Musing

[written and published from Calgary]

-11C/12F, overcast, light snow predicted; Gusta wagged her tail at everyone in sight – wanted to romp off leash but we took an alternate route this morning to avoid suicidal ice everywhere; we took a route through the little park in the neighbourhood

this morning is strange – I tell myself I ‘should’ feel euphoric; it was a great day yesterday, a fun evening with my Toastmaster friends, a good sleep, a slow un-rushed start, lots of interesting things to do today, fresh air in my lungs, who-hoo . .all is great, but euphoria eludes me; not because of things that did not work out perfectly yesterday, not because of a pile of stuff that needs to be done – but because of some things that cannot be un-done

reality is that thing I skirt around, pull-away from, get close, reject, accept, fight with, avoid and confront . . and that is just before noon!

another day came, another day went; what did I learn?

about others, not much; about myself, more than most days; about anger – that it is silly

frustration and anger are companions - I should not let them get together any more than necessary, sometimes it is necessary; some things need to be told, some people need to be told

reality has arrived, or rather my acceptance of it has become more complete recently; I cannot make things the way I want them to be by wishing it so or by steps I take; I am the person I am – that is easy to accept; accepting that other people are the way they are is easy, in theory

accepting some of its implications today really sucks, accepting that other people are who they are – personality, behaviours, attitudes – that is easy with respect to everyone . . except when it relates to someone who matters

but, hey, wait a minute!

I have lots of people in my life who are ‘just as they are’, they have quirks and idioTsyncrasies, they have nuances of personality, of brilliance, of pathos – that does not trouble me, that is who they are

some days words are more than a handful; on those days being a painter would be better I think because painters spash feelings all over a canvas – there are no tidy sentences, constructed phrases; painting does not exhibit grammar, but surely it has language

if I was a painter today, I would paint large, I would paint sadness moving into joy; I would paint darkness giving way to enlightenment (not Machu Pichu enlightenment, but bigger than a flashlight); there would be large splashes of joy in the middle, surrounded by dark foreboding clouds; the clouds would be threatening inevitable rain on the fire in the centre of the joy part; the fire is not raging but you can tell just by looking that it was very hot just a short while ago

this painting would have Calgary snow banks on one side, Maui beaches on another; in the middle I am standing there . . quite solitary, very alone . . one foot in yesterday, one foot in tomorrow

thriller author Tom Clancy, said:

“The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense.”

the difference between Clancy and me today is that he is a writer, today I am a painter

Mark Kolke
226,820
202.4