A moment to listen and read.

Words and thoughts are slippery things indeed. I have been awake for over six hours today, taking in the day and whiling away the time, happy and content to be at home, but still in many ways lost in thought and an inner turmoil and fog that seems to steal away, in little bits, at the purpose of my being.

I look at pictures collected and assembled by another and let my mind turn to day dreams. Music plays softly in the background and my feet are comfortably propped up on my desk as I write here. A cold beaded bottle of water, a sturdy, rugged earthen mug full of strong coffee are my sole companions and dappled sunlight filters through the leaves of the trees, dancing and wandering in golden spots over the floor. I often pause and simply sit. A walk around the yard left me looking intently at my different plants and bushes as they slowly change in response to the cooler days and even colder nights. Time is passing by.

Solitude can, at times, be a very beautiful thing. To shut out all the noise, bedlam, cacophony of the outside world and spend time with oneself. To truly think and let my mind wander. So many questions unanswered as of yet remain, but that seems to be a constant state of being at times. Curiosity will always be a friend of mine. I wonder a lot. I have wandered near and far.

This is my one day off. A span of time carved out of a week for me. Each one holds a space of opportunity for many things, but lately, my interest in so many things has waned. I lose myself in books and to my music. Writing has not held much for me but that does not mean it has no worth. Even now I sit here and put words together trying to define this slightly odd feeling that seems to hover over me and turn inside me. I am rested and fed. Nothing that I can describe is bothering me. Perhaps it is the changing of the seasons, the unrest of being a man and a wistful longing for what was with a dash of hope for what will be.

It is on days like these that I miss people. Faces, names, friends and places that have come and gone over the years as people often do. I miss love. That spot in my heart that is so often filled with thoughts of another and becomes the residence of that spark that holds two people together seems empty. A small bare shelf on a wooden wall. A little carved curio box left open to show its missing contents. People come and go but their memories can hang around, waft by us, like smoke that never dissipates. Sometimes a memory can kick us directly in the gut with such force as to compel tears, a crumpled face and desolation, but mostly their favored guise is the simple, wistful longing like a far away train whistle and clatter as it moves further away on its way to someone or some when else.

I will sit in the space today and be present. There is much to be learned from difference. Missing things is perfectly okay. It does not draw me down into a pitying state of mind, but rather graces my mind, face and heart with a smile of thankfulness for what we have shared. To sense the loss and longing that goes with absence illustrates fully what amazing love and life we have had. You cannot miss what you never have had.

Slippery things these words are, I tell you. But who can hold onto even one moment in time? I am going to let it keep pouring through my hands and be grateful for it all. All of it. This life.

daemon