At times I feel like a witness to the trials of those in a routine and indignity that each urban morning wakes them up to. And what use am I?

Monday the third of July, 2006

I could be otherwise engaged.
As if I should be doing something else.
With the time. With my skills.
To my potential.
As per instructions. For a higher cause. In case I was mistaken. If my efforts were futile.
If my efforts were inconsequential because I had missed, misinterpreted or forgone the pertinent signals.
A fear that by every step I invalidated myself
- rephrase -
A possibility entertained in all spheres of my activity that I invalidated the conditions upon which I was understood previously.
As if I was consigned to make and remake the doorway through which I entered to start my whole life.
As if my life was excluded - by my own actions, my own lack of a grasp, a tentative grasp, on the codes of relevance - from wholeness.
As if I raked into a farfelu semblance, the approach to wholeness.

Then I think, grow up, this is where you are and you're enjoying the rich stability
the stimulus
the opportunity
the perpetuum mobile
of this era.

And part of me wonders how long to give it, or to pick up and move on.
But what it am I thinking of?
There is no it, except the wonderful, opportune opportunity that happens in the course of my travels, where I'm supposed to be absorbed in immersion and discovery.

It's a stay/go consideration.
And dealing with the things I find.
Dealing with what's there when it's there.