March 01

Walking the center line of my soul, It's the place in the road of being, where you have the best view of the road, where you are going, and where you have been.  It's also the most likely place to get struck by a semi.  

She tottered road weary, sore feet slapping the pavement with a soft shuffling thud, the prickly heat of the sun and her body's building furnace raging within, manifesting in a trickle down of salted ocean tears kissing her skin in small minute round pearls, catching the light like miniature bubbles of glistening nectar.

I'm tired, but I'm heading somewhere, and feels good.  I'm sore, but I'm moving in the right direction, and I know, eventually, I'm going to hit a destination.

Today's journal is free form writing, and that's what this is, I usually write poetry like this, not prose, just letting it flow off the fingertips as fast as I can think it, uncensored, liquid, golden.

 

SO I don't really know where I am going, but I do know, I'm absolutely sure, my feet are on the center line, and I can see the road clearly, where I've gone, and what's ahead, if only it weren't such a wavering black expanse of asphalt.  Struggling, 

 

I'm struggling, in this journey, lost, I suppose, or maybe I've just forgotten where I was going.  

Striped road like a zebra's back, in my head, somewhere in the summer of my life, because it's certainly not summer outside my window.  The symbols we surround ourselves with, knowingly or unknowingly, wittingly or unwittingly, witless, witless wonders.  Mainlining on the center line.  Somehow though, the buzz in the air is greater, but the buzz in my veins is dulled.

This month, March, is going to be all about words for me, a movement of images symbolic scratchings that create pictures in the mind.  Evocative, of what... something in me, meeting up with something in you.

If that isn't spiritual, then I don't know what is. 

Juxtapositions of dark and light, that's all text is, that's perhaps, all any of anything is, we put things, objects up against a ground, and we create from the optical illusions meanings, and certain meanings we somehow form a basic agreement around.

But it still doesn't answer the question, of where we end up with it all.  What lays at the end of the center line?  There has to be something there, beyond, or under the road.  Maybe we just have to get lost, to have it be found.

I'm going to walk this way a while, you're welcome to join me.

(Writing time, approximately 1 minute, unedited other than the spellchecker)