Chance

Frank stood upon the step, waiting, hands firmly in his thick jacket pockets as they attempted to hold onto warmth. It had been almost twenty years since he last stood upon the same steps. A lifetime ago, or two, since those eventual days of his younger years.

He started to chew the inside of his lip, that thing he did when understandably nervous. Twenty years was a long time, despite never really losing touch with the one person he’d never managed to forget. He was, if he were honest, someone that just wanted to have that little bit of fun. The romance, the excitement, the never-ending adventures and the obvious visits to yet another stranger’s abode.

The small amount of inner lip chewing continued as he looked down the small, cobbled path, left, then right, as his heart’s rhythm continued to beat within his chest. He wasn’t getting any younger, even if his thoughts were still as they were all those years previous.

He’d grown, adapted, strived to be wherever he wished to be, with only one aspect of his life seemingly vacant. That beating heart of his, often silent, with occasionally reminders to consider the emotional needs over the physical. He’d finally given in, relinquished his barriers and finally abandoned the fake walls that kept him within solitary confinement.

He heard footsteps, as he looked to his right. She had arrived. His smile grew, his heart beat faster and the butterflies within his stomach flew with excitement. She was, after many, many years, still the magic that made his eyes show the softer side of his feelings. She could melt any walls, with inly a few of her individual, clever words.

She returned his smile, her face lighting his world within a few seconds. She slowed, standing in front of him, as he stepped down from the step he was stood upon. Removing his hands from his jacket, he placed them into her gloved hands and leaned forward, kissing her lips quickly. The first hello they’d shared in many, many years.

“You look absolutely beautiful!”

She rolled her eyes, expecting nothing less than his usual charm,

“Well, I had my hair cut and I don’t think they cut it right, but I’m here…”

Frank shook his head, knowing not to fight any woman’s description of their hair. He shrugged his shoulders, as he let go of one of her hands, turning to face the steps. He looked back, “Shall we?”

She nodded, as Frank led them forward into the Gardens. As they walked the short distance, he could feel his heart dancing within his chest. He felt 24 again, alive, the joy and appreciation for such a feeling overcoming any thoughts of being anywhere else. They both stopped, by the fountain, the place they’d visited all of those years previous.

He, once again, placed his other hand to hers, their eyes presenting all the truths that could ever be written concerning a love of the ages. They both knew, had experienced the many complexities that life presented, that there was only a finite amount of people that truly, honestly, bonded.

“I’ve missed you so much and I am sorry. I’m sorry that it took over twenty years for us to be here again. I never forgot you. Never would, and that’s why we’re here. We both know that this is where we first kissed and now, it can be the next ‘first place’ that we kiss. Missed you. Absolutely always will, despite my obvious aloof nature. I’m not perfect and I never will be, but we both know that we’re more than perfect together. We just had to see a few others in between!”

Frank smiled a naughty smile, the both of them knowing that they both had differing ways of expressing themselves. She could have said a million words but, instead, she simply closed the small distance between them, hugging him and holding him close. Tears appeared within Franks eyes and, finally, he said the words that he should have said many, many years previous,

“I’ve missed you so much and I will always, always love you!”

No matter the distance, no matter the circumstances they both knew, that there could always be the hope of a second chance.

Written 12.02.2021.

Tear

Noah, hesitant, reflecting on the last few months as his mind persisted with the insistent torture, closed the door behind him. He hadn’t stepped into this very room for many, many moments. It had, as he’d reminded himself far too often, been far too long. He’d taken each day as a solitary section of time to move forward with his life. He couldn’t grasp or, even, wish to contemplate an entire month, let alone a week.

His creativity, his lust and desire to create, had grown stagnant as new flurries entered and departed his life. He’d regretted his decisions, his actions and, now that he was returning to what he loved, his choice to place his own satiations to the back of his mind had haunted him. Slowly, he walked over to the easel, removing the dust sheet from around the blank canvas in one swift action. He paused, holding the moment within his mind’s eye. He’d been here many, many times before but, this time, it was different. He still felt and, if he were honest, he’d probably never be able to relinquish his emotive moments.

