I don't know where to begin. It was proclaimed from my mouth that I would not stray down this path. I took an oath that I would not let myself falter or slip. But who is perfect, anyway? I know I have not slipped, nor have I strayed from my original direction. But it is reality to me that this connection will not fade, no matter how much strength I put forth to extinguish the flame. It may only be obvious to myself, it may not even be a recognizable form to that which I am connected to, but that fact does not cause my mind to want to destroy the connection. It is real. It is pure. Who am I to destroy reality? What I crave, what I dream about, what stirs me and drives me forward, is that connection. I wear the heavy burden as I walk forward, knowing that what I currently have is not currently meant for me. Dare I say, it is too good for me? I believe it is true. I do not deserve that luxury I currently possess, not now when my mind is not fully giving what is rightly allowed. I have a beautiful apple, ripe and delicious. I have a book of beautiful quotations and stirring thoughts. Do I eat and be merry? Or do I read and be inspired? I have not made a choice, I carry both. Though I am not merry and I am not inspired. To be merry I must give up that inspiration, though I know I could find it in another form. And to be inspired, I must give that luxury of being merry, though I'm sure I could find merriness elsewhere. But it is these particular forms of merry and inspiring that are rightly mine. I found them, they found me, and there is a connection to both. I am currently holding the apple with one hand while I am reaching, fingertips outstretched, towards the book of wonder. I do not want to drop the apple but I feel it is not the right time to be so merry. Nor is it time to be so inspired. Though my connection.... my connection to one is stronger than the other, this I fear the most.
Who am I to make such a decision? I can't, and I won't. It will happen as it may, through time and circumstances, on it's own. I will gravitate towards my own space and let the pieces fall where they will. I commit to neither and hope with great hopes, the apple finds merriment in something not me. And the book? I am afraid I cannot say what I wish the book to do... it spins in the heavens, a shining light of curiosity, hovering until it determines where it wishes to land.
