121212 one two, one, two, one to one correspondence in one two part literary endeavor with the first straight at you. I turned sixty-two three days ago and I’m feeling pressure to create and accomplish. This written missive is an example of my answer to that need. I see that, from my immediate post-birthday viewpoint , this writing is one to grow on.
One to one to one to won two, unto a manifest endeavor put forth toward employing means of garnering the attentive faculties of a specific, or non-specific, endear mentality to convey counsel upon the bearer of those eyes (in whatever level they see) whose vision these words reads. This parallel universe (not alternative, just inquisitive) takes alignment within the strictures of traditional, annual assessment to find, behind the door I had just come through on my way to take a nap or something, there, in the slight shadow, was my youthful vitality curled up and gone to sleep. I reached over, scratched him behind his ear and gently gave him a nudge to wake him up. A warm vibration flowed into my hand and there was a tingling that spiraled up my arm and shoulders into my neck and head, filling my mind with light and visions of peaceful relaxation. I stood in trancelike wonder amid a thousand diamond sparkles (guitars cried merry), feeling that the universe was at my feet and all I needed to do was walk on out to fulfill my greatest dreams. And then, as if that was where I’d been the whole time, I was standing, looking at the floor behind the bathroom door, wondering if it needed sweeping. Life muddles me along from one ineptitude to the next, never keeping me far from realizing my potential, always right there for the having …but distance is a relative measure and the unknown limits of enablement lie closer yet to come. Age wears like a closet full of clothes that were once new and clean, but are now a bit dusty and out of style, yet they are still comfortable to wear in the echoing halls of memory. The rooms of my reader’s mind mine the sedimentary layers of rock hard thought, earthen dust borne deep in creative output of ageless stories from the distant past, and reform the inspired energies found therein to write them again in new and diffracted mode, adding to the tales all told in timeless measure to descendents beyond ken. To add more dust, that is the effort undertaken, (one way or another, you may entente to wonder) but that, like a singing alarm clock, is another story. The tick of my aging presence (in applying discernible energy applications of varied substance and expression) adds counterpoint to inspirationed efforts such that attentions are closer to the home of my creative drive as it is endlessly (herewith substantiated) found to be one to go on to one two won, too, unto one, to grow on.