I often think about how much stuff I write that doesn’t see the light of day — and it’s probably for good reason.
But then I feel disappointed by all these unfinished, unshared things. What do I do with them? Post them on Facebook? Leave them on a street corner?
Anyway, I want to share them in some way — so here is a couple of them
A Backlog of Bad Memories
The problem of getting older, but also of having a good memory, is that you wind up with an incredible backlog of all the things you have failed at – all the cowardly choices you’ve made; the moments where you didn’t speak up and defend yourself, or else; all the times you have chosen fear over the spirit of life – and they all build up and become a weight on your shoulders; a stick that the sinister side of yourself can use to beat you with, beat your mind out of shape.
That backlog of bad memories becomes a crushing weight. It tells you that the future is not as bright as you once thought it was. That you can’t do the things, you thought you could; and that you will end up as a nothing – even worse, as something evil.
That backlog of bad memories is the entropy, the decay in nature we are all warned about; the green patina on a once vibrant mansion, the ivy that creeps over a future haunted house.
And there are only a few who can make good with this backlog; that somehow shrug it off, and move forward, a phrase of our age, and laugh at it; at themselves.
There are poets and people we care about greatly, who make hay with these thoughts, distil wine from those sad feelings; and do not feel afraid. There are those that sit up all night praying for it to pass – yet they then write a book, that changes the world.
Stress and Love
And how do you deal with all the stress you feel inside?
The thoughts that worry you,
The memories that haunt you;
All the places you long for, real and imagined?
And how do tell the truth about love? How do you tell the people you love, without making a catastrophe in your own heart?
Do you shoulder your own fears?
Or do you listen to the public who tell you to be open about these things –
But once you admit, you mark yourself as not coping with life;
And thus, change people’s perception of you.
Friends, family, loved ones; as well as our heroes.
These are easy to identify.
But do we also let our hate, our bitterness, our jealousy of others, brand us with their faceless ubiquity?
Do we listen to a media that teaches us to hate?
No! These things lead us astray, these enemies of the state . . .
A subterfuge, a distraction that benefits others;
But will not benefit you, or me.
— Love is the only thing that can unlock any good in you.
Follow that, and you are half-way home to a warm hearth and the woman in your heart.
Love will tell you something good at night, whisper into the ear of your dreams, kindle your sense of purpose; and remind you that the things that seem forgotten, are not forgotten, but only hibernating under the deep freeze of winter.