Suspicions arise all around us when we admitedlly bare our soul, when we fail to recognize the cracks in the proverbial armor. After all, the goo that binds us is subliminal yet slightly dated. It’s like storing rotten eggs in the fridge so that the trash doesn’t smell.
As the year unwinds, we begin to look back at what was accomplished. For some of us there were periods of activity unlike in other years. For others it was a year of transition in its most naked form; uprooting of families, new locations, new smells, new sights, new lessons.
Some lessons are hard to learn and require heavy exposure to the elements of surprise and carelessness. Some lessons are ignored for fear of giving in to our true feelings, our true sense of purpose.
Swiftly, the clock ticks towards the turning of one page and the newness of another. And perhaps we forget that we have pen in hand to do most of the writing, the planning. We forget about inspiration and fail to look around and understand the intricacies that bind us; like leafs in November, they all fall inevitably, signaling that one must shed the weight of false perceptions and failures, however big they may be.
The sense of an ending is daunting, psychologically scarring, sentimental, and sometimes misunderstood. These are the type of alterations that we focus most of our attention to, as they can shake us to our very core, sadistically and without remorse. Most of the time, these episodes lead to a revival of the soul and they remind us of our humanity and absolute depedency on something deeper than ourselves.
