Drinking Water in the Dark

Drinking Water in the Dark

No one is ever fully embodied, hydrated, or sure of the way. We cope by using various hilarious defenses, but the joke is on us. And most of the time, it does not seem all that funny.

One foot, then the other. One meal, then the next. One face melting in your hands. Your own two hands. You do what you can, which should be enough, but it’s never enough.

Regrouping

Consider the options. Choose two or three and try them on. Personally, I like that purple gown, but the itchy wool sweater will always be available. Jump suits are impractical, especially for the aged or those too young for zippers.

You can carve the turkey or carve your name into a place that is mistakenly called history. But remember you are surrounded by a raging sea. Saltwater makes most choices irrelevant.

Getting Along

 Give away what you can. Keep what you must. Break bread not promises. Find yourself out walking with a colorful umbrella and murmur thanks to the Makers of Rain. Make fun of your ulterior motives and make light of the pain.

Take the heavier loads apart and see what can be shifted. Carry the burdens wisely and be mindful of your knees. You weren’t born yesterday.

Circling Back

As you were, so shall you never be again. Someday, you will touch your chest and notice that you no longer exist in any meaningful way. The relief will be palpable. Your exile, over. Your failings, forgiven.

No one is the best at anything for long, but the Choreographer loves imperfection, raw emotions, and pods of dolphins who, like us, are doomed but defiant.