“I think, therefore I am”

In the quietude of my aloneness, I sighed. There are days the tears fall unannounced. The yearning seeks an escape. It seems the wait is long. For what? For whom? For you? How much longer? Does it matter? And what if you never return? What then? The days keep getting shorter as the years creep and I age, sometimes gracefully but most times exceptionally particularly when I don’t succumb to the wayward madness of time.

If longing had its space, a time and a place, I would seek to return it for it’s been with me far too long. Is it mad to want and wait or seek and escape? I have yet to decide. I have indulged in both. I hardly ever choose. It often feels like a pull down an enchanting abyss. I fall upon or pull under. Unabashedly, I crawl in the crevices, prod, peek, touch and behold. It is when the search weighs that I pause and wonder: “Why here? Why now? Why me?

“It is the existentialist in you” you would say.

Am I really alone? Am I the sole being who often ponders why the dash exists or matters and what to make of it? Is this not the reason we are here: for the meaning of existence, or the search?

On days when loneliness nears, I wish I had a hand to hold, someone to be with, make them the reason for meaning and being. That is the only way I can stop the questions. I do that a lot you know “others give me purpose”. Am I my own purpose? Could that be?

How do others wake? Do they really open their eyes and not think of tomorrow or the now? Do you really go about your day without once asking what happens when you are gone and why you are here now?

I ask myself this every second of the day and maybe more of late. As I sit in the home God gifted me overlooking the water view I always wanted, yes I would prefer the sea but God…you know the rest, don’t you? As I sit and watch the sun kiss the leaves, the wind caress the water and listen to the birds’ early morning songs, once more I wonder why am I still here God?

One thing I must assure you of, I am loving the peace, the quiet of my solitude.

The weekend

Once upon a time, well a few years if not a few months ago, the weekend was the worst time of my life.

On weekdays, work will keep me busy, filling the minutes with purpose and joy for I love what I do. I can work early am, through lunch until late at night. It pleased me that I could help someone, make a difference.

The weekends were the worst. What do I do when I have n one to go home to? The hours will be empty, no one to go home to, no one to hood or hood me in their arms, no one who would call or check up on. That’s the life of an empty nester. The kids are gone, busy living the life ahead of them. You are left with the memories and gifted if you are lucky with leftover minutes each month where they remember you still exist.

Weekends were tough for a while. Should I volunteer? Should I fill the hours being helpful to others who too won’t even remember I exist? Should I fill my cup with duties in the church with people too busy to even realize when I don’t show up? Or should I stay home, render care to my spirit, do what pleases me until the breath I was gifted is taken away?

There are days where I’d wish I could go home to someone who wanted to be here, with me, listen to my stories, hold me when I am sad, support me when I am weak. The loneliness was unbearable. I realized recently or maybe I was reminded that love is a fleeting reality. Nothing lasts. There are people who lose their loved ones after decades of being together. They too are left behind like me, or they get separated or divorced, whatever the circumstance. Most people end up where I am. I just ended up here sooner, at a younger age than most.

Love doesn’t last. We can’t hold on to people, forever, may it be agape love or not. People come and people go, we are and will always be there what’s left. So breathe, embrace the gift of love hen it’s there. When it is gone, that is okay. Just as time passes by, so does love, friendship’s, relationships. Presence, the presence is always what matters.

PE: I miss you terribly. Why have I not end it all when I don’t have you? Fear? Life has no meaning since you’re gone.

Cougar’s trial

How is it you get away with fruition?

when you left me in a state of attrition ?

You’re out here reaping

I’m here weeping

Is there a resolution ,

solution or absolution?

What’s past is gone

Yet, I am forlorn

You’re our here thriving, reaping flowers 

raising men and daughters

off beds of weeds from seeds cast

when last you had a blast 

from a long ago but not forgotten past

the days when your lips, touched my hips

your fingers laced my nips

we would kiss  

beyond wonder, past propriety

into eternity

laughter filled the expanse

I was taking a chance

Risked it all

Took the fall

my agony

your growing pains !

PS: what a thrill!

Passion

Breathing is not enough.

Waking every day to do what you ought, do what you should, do what you must is not enoug

Many may be left askance if “is this it?”

Is this it?

Do you realize that life is one time deal? It is one time trial. You will never ever, ever get to do this again, and if you do, you will not have a clue that you are.

This is it my friend or enemy whatever you ascribe to, and if this is what it will ever be, are you making the best of it?

What is the best of it?

You get to define this experience. It is in you to fulfill what you wish. Do you build it on desire, on beliefs, on experiences or on faith?

That is what we are here to define. Is living about emotions or is it about thoughts, ideas or ideologies?

How do we know for sure? We can’t. We will never know for sure.

What we know is the present, that we breathe, we are, we feel and nothing on what or where it leads to.

It is all a bet a risk. We bet that present choices will amount to something whether in the here and now or tomorrow we know not. So we choose hoping for the best.

In faith we do the same, choose, based on ideologies, hoping for the best.

Beliefs determine future and that we know now. Imagine this and it is true. Your like is a bet. You are hedging. We all are.

Choose wisely.

PS: I miss you so much. I wish you were here where my senses can attest your presence. Are you happy?

Ha. I wrote this in a state of drunkenness on the 25th of June. It was one of the lonely days. I even thought I had dreamt this. and then logged on today, July 9th. It was not a dream. I don’t read what i write. i pray it makes sense somewhat. LOL.

Don’t get old!

I have been meaning to write to you. 

There’s so much to share. 

I don’t even know where to begin. 

Where are you now?

I picture you on your boat, the rolling seas mocking your exuberance.

My patients often admonish me, “don’t get old!“ as if I can stop time taking space across my face. 

You know what I have seen? 

The old, they count backwards: “where they’ve been, what they’ve done.”. 

They often live life in reverse “how once upon a time, they did or saw, or wished or hoped”. 

The old, they have just a past that lingers and whispers ever so often. 

There is no remedy unless one rides bareback across the dew of mornings.

I miss you still. 

I await the moment you’ll be near when I could rest on your shoulder to share such tales. 

Until next time, my summertime!