by Cj Mitchell

Created on: April 06, 2009

True To Self

It was never as simple as the image in the mirror, the person looking back at me, the person with whom I can't get along.
When the road of life starts, it becomes a series of circumstances and choices, left or right. How often I've come to that fork in the road, weighed the options, and discovered how wrong I was. More often now are the discoveries of the assorted knife or spoon in the road, what can one do with that? Should I use the spoon in a futile attempt to fill the hole that would snare me, I'd only be digging another one in which to fall. And the knife, better left untouched as I would most likely stumble and fall on it, and bearing the number of scars I do, it's not worth taking the risk. The fact is, if anything can be done a more difficult way, I'll find it. I recall from youth an unusual tendency toward hardship, while easy enough to grasp at my desires, the holding on thereof became impossible. A mystery as yet unsolved, whether bad luck, or karma. Most would more readily see and at least try to avoid the pitfalls and snares so plentiful in life, but I wander blindly into them, distracted by the pretty lights, the autumn leaves, the wind. Frequenting the shore I stand with the tide inching toward my feet, watching as the sea devours, pulling at the sand, revealing a copious selection of stones and shells for which I reach. And I wonder, is it this instability that fills me, is it a need for uncertainty, and sandy trinkets? I have become driftwood floating from place to place, hoping to be carried away yet again before scavengers pluck me from my ignorant bliss, and plunge me into the dread of their bonfires. The water retreats and returns as do I, continuing to make way, and falling back in the same day. And the blossom of tide pools found at waning tide provide a more accurate visage, wind rippled, unsteady, and lingering. But I can't deny the gifts of my misfortunes, and the detours which have made the journey worth living. There's been a point in all of it, a purpose, and a season, and I may never understand but it's ok, my existence is not in vain. Despite it all, and a total inability to put down roots, I have managed to be successful in sprouting branches. And I know with certainty that my tapestry will ebb and flow with a lifetime of jaunted thoughts, the albums of captured moments, and my treasured sandy trinkets. Reflections of all the things my family will remember most of me.

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