He placed a hand onto the canvas' surface, feeling, as he closed his eyes, understanding, connecting to his inner child that loved to create. He’d chastised himself, over and over again, for allowing that inner child of his to ruin yet another perfectly crafted frame of life. As the thoughts arose, he disallowed his thinking to ruin yet another day. He refused. Instead, he felt the cotton duck surface of the canvas, 12oz primed, the most common canvas when looking to place a toe back into the sands of the painter’s mind.

He stepped back a small step, opening his eyes, nodding as the acceptance of having a life re-entered his soul. He’d paid the price, understood the cost, repented and sought professional assistance and calmed that unruly child of his. He knew that he’d been abandoned on many, many occasions and that alone, was why his imagination flared like the surface of a bright sun. He adored creating. He enjoyed the smiles of another enjoying his work, which in turn brightened and fired his soul to new levels.

He'd forgotten. He’d forgotten who he was, what he loved, what he adored more than anything, with the very thought of creating a masterpiece whilst the rain poured upon his face, enthralling his very soul to the level of a burning sun. His very core needed this moment.

He sought no validation from another, he wished for no understanding but the very notion that he’d studied his own soul. He would remain quiet, with his art defining and sculpting his very mood with a hopeful brush. He needed to find his frequency, his poetic position, to place a new platform underneath his feet to rise to another level. He needed to find his vulnerability. He wished to understand his own inner voice, that was attached to the youngest of wounded warriors within. He needed authenticity. He gaspingly needed to find his self-esteem again, after having every single shred of his dignity smashed to small pieces.

He felt his hands start to shake, his breathing quickening, as his mind started to spin. He steadied his poise, grasping, holding, balancing his dignity and self-protection as he steadied his breathing. Slowly in through the nose, out through the mouth. He knew that he’d been broken but, as with the other occasions, what was broken would eventually find and heal the cracks with heavier understanding and balance. Pushing his thoughts away, refusing to allow them into his structure, he continued.

He selected a small brush, watercolour, moving it through his fingers like a skilled magician using a wand to envision magic. He needed to change the frame, his frame, his very foundation of thinking, with a new picture that refined, defined and reminded him of who and what he would soon become. He, as he knew, was also a picture. He realised that every single line, every detail, revealed a new view for anyone that cared to look. He knew that a picture simply wasn’t a picture, it was an expression, a design, a work of thought, a small slice of soul and a dash of heart. It was everything to someone, yet nothing to another. One person would realise the faulted masterpiece within their arms, while another would throw it aside as trash to a bin.

He felt his emotional walls break again, for a second, allowing the moment to hold him in place. He leaned forward, grabbing the top sides of the frame with either hand and, as he felt his eyes reach their limit, a single tear escaped and fell to the canvas. He watched as it fell, the slow motion of a single droplet holding him in place as the world slowed. Every tear, a moment. Ever sob, a chance to escape the pain. Every single expression, a second to become something new.

The tear, absorbed by the canvas, stopped his emotions as he again stepped back. His mind raced, his mind stopped, it explored and realised all within a second. He selected another brush and gently, expertly, drew a faint black outline around the drying tear. His mind exploded with expressive thoughts.

Black, the ascending night of darkness, the realisation and shock of events permeating into one’s soul. He’d been there, lived through the moment again and again, wishing for each new time to become easier. This last time was heart-breaking, distressing, but made him seek solace and clarification from within. He’d started to rescue himself from his tears.

Selecting another brush, he drew a thicker surrounding colour around the black. The purple, ever so slightly blending into the black. The bruises of life, the hard knocks being felt within, the heart cracking and bleeding out its very life essence, from the single solitary tear.

Once again, another brush, the dark blue for the inner-sadness and desolate heartache. The searching, the wandering and wondering, if there would be rescue or a respite to the moments that clouded each sky. Another brush, the colour of orange. Still tender, still hurting, still fresh upon the mind’s eye and thoughts. He’d chastised his thinking upon many a day, but the thinking from each thought, hounded and haunted his very heart.

The green, the grass, the positioning of a person upon the ground, finally able to stand upon the earth after the colours of surrender and failure started to fade. He knew that he was close to this colour, but still so far. The final colour, the bright blue skies of freedom and accepted solitude.

