 

goodbyes that cast a shadow, 

songs filled with Heaven's joy, 

kisses that taste of forever, 

breezes that dance with the angels

quarrels armed with it's poison

Some left with arms reaching for they were missed.

A hesitant heart refusing love,

words left unspoken,

time not taken

and forgiveness held captive.

Looking back at memories held, moments have brought light and darkness, but the missed moments have left their scars, marking opportunity's lost.

So, I try to remember that in between the before and afters, the beginnings and endings are moments, and I shall adorn them in jewels or embrace them in peace but they will not be missed, for soon, they too shall pass...

Photo By: Christopher Bryson