Taffy

I stand at a wall in the distance. I am constantly touching it, feeling its coolness. Sometimes, it is smooth, with no hand or footholds. Some days, it is rough, with plenty of points to climb. 

There are great treasures inside and out on the other side.  I race the timebomb to the finale or the moment of liberation. Deep down, it is not really a race. It is only something I tell myself to explain my lack of action. Dramatize for effect and distraction. 

In a moment of lucidity, I demand stark effort and reality. To be real without spin. In the last 50 years, we have been programmed to weave stories that make us feel one way or another. Perhaps they were right about television after all.

Photo by Possessed Photography on Unsplash

Fantastic self-psychology in the fake it till you make it lane. Is that really necessary? Do you need to fire an arrow downrange whenever you hold the bow? Words need not bruise, and hugs do not count. Not in the way that you think. 

I was standing at the bus stop and not thinking about energy. I thought of everything else, and it showed. The bus was not even built yet, and I stood in the rain, heat, snow, and wind, telling myself that I would see it crest the hill at any moment.

I met a traveler. She was modest and wise. She smiled as I told her my tale. She earned the right to tell me how it was, but she was kind instead, saying what was needed in the softest ways. 

The curtain lifted, and when the light flooded the stage, I found the necessities I obtained were not only other people's trash but mine. Facade and rumor had run down the clock, and I had nothing to show for it except for all the work I still needed.

I sit on the stairs with my head in my hands and wonder, am I going in the right direction? There will not be enough time to turn and run if I am wrong. Will the gravity be heavier? Will words not translate from mind to sound?

I push all of the debris aside and sit on the dusty floor. I close my eyes. Control my breathing. I feel the air around me. I pay attention to the song playing in my head. Exhale.

What is real?