He stepped away from the canvas, a few paces, to view his simplistic, expressive, hastily crafted creation.  It was minimalistic, simplistic, basic but so very, very clarifying to his soul. At the centre of all suffering, a tear. Within the middle of each breaking heart, a drop of pain. He risked a smile, feeling his lips move, as new tears appeared to his eyes. He’d missed this, his escape, his isolation of creation. He’d never dreamed that his first creation would define the ending of a relationship, with such ease. He felt the colours, all of them, upon the nights, within the mornings and throughout each pain filled day. This was his frame, his heart, made clear. It was time to move forward.

Placing the final brush to the side of the canvas, he dried his eyes with his sleeve, lifting his phone from his pocket to take a small, private, intimate picture of his very soul’s creation. It was deeply personal, the first step of acceptance, of creation, to find what was missing. He’d done what he’d intended to do, find himself, heal the youngster within, with the only action remaining being to cry the single, solitary, private last tear.

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Thorns

Rose stepped into the spacious greenhouse, immediately feeling the slight mist permeating the surrounding air. She’d missed this place, even if it was but a few years since she last visited. The calm, the presence, the aura of so much growth and life within one single, solitary space enthused her. She closed her eyes, breathing in, slowly, holding the breath within her lungs, as she reminisced with the many years of clean air. Exhaling, with no haste at all, she slowly opened her eyes and smiled.

She stepped forward slowly, with ease, taking in the surrounding area with keen eyes. Her day-to-day life, despite being busy and reasonable, needed such an escape ever so often. She stopped by her favourite namesake, the roses that featured throughout her life. They were, as always, the most beautiful of flowers. The very expression of the red, romantic, meaningful emotions conveyed within each petal, brought her feelings to the front of her mind.

It had been months, a few days, maybe a couple of hours, since he’d left. The emotions moved within her, finding their outlet as her eyes welled, ever so slightly, as she pressed the thoughts within her into the deep abyss of her soul. She wouldn’t let the thoughts turn into thinking. Thoughts, alone, were not that destructive, with thinking… the thinking torturing and ripping at her very sanity.

“Are you okay Petal?” said a kind voice from behind her. Rose turned her head, ever so slightly, smiling, as her Auntie appeared at her side. The smile grew as the warmth from another person, ever so slightly, bonded with her energy.  Rose knew that Aunt Bessie always managed to calm her energy, the vibration of two kindred souls knowing and understanding each other, with no words needed or required.

“I’ll be okay,” replied Rose, her smile fading slightly, “it’s all but the growth of a flower!”

Rose’s Auntie smiled, knowing very well that most conversations often featured words linked to flowers in many ways. Rose felt Bessie’s arms wrap around her, squeezing ever so tightly, expressing the concern from one to another. Rose placed her hand upon Bessie’s arm, returning the caring gesture. Bessie could feel the rising emotion and, immediately, chose to impart her usual wisdom.

“Rose, life is but the chance to grow. To become more than we once were. Take this flower… ,” Aunt Bessie picked up a rose from the pot in front of her, a fine selection, in full bloom, “it’s so beautiful, the design, the perfect structure that only knows one way to be. It’s also destructive, protecting itself whenever a fool hardy person tries to get close!”

Rose, intrigued and ever so slightly confused, moved her head slightly to the left. Bessie knew that she had Rose’s full attention.

“The thorn, my dear Rose! The thorn. The rose is so perfect on the outside but, if miss-treated or handled improperly, will always, always, cut the person that doesn’t treat them the way they should be treated. One slip from caring fingers, become scratched and cut!”

Rose, fully confused at this point in the conversation, started to giggle, “Auntie, I have no idea what I’m supposed to think?”

“Oh Rose, you’re beautiful, but you have the most tender, vicious, unscrupulous thorns. You refuse to let someone get too close to you and if they do, heaven forbid their hands! You’ll cut them to shreds.”

Rose, finally understanding, lowered her head and smiled. She knew that she needed to open up, but the fear of an overgrown garden stopped her in her tracks. She knew that she needed to bleed, to become vulnerable, but she simply didn’t wish for her petals to become creased, damaged or lost.

Bessie placed the rose back into the vase, nodding in her usual way. She knew that hearts that ‘didn’t’ allow love, would be broken. Every dream stayed a dream, until woken by understanding, and every rose remains within the garden, until allowed to be picked.

