Rich

Living is a balancing act. I don't want to miss all the wonderful little treats and blessings hidden away in the tucks and folds of unlikely moments, waiting there to be discovered like Easter eggs delivered by a huge invisible white rabbit whenever I look away.

But if I get too close I miss the big picture, the one that can't be seen if I am trapped in an eight by ten frame on the mantle of some dusty manor house.

And again, if I find myself jumping from one perspective to another, consciously trying not to miss anything, I will miss a lot. The fireplace is filled with the ashes of lost opportunities, things that never came to pass because I was focused on not missing that minuscule thing under the microscope, or far away thing through the telescope.

The ebb and flow of life and love, moments and adventures, fantasy and fact, light and dark, archetypal and mundane is so rich. I feel like a huge whale scooping up delights by the tons and filtering it out again, hoping to retain enough to keep me alive for one more mouthful.

And sometimes I am so discouraged by the doctors and dentists, the philosophers and newscasters, the specialists who feel it is their duty to keep me on the straight and narrow, the down and dirty, the road stomped safe and flat by a million other feet, that I feel like giving up.

Life needs to be lived and the older I get the more necessary it becomes for me to live it! I don't want to spend years on a shelf, to be viewed like some stuffed copy of the human I once was. I want to burn bright and get blown out on a dark and stormy night listening to the thunder outside my window and being glad I'm inside safe and warm.