Hey Life, you still there?

I owe life an apology. I am not sure if it would indulge an explanation?

Here is our life.
It’s analogous with our heartbeat.
It’s reliable, dependable and ready for anything every day.
But we are not.

Caught up in who knows how many schemes that whirl around in our head, do we give thought to life at all? We live life and accept it as necessary, abstract, but not really like this (magic) force of energy or a separate entity who/that actually has something to say for our benefit?

Are we the hedonistically narcissticating kind, the soul of the middle or grovelling the survival path? Be honest. It doesn’t matter but it makes you think. And while thinking :

When —, really —, do I  e v e r  listen to life?

If  life goes by the name of Google or Wiki,
 then yes, quite often.
...and maybe life is knowledge and data (too)?
...and maybe life is me without the I, but the us?
...but then, along came I... 
...and my confident, convinced action
   drowned any voice of caution or direction.

Life, this weird inexplicable thing that keeps (me) going come what may.

Is life perhaps G_od unvenerated?

We use life like a wheelbarrow.
It’s there; it’s convenient; it makes life easier and you can dump anything into it.
Case of beers, junk and yuck stuff.
Occasionally we clean it up with a hose only to let it rust in a corner and then moan when the wheel squeals after weeks of neglect.

Wtf are we doing with life?
It seems there is life and then there is us.
Split existentiality in a race with split personality.

Initially, we are homogenized, but then, along comes the mind and drives a wedge to create the famous lifelong schizo-split, the beginning of the ‘don’t tell me, I will tell you’ kind of relationship.

“I, the great sage are (because I am many in my head) now in charge.”

Often, even if not verbalised this bluntly means:
“f…off life, there is more important stuff in my life.”

Pressing on.
Another puff, shroom, swig or prick or whatever shit.

Life’s now become like a car.
It’s inconceivable that a wheel might be flat one day and we should become stranded.

Fcku!

“Where is the spare?
Shit.
OmG. Call 911.”

“911, what is your emergency?”

  “My wheel is gone.”

“Your wheel Sir/Ma’am, —?—.”

  “Fkcu yes my wheel, damn!”

“Sir/Ma’am we are not roadside assistance.”

  “The wheel is my life.”

“Oh, uhh, hold on please…”

 

A life later… as soon as that wheel is back, Voilà, ta-da, lots of smoke, full steam and ‘mindfully’ ahead.

 

Now life has become that pickup truck.
Big load bed and serious oomph between the …, oo-err, under the bonnet.
The wheels are now supergrabbers, they’re all on but sometime later you run out of gas.
Found deadish on the road going nowhere, load and all, and no life.
Now what? Stuck again?

I know I owe life an apology, badly, and then, as if scripted, I ask it the question:

"Life, 
  what do you suggest right now?"

If I’d turn down my noise, I might just hear its voice.

 

*It’s been three years since I wrote the book ‘Intercourse with Life’.
– Seriously, I also got distracted in noise.

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talking in lines

time that was

puffs of memory

maze of bewildered yesterdays

mistory, — misty, the color of yore

meaning beyond time

meaning as flavor, essence and wine

 

the touch of love

your look, my sun

rain in the morning

sweat on the sheets

stained is my heart

– but unfazed its beat

 

parched for life

defining the now

well-nigh a clone

human raindrop or sand grain

from laughter to reason

– a return ticket for life’s season

a packed of rays

instructions in smoke

stuck in the ancestral harbour

– with other anchored souls

imbibing with Nodding Lost & Co, not for rescue,

– but clueless suggestions where not to go

 

confirmation of mistakes

misses to missus and miss again

mindless blunders

lessons of regret

deliberate future

selective action

accomplished success

another mis(s)take

another miss

missing, — spot on

regardless, you’re born to be great

 

align your want with who you are

want not what you are not

come home to yourself

– and find your place taken

dream sans the ego

a collarless pet

yo-yo in freedom

your leash of fate is unlikely to snap

 

too strong coffee

cream on my thoughts

foam through my pen

sweet words to read

stretching my reach

life in a pill

condensed imagining

add tears and soul

OD daily

try not to die and grow

 

dilute your ideas and you’ll miss them

deny them not and they could manifest

between forgetting and trying is life

live for no thing but you

another line Snow White?

another dream with you

go not for long

life could end tonight