“Come on you, let’s go have some oddly titled tea that makes no sense! Be brave, be a fool, be as soft as a rose and let’s talk this out!”

Rose smiled, realising that she needed to visit her auntie a lot more than she did. After all, If you needed thorns removing, what better person to assist than a certified, perfectionist botanist that’s your very own, special, budding Auntie.

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Souls

There are over seven billion living, breathing, tenured souls upon this breathing planet. They feel, they live, they all bleed and most certainly, they should all feel. In the span of our lives we might meet a very miniscule amount of those souls. Most will bring a smile, laughter, mistrust or any of the many emotions that’s involved with another human being. We’re alive, but we’re never really living unless we share.

Amongst the few souls that eventfully move within our lives, we search for someone that can truly understand us. We somehow wish for an instinctual connection that may never, ever, be fully realised. We’re jumbled, even when adventurously cable of being the calm with which we seek. It’s a marvel, a veritable mystery, to even begin to believe that one singular individual can truly, honestly, ever fully understand another individual’s life. We’re complex, yet very, very simple. We’re defined with ease, yet behind the mask we can often be the most miss-guided, troubled individuals walking upon the earth.

In all my years of being the person that I’ve become, I’ve tried to understand people, despite being miss-understood upon many an occasion. For a soul to truly be free, to truly find itself, we need freedom within the arms of someone that will never, ever, chastise us for the simple fact that we’re different. Despite the clothes, the cars, the increased eyebrows or the barbarity we can display to fit within society, there’s no escaping that we’re all singular, unique people. We try so hard to hide the fact, but it’s obvious. From the toes upon your feet, to the nose upon your face, we’re the beauty of the people that created us. Life is beauty. It’s a shame that we eventually become crushed by the weight of such a life.

We’re souls that have not yet truly understood that life is fleeting. It is but a second’s breath from failing. We live, we age, we wish we had more time and then, as if a whisper escaped our final understanding, we leave and may never, ever return. The souls that have seen another soul leave this world, as sad as the moment might be, are closer to understanding the frailty of a soul.

Personally, I still seek a soul to sit beside my own. It’s a sad adventure, filled with solitude and loneliness, but maybe that’s the real journey of life. A soul, in order to truly love another, must realise that the weight of the world must be removed before the joy of love can be realistically felt. We torture each other, upon occasions. We speak such slanderous words that are cruel, pathetic and miserable. Not one of us can ever, ever, escape what we are. Each vapid word upon another soul’s ears adds weight.

As mentioned above, there might be seven billion human souls upon this world, but we only realistically require one. You know where I’m heading with this, I hope. I see, each and every single day, people suffering, people hurting within, wishing and hoping that the soul next to them would leave or, even, for a soul to understand theirs. The entire process is mistaken, wrong, miss-aligned and fraught with angst. There is one true soul that requires guidance, love and understanding. It needs to be cared for by the only person that can ever really understand that soul.

You. You and you alone are the only person with the qualifications to understand yourself. You can seek guidance, you could seek solitude or, even, seek answers. Unless your soul is balanced, then there’s no need to involve another. To seek balance from another person is akin to placing your entire well being in the hands of a perfect stranger. If you do not know yourself, then a stranger may never, ever, truly know you. Even after ten or more years, the understanding may still never be known.

To conclude, your soul is yours to own. You could actually call your soul your mind, as that’s where it’s probably stored. Know yourself, heal yourself, take pride in knowing that you’ve emotionally stood upon your own two feet, without the weight of your life being placed upon the shoulders of another. It’s okay to seek solace, but as mere mortals we often take far more than we should. After all, if you wish to be the best version of yourself, find the true soul that matters and take care of it… your soul. It’s the only soul that will truly, always, actually attempt to keep you safe.

Click HERE to listen.

Written 09.08.2021. Catching up (Finally)

It's funny... as this is far more relevant, today (to me), than when it was written. Soul fixing is a GO!

We

Right at this moment, one side of my head feels very, very odd. Yes, that’s my opening statement. Bit odd, but honest and to the point. I’m exploring, finding a frequency, trying to level up my life in a way that’s fruitful and sensible. Many find solace in a television screen, a bottle, promiscuity or substances. Me, I explore or, at least, I try.

