The Words Impossible

It is relatively profound how securely a bad idea can affix itself in your brain and become something so akin to truth that you crave it just as much.  A Splenda of the mind. The warning, the wall, the block no chisel can whittle down to David.  It is time.  It is so past time to let some of these thoughts, and the poisons they leech, go.  It is time to draw the new line in the clean sand and say, okay, what is and what as been is beginning to cause a problem.  A physical, tangible, breathless problem.

The only way through the block is to put your hand up, lay your palm on its cold, eternal and sugar-sparkling marble surface so that every finger is evenly spread, and then you just press.  You press today.  You press tomorrow.  You press the next day.  You press when you want to let go.  You press when you no longer feel like pressing.
Eventually, that block will give.  Because it is just thought.  It is just idea and concept and synapse kissing synapse.  It is not real.  It has no external support.  No paper with names signed.  It has no hashtag trending.  It has just you believing a thing that you decided to believe even when it’s put you through the shredder to keep
You will probably need some reminders.
Right now, I am such a high-functioning mess in certain quarters that the other quarters would not believe that we come from the same place.
I don’t know what it is – entirely…no, that’s a lie.  I want to write today and I want to do it because I dipped into the archives and as so often, almost always happens, I found something pertinent and compelling to me in a way that I think only our own personal writing can be.  That voice of the past calling out to you as you sit here in what was once the far-distant future.  Beseeching you to exist differently, do differently, change the seemingly inevitable path you are barreling down.  The past is, even if it does not break it down or call it out, always a bit hopeful that the future finds the way it cannot.   That the world ahead will take the lessons and learn them well enough to choose the sacrifice the past feared.  Will see the truth of the anxieties of the past and side-step them.

It is nice, I suppose, to find myself here as a future soul tethered to all this past and know that in this moment – this space, not yesterday, and possibly not tomorrow – I am not choosing the depressive, fearful, and broken way of being.  I can turn back to her and say, at least for now, you have an ally.  You have someone willing to learn from you.  You have someone who is interested in the whirling of your mind, someone thankful for it.
I wrote about reading a book.  Not being afraid of imperfect reading and writing and self-expression.
That actually occurred.  Like it or not, that got me here.  So, it can get me somewhere else, if we put a little bit of elbow grease on it.