Tuesday, April 21, 2015

2182 : Pike place

I smell the rudderless coffee. It has a strange bite to it, especially when had without milk. The edge that always whipshakes me back into the present attention, more than the caffeine itself.

I stare at my tiny sleeping daughter. The poet in my believes and so bloody desperately wants to be her best friend, her pillar when she wants to post, and just everything a good partner in crime can be.

I believe in the future, when there shall be days when she and I will walk NY together, share a love for the photograph, and debate the poetry of motion over a rancid glass of cheap wine.

It could also be my niece(s).....at least one of them currently adores me. Essentially I am imagining a future where the generations meld and mesh.

In my own past though, I have been a terrible son, a disgraceful nephew (I deserted my favorite dying aunt!!), a difficult husband and a truly estranged brother.....Why will the roulette turn different this time? Its me who called the number, and I always called wrong. The others never gambled.....and were extraordinarily giving.

Me - for all the buddhist crap I mouth, I have never truly learnt to give, or to give up, or to give in. I learnt about singularity, and yet have focussed on the duality, I felt for their pain, but focussed on my high; I wanted their acceptance, but did not believe in losing inches.

Now, years later I know. I am afraid because of what I know. As I stare at the curled up princess, I am afraid of what she does not know. I am staring at her sprawled hair, but I am also staring at a future which I cannot imagine.

Very nervous of what I now know. The coffee reminds me of a future, that smells very different than now. The Razor's Edge.


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