Sunday, November 7, 2010

To Do . . .

To be glorious and brave, dark and shrewd and unapologetic.  To say, "This is the art within me" and "To hell with you."

To recognize the power of a minute, if it's all that's left in a day for personal reflection. To damn sleep and use it or fail yourself and lose it.

To curse the rapid, vapid, needy world that seeks to reduce you to a status update, reportable the very second you realize you have engaged in a new activity and robbing you of transition neurons.

To step outside when it suits you best, when the night calls or the morning beckons. To recognize your place in the universe and how you contribute to its balance as much as it does yours.

To ignore the ruts in the road and the ruts in humanity.  To remember that the only road you rule is your own.

To say it when it needs to be said.  To tell polite society that apologies can be found in anything if ones looks deep enough.  To let them spend their time looking. 

To cut effectively from the activities that are incongruous to your composition.  To do what calls you - what consumes you - what keeps your head in the clouds. 

To purse your lips and wrinkle your brow and cock your head and consider what needs consideration. Anytime at all.

To go home. Wherever that for you.  To live there and love from there no matter where you go.

To look at love and see love and not the thing that is said wrong. To stop tabulating the slights like the scorekeeper at a basketball game.

To laugh at what is funny.  To explain why instead of hording a wry smile like it'll do you any good later.

To do . . .