Over the last few weeks I’ve read, studied, tried to understand and explored via meditative options. I’ve found nearly all of it sensible, honest, scientifically proven and although I’ve not enjoyed most of it, due to various reasons, I know that it’s a worthwhile endeavour. As above, I don’t hide. Well… not now, at least. I did, but that’s another story.

Over the years a few people have stated that I don’t open up. When (if) I do, you get to see, hear and feel the genuine person underneath the smiles and topics of jest. It is a wonderful moment. It’s rare and, ashamedly, a tragedy of immense proportions for someone like myself to hide the best part away. My emotions. “Not those again!” I hear you proclaim.

Yes. Emotions. I have lost so much due to them. Either too much emotion (early life) or too little (later on). This brings me to my inner child.

 

I have found the loneliest young child lying alone, in an incubator. That new-born was left without caring arms for twelve weeks. That, to a psychiatrist, is a time bomb of unhealed abandonment and trauma. Oh yes. Most certainly.

I have found the quietest young boy that just wanted his voice to be heard, not daring to speak, just in case the arguments started. Again. Over and over. The silence deafening, filling each room with dread and cold quiet. Best to play with my toys on my own.

I have found the smallest little boy screaming at the top of his lungs, asking not to be left alone, in an adult’s hospital ward, not knowing what to do other than to hold up his arms shouting, “Don’t leave me, you don’t love me, please…!” Then, after that moment, every single hospital day was blocked from my conscious memory and even now, I hardly recall anything from that time.

I have found the young adult pushing down his own abandonment and fear, as both parents did what they do, leaving. Both parents. Left. Fair enough. I understood the reasoning and didn’t, seemingly, become affected by it. I was.

I’ve also met a few others but they become a little dark so I can stop at this point.

In my life, I’ve met many, many people. Nearly all of them have suffered at one point in time, as a youngster. Even the smallest thing can leave an imprint upon a person. When we’re young our emotional safety and well being is a delicate balance of love, care and words. Even one word can change the way you perceive situations from that single point in time. It’s no wonder that the world suffers, as each child suffers. Trying to understand the bigger picture, the world around you, from an early age, is largely dependant on the adults and care givers around us. I don’t blame the adults, as it's a never-ending continuation of doing the best they/we can.  We’re not professionals (not that I’d know as the old child I’ve looked after is myself. Oh.)

Today, I met my fully abandoned self. I thought that I could meet each individual moment of my young life and, I have, but today was different. You could call your inner child your emotional stability/intelligence. You could call your inner child the part of you that has been wounded upon many occasions. You could also call your inner child a load of rubbish, but the data and information is there for everyone to see.

I know that I have emotional connectivity issues. Ask me an emotional question and I can develop and view nearly every single scenario. It’s been said many, many times, that I’m the most ‘understanding person’ that x or y knows, but that’s fine, as long as it’s not about me or the people I care about.

I retreat. I have retreated and it has cost me so very, very much. No more.

Today I descended into the back corners of my mind and, through a descriptive, imaginary situation from a professional, I opened the door to the place where all of my discarded emotions, memories and horrible situations go to die. They don’t vanish, unless you deal with them. Sat amongst the rubbish, within this dark horrible space, sat a young child. He was around seven or eight. Ideally, I should have seen a young baby in an incubator, but maybe I’ve dealt with that already.

The emotion was real. I’d hidden away. This child, this person, this very moment, has shown me what I’ve done with my emotional reasoning. ‘I’m worthless’, ‘I’m nothing’, ‘I don’t deserve…’, ‘I’m always alone’ and more. This is why I didn’t and don’t speak when my rational mind screams for me to do so. It’s actually quite a tragic series of life events. The love that I’ve damaged, the emotions I’ve missed, the stability that I’ve denied myself and more.

One could be overly dismissive about all of this and push it aside, but when we’re/you’re alone at night, in an empty bed, if you allow yourself to open up, you know that we all have something missing. Something that can be changed. Or, just continue eating crisps and shouting at the TV, ignoring the soledad (Spanish), solemn child within.

