It was only a wheelbarrow

His wheelbarrow. It was always shining; always reflecting powerful and bright rays of light. It always rolled into the fields at a steady pace. Even. Tedious. It was like an alien spacecraft, that wheelbarrow was. Practically glowing red. Screaming for attention, for some kind of disassociation from that dull brown habitat it traveled through.

Once upon a time, I remember watching this from my window. I remember being excited and young, and flying to my window to see the small red dot traveling through those fields. Distant. Always distant. And full of delicious mystery. It was only a wheelbarrow, but it was also everything.

I saw it up close once. At first excited, but then disappointed. It was glorious. But now I knew that! Now, just by taking once short peek, I had peeked away layer after layer of mystery and wonderment. I hated knowing things about it—knowing answers to my questions. I much preferred to think about it freely, without factual information holding my ideas back. I had squandered my own freedom.

 

BE PRESENT

There is a difference between being still and being absent. Stillness can do so much…if only I could speak from experience. When you’re still, you can be so present, (which is one of the most important things to be, I think.) Being absent is the opposite, although from the outside they can look the same…so easily mistaken for eachother. How is that so? People must not look hard enough…must not really understand what they see ( or what they think they see) in others. Not sure what I’m trying to say here. I guess it’s a few things…that stillness can be good. It can be very good ( especially for those who don’t think so). And that no person is in the same chapter of their life story at the same time as you. So when you’re just blazing through life; can’t imagine slowing or stopping or anything like that, and you see someone doing all of those things, it’s so important to try and comprehend their current space; their ebbs, and flows, and feelings. In that moment, that can be the hardest thing to do. We have a habit of getting so caught up in our own states of mind that we shut out the rest of humanity unknowingly. Well, I suppose I can only speak for myself here…but I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who needs to work on this. I don’t know what would happen if we all gave it a shot, but it can only be good, right?

I arise in the …

I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day. // E. B. White

Taking notes on life

If today was like yesterday, what would the point be? It shouldn’t be the same…no, not if you mean for it to be. Sorry if that was your goal, but I’m really helping you out by telling you the raw and beautiful truth, and that is that it won’t be the same. That’s that. Not only is that that, but that is life. Life in a simple definition…not the same

There is nothin…

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.

Ernest Hemingway

Thoughts after finishing THE FAULT IN OUR STARS

The death of a main character isn’t a twist. The story is special because that event it nearly inevitable. But when it happens, you are still hit with an emotional blow not unlike the one you would feel being a character on the story. The death is not the main conflict, as death usually is considered to be. It is actually welcomed at times, which makes rooms for other conflicts and twists. Although it may seem that the terminal illnesses, and maybe what to think of the issues are the conflicts, I think the conflict went deeper. The conflict was the rest of the universe. The two teenagers who looked death in the eye often seemed the most okay out of everyone. Because of the way they understood things like death. “‘I fear oblivion.'” Was what Augustus Waters said when he first met Hazel. Not death, not pain, not spiders. Once he said it, it made me think that was the only legitimate fear. But then Hazel said it was foolish to fear the inevitable. But then what’s left to fear? Hazel never said it directly, but what she feared was pain; inflicting it, not receiving it. That fear was inevitable, but legitimate nonetheless. So what makes a fear legitimate? Maybe it only is, if it IS inevitable. On the one hand, of course you’d fear it: it was coming no matter what. But on the other, you might say: why fear it? That doesn’t change what will happen, so it’s nothing more than wasted time and energy. If only we could control what we feared.

PRESSING IN FROM ALL DIRECTIONS

                   His mustache was perhaps fluffier than my dog Gerald. It was shocking with its bold, red color. It quite reminded me of a fat red caterpillar; the poisonous kind that used to slither over my face during my terrible time in the jungle. But his hair; why was it so magnificent? It twisted and curled ferociously in every direction imaginable and unimaginable. But it wasn’t red like his mustache  No, it was a shiny gray-blue color that complimented his delicately trimmed facial hair most exquisitely.

                He wasn’t particularly short or tall, but his muscles were prominent, and his shoulders broad. He had a long face, which was perfectly symmetrical, save the deep pink scar that ran from his left ear all the way down to his chin. The scar made him look intimidating, but his face was very friendly looking otherwise.

                One day it was hot. The heat caused terror, ultimate discomfort, and perspiration unlike any other time in history. Oh, it was unbearable! The man with the mustache was panting; out of breath just from standing outside in the wretched heat. It seemed to press in on him from all directions, efficiently squeezing the life and energy from his strong body with each moment that went by. But where could he go? Then his golden eyes lit up, glowing with the energy of new hope. He knew just the place…

                Meanwhile, another young man was having struggles of his own. Sweat dripped down his face as well, but it wasn’t hot; he was afraid. He was running for his life, and that is in no way an exaggeration. His reddish-brown hair flew behind his head, and his feet pounded loudly on the road. Or was that his heart?

                This man was shorter than the first, and less muscular-looking, although in reality he was stronger. He as well had a near perfect face…but his nose was not quite right. It was unnaturally angular from being broken so many times.

He didn’t dare look back for even a moment. He just pushed on with the supernatural strength that only accompanies fear. Rain began to fall as he turned the corner, and started the steep descent. The cool drops were refreshing, but he didn’t relax for even a moment. His golden eyes were still alive with fear. Almost there…

                Now we travel to yet another part of the world, where a third man is having absolutely no struggles at all.

                “Ah, hello there Nancy! How are the boys?”  His rich deep voice was genuine and friendly, as he chatted with coworkers at his office’s holiday party, “Hey! Johnny, my man! How have you been?”

                He strode about the crowded room, towering above most everyone due to his spectacular height. The man kept nonchalantly glancing at his shiny watch as he conversed, waiting for the moment to come. He probably should have been anxious, but that just wasn’t his style. So he gallivanted around with his expertly gelled hair, and his suave tuxedo, stopping periodically to adjust his bowtie, or glance at his watch.