I am sitting alone at my desk in my office. A grandfather clock is ticking behind me with all its subtle chimes of familiarity and candor. It has become like an old friend to me. I have become accustomed to its habitual nature of interruption and of the constant reminder that time is a precious commodity which should never be squandered. Time is embellished with unanticipated, unfolding chapters and within its pages contains all the mysteries and secrets and follies that have even been written. And although we all would like to go back take another swim in its filtering sand of the hourglass, “the arrow of time only flies in one direction,” Einstein once said. In the strangest sort of way, I no longer fear the unfolding chapters for the remainder of my life. I embrace them. I use to write about my life with the ink of a pen; I now use a pencil. It is easier to correct the mistakes. I am not as certain about things of life the way I used to be. The clear waters have become murky and perhaps it has not been given me to understand the reasons why. I am a simple man. For now I see through a glass darkly, but in the end, I will know as I am known. I am kind of excited to see what the future has hidden beneath her mysterious cloak. I love a good mystery. As I have grown older, and perhaps a little wiser, I have discovered that everything I have ever wanted in this lifetime of mine has been right on the other side of fear. There are many who do not grasp this simple concept. Yet, I have concluded, it is the one true secret of life. It’s is raining hard outside. We have needed the rain. I can hear the water beading and dancing wildly like some erotic bordello senorita across the tethering of my rooftop. The audience applauses with thunder claps of approval as a smattering of hail-like tapping have added duets about her encore. She is not alone on this night. There is an ensemble of whistling winds and soft growls of thunder promenading the possibilities she may be spending the night. Her darkening glare is intoxicating and compelling. I am captured by her power. Although I am usually loathed for the prospect of uninvited, unanticipated, overnight guests; I think I shall embrace her pleasantries along with the vulgarities of her company. They are both somehow comforting. For she has inspired me to do something I haven’t desired to do for a very long time—and that is to write. For better or worse, I have to write.
Posted on: Sat, 08 Jun 2013 08:22:33 +0000
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