Wednesday, November 28, 2012


Time is the rarest of birds... at least for me it is.  Some people seem to have a menagerie of gilded cages, stocked plentifully with this exotic creature.  For me, I play the role of the White Rabbit more often than not.  I'm constantly running around behind schedule or trying to meet a deadline.  That rare bird alights for a moment and then is off again, me chasing after it.

The days now seem like a Gerhard Richter painting... less like the photorealistic ones and more like the abstract smears and blurs.

But... even though... there is a whirlwind around me, there is also a sense of peace.  The peace doesn't come from a place of calm or a perception of static serenity, it comes from an in-the-gut feeling of right.    It's kind of like asking the Universe for a sign of confirmation and then seeing the most dazzling sunset or thinking of a good friend you haven't heard from in awhile and getting a surprise phone call at that exact moment from them.  The only difference is that this feeling of right is less cinematic and more subtle.  It feels like a seed inside, growing and developing, slowly setting down taproots and connecting.  There's a lot of hard ground to break, but the little tendrils covered in tiny white hairs keep digging, keep persisting.

And then you realize that it feels right, not because you're any closer to capturing that elusive bird, but because it dawns on you, that you have changed and continue to change... your life is transforming into a place that bird can call home.

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