I mean it’s not like I sprung fully formed from the head of Forrest Adams (my pops) or not as far as I know, but I’ll double check with the folks.
There is something inside of me that battles to do, not the epic movements of an earthquake, the shake rattle of look look look at me and look what I can do! More as the cold battles drops of water falling from the sky to somehow pull it into the perfect icicle, the intricate non replicated snow flake; long beautiful, fleeting, the silent battle of beauty and subtly in every day life.
How to be a demigod with every breath. How is it possible, is it possible?
To try and infuse each moment with creation, fill it with passion, beauty and love.
I feel in this imperfect body it is a crap shoot, nothing reaches the heavens, nothing is eternal, nothing is ever yours to keep. Yet still we do, we create.
The drive for this is so insistent that I spend hours alone, holed up in my house and in my mind. Fighting my duel nature of social butter fly and hermit crab. I am a wool sweater that after too many social hours I need to be washed on hot and then thrown into the dryer so I can be a concentrated version of myself, so I can concentrate.
How do you balance? Where is the balance?
I want to run and play and live my days full full full, and then dream and work and build the foundations to my castle in the sky. This is the God in me, but it exists with the humanness, the tired, cranky, moody me that thinks I can do it all, that I should be able to do it all, and boy when I don’t do it all I better watch out!
At this point I feel as if I am all ramble and I have no solutions just observations and those will have to do for now.