Saturday, June 14, 2014

Not everything


Not Everything

Not everything has to mean something, my breakfast doesn't count as meaningful -
I was tired of eggs and so ate oats and fruit 
there is nothing meaningful there unless you wish to severely stretch the idea of what
meaningful consists of which I do not.

There was nothing meaningful in getting up at 7 AM to leave for work unless you
consider that I needed to shower and to deposit my meaningless $34 in the bank
before work.

There is nothing meaningful about the length of my hair, my worn and tired shoes,
my hand me down clothes.  They may tell you something about me but they are
not meaningful.

There is nothing meaningful about coasting on a planet circling the sun, experiencing
spring summer fall and winter.  We are just here.  That's all there is to it.

There is nothing meaningful about travelling 100's of miles out of your way to see your
best friend.  Only the meaning or fantasy hidden in your heart.

There is nothing meaningful about my back yard, its overgrown jungle appearance, its
garden which is not growing anything, its struggle with the noxious clinging honeysuckle
climbing trees, cascading over fences, streaming itself across the ground chocking
every living thing.  Its just its nature and has no meaning otherwise.

There was nothing meaningful in the slow but sure emptying of my checking account.
The only meaning is that I put drug dealers ahead of myself, place fear where courage
should be and the cover the ass of my son who should cover his own ass.

There is nothing meaningful about living in St Louis unless you count meeting Mark and Tina 
and Chris beloved of myself and the many others who have planted themselves here.

There is nothing meaningful about a marriage failed, a lover lost or a friendship
dissolved. There is nothing meaningful there except as it may inform myself.

There is nothing meaningful in the rain, the 14" of snow, the mud in the fields or the
geodes in bombshell creek which inform us of past world formations.

There is nothing meaningful in the house where I live, the furniture mostly hand me downs
or thrift store purchased, the floors dusty , the trash awaiting takeout next week, next
week for sure.

There is only meaning, as I understand it, in my awareness of myself, my breathing out,
breathing in, my feet planted on the floor, my butt in the chair.  There is only meaning in 
my relationship to you, our spiritual lives reaching out and briefly, softly, touching one
another,

This is it.

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