I wish for freedom. I no longer wish to love someone else, as I need and want and wish to love myself. I would, however, like to ‘share’ that love. I want my frequency to vibe with the best part of myself and others/another. I do not wish to be attached, as I would prefer to exist alongside. I have damaged myself so very, very much over the years and the fear of abandonment has silenced my inner voice. This is tragic. It’s unfortunate.

Thankfully, there’s further discovery to follow. There is far more teaching to understand. It’s all an adventure.

‘We’, are making progress. Each of my inner children, or the inner child that has been freed from a prison of my own making, are with me. We, can now develop, grow, understand and more. After all, if you release your inner child, then there’s a lot more work to do. I’m scared, intrigued, hesitant but willing to move forward. I refuse to spend another second trapped within my own prison.

…and no, I’m not going insane. Insanity is doing the exact same thing day in, day out. ‘We’, won’t do that anymore.

P.s. I now have an awful headache.

Thoughts

For most of my life, I’ve tried to do one thing, with that one thing being to heal. To fix. To adapt. To become something better than what I previously believed to be 'just' and 'correct'. This trend started around the age of thirty. I was no longer able or willing to blame others for what was, basically, my own mind doing what it does best. Think.

Eventually, after this, most of that, I reached a place of stability. Utter, clear, beautiful stability with no little voice proclaiming that I was such and such. This or that. The other. It was amazing. Little did I know… .

Over the last month, or so, I’ve realised that I was quite lucky to no longer be clouded by ‘thinking’. It sounds odd but, thinking causes so many issues in one’s life. You have a thought, a lovely, random, solitary thought, to which you apply so much thinking that the one moment in time becomes something else. You twist, turn, squeeze and, eventually, you allow your mind to torture your very emotions. 

I also did not know that our very hearts have something of a brain, all to itself (as well as the gut). Your heart can think, in its own way, as well as certainly feel. This, to me, explains a lot. I have a big heart. It’s absolutely stupid, giving and very, very thick (when it’s engaged, that is).

All at once, your thoughts can completely take over your life. It is… suffocating. It is… debilitating. Rational thoughts become idiotic notions of grandeur. The common, cold, logical sense making way for daydreams and over-consuming emotions. I need to understand. There’s a space within me dedicated to understanding.

Then, from within myself, despite the many, many exploratory sessions of self-help, study, understanding and learning, I realised that I’ve never, ever, actually faced the real issues within myself. It’s startling. It’s madness. It’s actually quite disheartening to know that everything you’ve ever done to become whole, is swept aside within a second. You have further study. You have far more reflection ahead.

It's daunting. It’s heavy. It’s also a little paralysing.

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(*Taken from the book linked below)
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Everything we are, everything we’ve become, stems from our learned behaviours as a child. From being slapped in a store, to being abused, to feeling intense loneliness and abandonment, to the momentary lessons of hugs, holding hands and more. There, I’ve said it. I’m not perfect and I never will be. I have demons, as well as saints, surrounding me.

Your inner child sits deep within the spaces that you never wished or thought to view. How do I confront arguments/situations with the person I love? What is their inner child shouting? I suffer, I regress into myself, hiding, with the adult in the background ‘screaming’ at me to say something. Anything. I’m a rational person. I can connect to my emotions and usually know what to say as I understand (as much as I can).  Yet, once my inner child appears, I’m lost. I’m done. The hurt repeats and I say and do nothing. I’m difficult to reach, at times. I smile, I laugh, I joke and make others feel good whilst, at the same time, wishing that I could just… allow my inner child to hold a hand the way it’s supposed to.

If I hide, a little, the problem might go away! It doesn’t. Without communication nothing is ever resolved. Without expressing our emotional needs and the 'thinking' that has arisen from our ‘thoughts’, there can be no progression.

I now stand upon a platform that’s flat against the ground. The grass underneath, willing the platform to rise, to once again enjoy the growing sunshine. I’ve never wanted to address my current situation, as I realistically never even really knew it existed. I stopped growing. I stopped learning, thinking that I was perfectly okay. I am perfect, we’re all perfect, in our damaged, individual way.

