Sensory awareness, action, assessment, reaction and memory build the structures of our thoughts in regard to interaction with reality. The response alteration of situational circumstance is in direct correlation to the attention given to this interaction, the effect being variably graduated. Thus, this structure of memoried thought is imperfect, but it is OUR building (personalized, I to mine, you to yours), we live in it and no else can ever enter it. Some areas of this mental creation are more solid in memory than others, some areas are more viable to dwell within, and this has both positive and negative impact upon emotions. But these are ours and ours alone, the ultimate castle and keep, inviolate and personal beyond anything else we have. We exist within our mind full of memories, where the rooms of our past lie available, for the most part, for us to visit and face their reflections. This very evening, the longest night of the year, the first day of winter and the first snowfall of the year (establishing a new Chicago record for days without snow) holds poignant references in my regard and considerations. My Father’s birthday, my marriage anniversary and the anniversary of buying the house I am still living in all occurred on the twelve twenty-one noting of the winter solstice. Chill winds blow at my memories, but yet they keep me warm from the breeze.
Inspired options swarm the sway and play the way astray, giving rise and taking toll of the bell in the attic of my absent thoughts, peeling like old paint on the walls of sound concerns and audible reason. To due or not to do, that is the questing, whether it’s no blur in the mind to surf the slinging narrows of outer ages for tune, or just roll with the punches and get by the best we can. I take arms in a sea of troubles (how else could I swim?), and by supposing mend them.
Consider that done.
I am encouraged by the presence of this moment as I’m able to apply the energy needed to be creative and spontaneous. I find my intentions are in hot pursuit of direction to follow, taking every turn of events in stride and holding out for the next best thing to come along, keeping me abreast of the times and up to my armpits in confusion. Looking for a place to stand is difficult enough without have the added aspect of not being able to see much down past my chin, but I turn the other cheek and peek out of the corner of my eye, managing to figure out where we are by the time I transcribe it to the end of this sentence. There. Don’t you feel better now? I know I do, and if I know me I’ll probably write something about it, so pay attention and don’t wander off or you may miss the whole point of this post. See? So. Now what we have here is a filer to corroborate, to set the record of this moment (the writing/reading thing) in the proper place within the system, like rings on a tree stump, so that it can be available if a reassessment needs to be considered and core arbor rated against the original. With so many of these cross-cut sections to maintain, I have been appointed chief record keeper for this evening so that your visit can be as smooth as possible. Please do have a statement.
…well, while we wait for that, I’ll just continue along then, all right? Tension coil spans junctures of mutual interface to face virtuality in the slowly crumbling moments of the day. Consideration and response, circling the wagons we fell off a while ago, gauge variations of intent toward a lesser degree of intensity while comfort adjusts (in these and other, more mundane considerations) as it can. The walls are more than memories, but conditions are set by prior actualities, and the rooms within these walls are all the same in their in(finite)differences. This then, is the hard ache to set to sleep, perchance to dream. Eye, there’s the rub, getting out of bed with a knuckle to my vision and a yawn to everything else. I put my arms down, blink open my eyes and look out the window. It snowed a bit last night, for the first time this season. I shake my head at the strange (lack of) weather this passed autumn, then go through the motions of dressing, and shuffle downstairs to get ready for my day. I pack my lunch and snacks into my bag, bundle into the jacket, grab my bags and head out the door into the inviting cold of an empty page. Perhaps, if you happen to read this, I’ll see you there, and if so I’ll be sure to mention it. Keep faith in the written word and I hope the solstice heralds a good new year for you. Catch you on the flip side…
Happy toes dance (unless, of course, they’re doing something else.)