Reprinted from Instagram.
You don’t know me. I don’t know me, how could you? It’s wandering out there. Stumbling. Hands in the dark reaching for the light switch. Eyes not as sharp as they once were. Colder. Wiser. More aware. The lack of sleep is proof of that. Memorizing the cracks in the ceiling like the lines on a loved ones face. Comfort in the uncomfortable.
How many lives do we have in one life? There are markers. Middle school. College. Marriage. Divorce. Jobs. Houses. Heartbreak. Love. Each of them with beginnings, middles and ends. Each one a life within a life. They are chapters that fill a book you never even know you’re writing until the chapter is done. Period. Pithy quote. Turn the page.
Last summer I met with an astrologer who told me in past lives I was a leader of churches and that somehow that was going to come around again. A tough pill to swallow when you don’t even believe in god. Three weeks later I was standing on a pulpit in front of several hundred people at Saint Stephen’s church in California delivering my nephew’s eulogy. Period. Pithy quote. Turn the page.
What if the book is already written? What if I’ve always just been fumbling in the dark? The smoothness gives way to a bump on the wall. Click.