It’s time to tackle, understand and embrace the biggest issue(s) that any of us can face within our lives… the inner child that suffered. It’s one heck of a thing, but in the end, it’ll ensure that I/we/the person that wants to improve, becomes something of wonder. I’m all for fixing. I’m all for growing. I’m not afraid of hardly anything but, right now, I’m genuinely afraid of this. Why? I like the person I am, I’ve enjoyed my company and many, many others have also enjoyed my warm smile and silly words. Either way, I’ll grow, become a more rounded person, able to move forward with whatever life throws towards my path. It takes courage to be vulnerable, but it also takes courage to finally embrace change. 

What will be, will be. In the end, life is an adventure and I do not wish to adventure on my own. It’s time to become all I can be. No more thinking, just glorious, magical, progressive thoughts. Isn’t embracing new ideas, adventures and exploring experiences a good thing?

After all, we’re just one thought and reset away from becoming something brand new. See you on the other side, with new thoughts.

Education is key (buy this book and seek professional assistance, if needed):

*Link: Healing Your Lost Inner Child

Today

There are many lessons upon the life that surrounds us, permeates us, with one of those lessons being about our past events. We spend decades, months, weeks, with the seconds taunting us like the villains from films we view upon a given day. We think about the moments of this, the other, or that instance where we could have said more, done more, or experienced less regret.

These lessons of life, of experience, still evade our deceptive notions of surrender and relief. We believe that we’re over something, having moved a day away from the events, but seldom do we realistically escape our torturous mind’s grasp.

Then there’s the secondary lesson, to never venture too far from the steps ahead of us. We wish to run, to stride forward as if our lives were assured and constant but, as is the case with many future events, nothing is quite as stable as we predict.

We aspire to do more, be more or, even, to escape any brave chances in the hope that normality and safety will keep us warm within our nights. The future is and can always be chaotic. If only we were given an egg timer and the opportunity to see future events. Would we and should we?

Despite the two lessons of life, we often reside within one of the two situations. The past haunts our waking moments, with the future possibly supplying the salvation we desperately wish for. Both, vacant moments of expansive, faded events of possibilities. The two, taunting and gasping at the chance to become something more than vivid, tortuous dreams. To live within either setting can only result in a person wondering if there's more to life.

The third lesson is the lesson of ages. All through my own life I’ve heard the same notion expressed over and over again and, thankfully, when my mind is at rest I ‘live’ the lesson as much as I can. The trouble with knowing a lesson, is obviously practising that lesson. My own faults arise when the silent passenger within my thoughts whispers their taunts. The past does not escape any single person upon this world. What could have been. What would have been. If only. Try as we might, our minds do what they do best. They quiz, they question, they chastise and admonish.

At some point we realise that we’re unfortunately no longer children. Although I hold onto my youthful nature, with comedic timing being somewhat of a skill, there are times that remind me of the mind’s weight upon my shoulders. I have found safe places, the safe places that I wished that we all knew. I do have a sanctuary and, thankfully, I seldom think about the impending future. We must all have a blinking eye set upon what might happen and that, especially, leads to the conclusion.

The very last, as well as first lesson for every single human being, is that we must live within the moment. We may kiss a thousand lips, hold many a hand, but those memories can turn to pain and, upon another day, become thoughts of joy, sorrow, or remorse. I do not wish to be haunted by faded memories. It’s unnecessary. I also do not wish for tomorrow to save me from some type of breath defeating anxiety or hopelessness.

For quite a long time, I’ve tried so very hard to live my life with the notion that this very moment is the only moment that matters. Another truth is that it is. Every moment, this moment, has now become a memory. Each step, every word or thought, changes the future and becomes your memories. This is why I am the person I am. I respect, I love, I cherish and I try to be as good as I can be. Do I fail? Of course, as I'm always learning.

The past traps you, holds you and wishes to never remove its embrace. The future also traps you, into the notion that action can be taken at a later date. Even one thought at this very moment, is a step to achieving a future goal, even if it looks like you’re standing immobile. The decision has, at least, been made for a person to advance. Of course, the danger of the past, is that it supplies fear to the present and incorrect decisions based on fear, can damage each proceeding day or action.

In the end, when everything has been procrastinated, or the impulsive desire met for tomorrow, there truly is only the present moment that counts. Or, if I may be so bold as to state, that there’s only one day that counts and that singular day is… today.