Writing about the same enigmas over and over again was getting
embarrassing. Why did I always find myself asking unanswerable
questions? If I didn’t ask these questions, though, I would feel out
of touch and guilty. My creativity was failing. I might even be
losing it altogether. Life would be pathetic without a quest for
something! Stagnation was poisoning my energies, but I didn’t
want to change anything. It would be too much hassle. Apathy
had soured my innocence. Beware of taking too many things for granted!
At least I was grateful for my perch on this overlook. I had found a
beautiful spot to muse and reflect. I was being teased by the soothing
murmurs of the creek below. This time the creek taught me that everything
had to be recreated and re-affirmed—just to experience the loss. No
thing could ever be mine, — borrowed or blue perhaps, but not really
mine. The creek still spoke of the “path of least resistance,” but
today that message came with a slightly different bent. Substance came
from action, not rhetoric. The creek’s mantra “less is more,” now came
with the chorus “less is more, but only after the more.” The creek
found its own direction.
Up here in the canyon my thoughts had wandered as I had hoped they
would. Perhaps now I would appreciate my nausea more, or, perhaps I
would recognize it less. Time would tell on that one. All I really
knew, however, was that I would be the sole beneficiary of whatever
came to pass.