Ride It Like You Stole It

Life
It isn't something that is supposed to be docile and tame
Something dull and predictable
Life is something raw, wild and ever changing
It flows like the tides...
Waxing and waning like the moon
It's a Mustang on the prairie
Wind whipping through her mane
Sun glinting off her coat
The power of the ages in every curve of her muscle
The energy of the Earth in the pounding of her hooves
Life is something that we don't tame
Acknowledge the power that we've been blessed with
Take a deep breath
Climb aboard and give it the best ride we've got
You can't tame it
Learn to work in harmony with it
Listen to where you are supposed to be going, instead of trying to force it to bend to your will
Stop fighting it and enjoy the ride

That's just not write!

 

Writing is a lost art.

I don't mean that no one is filling shelf after shelf with books.

Or that there is a lack of people seeking to get their work published.

I mean that so few people WRITE anymore.

I have lately been struggling with, what I thought, was a particularly vexing patch of stagnant inspiration.

I have this desire...just under the surface...bubbling deep...ever building... and aching to break free, like the forces under the Earth's surface, but no matter how I try to shake it loose...nothing. 

It won't come to the top in that gloriously eloquent fountain of tumbling words.  That frantic, nearly painful chaos, that spills up out of your heart, into your mind, glowing brighter and hotter until it boils out the tips of your fingers, onto the keyboard in a rapid frenzy of keystrokes.

And THAT, my friends, is when it hit me! 

I'm not lacking the inspiration.

I'm not lacking the need, and certainly not the desire.

It's the  cold feel of the keyboard that is killing it.  The culprit is the empty clickety-clack of the keys as I try impotently to lay my thoughts  out.

That's not writing.

I need the feel of the paper.  The scratch of the pen as it flies across it, almost as if it's under its own power. I need the weight, the sound, the smell...the actual writing.

And not this block letter, stick figure printing they are teaching kids in school these days. 

NO!  That will never do!

I need true writing!  We were graded on it.  Most people under 25 today can't read it. 

CURSIVE folks.  True writing. 

The flow

The artistry

The poetry of it

The sheer beauty of it

The dance of the letters, working together to tell a story.

The ballet, tango, rhumba and twist of language. The waltz between parchment and ink.

Glorious harmony!

Wrapping a reader in a magical land and transporting you to places you've never dreamed could exist.

Cursive is like a woman. Full of curves and mystical beauty that you only truly appreciate as you get to know  her, and no two examples are exactly the same.  Each spectacular and unique in their own way.

You just can't replace something so beautiful and natural, with something artificial and cold.

Now and Later

There’s no rhyme or reason to it.

It either is, or it isn’t.

But, isn’t that the way of all things?

What other options are there? Something either is…or it isn’t.

You can't force it.

It's the age old adage of the "square peg and the round hole".

It’s just that simple.

Right?

Now, the one exception to the rule, because all things have an exception, is our perception of what’s good or acceptable, in that particular moment.

 That’s quite a gray area, now isn’t it?

What may be acceptable tends to fluctuate.

As we grow older, we, hopefully, grow wiser.

In our 20's we think we are wordly and educated.  We are on fire about so many things, and we set out to take the world by storm.  Truthfully, we are just smart enough to cause a minor train wreck.

By the time we are in our 30's, we can choose our battles a little better, but still tend to trip over our feet from time to time, which is to be expected.  We're just smart enough to really screw things up, but also fairly well equipped to fix it. 

Our 40's are the time we sit back and realize that our parents, and grandparents, really did have alot more things figured out than we gave them credit for.  Suddenly, the light bulb over heads come on with near full intensity.  As the shadows of ill informed youth begin to leave our minds, we realize there truly is no need to sweat the petty stuff we've stressed over all this time.   Chances are if we do demolish something at this age, we don't want to fix it.  We annihilated it on purpose...just saying.

We realize that it's ok to say No...and to MEAN IT. 

We realize that doing things for ourselves isn't "selfish".  It's self preserving and self nurturing. 

Don't get it?

You're too young to understand.  I'll tell you when you're older.

Rooooo-Duh!

Why is it when we are minding our own business, bothering no one, happily living our own lives, that people suddenly pop up in the background and start drama?

They pour out of the woodwork like cockroaches. 

They gather in droves.  Chirping like crickets to each other, silencing their banter when we approach, only to resume when we continue on our way.

Why are these same people the ones who never seem to come straight to you with whatever their apparent grievance is?  They instead choose to huddle together, chirping about some real or imagined wrong doing on your part.

Have you people nothing better to do?

Do you lack the fortitude to look directly at someone and discuss the issue?

Are you so spineless that it's easier to tell only bits and pieces to those that you feel will back you? 

Do you thrive on a cheering section of ill informed parrots?

Are you so gutless that you can't take charge and get to the root of the issue on your own? 

Is your life so boring that you must create drama and strife for others?

Are you so unhappy with your place in life that you feel you  must drag others down, thereby making yourself feel better about the piss poor choices you've made?

That has to be a sad, empty way to live.  I can't imagine letting such a large amount of negative energy eat at me like that.  I can't begin to imagine how lonely and bitter you are inside.  How the drama has eaten away at anything good that was inside you. 

Sure, you might put a good front on for some people, but all it takes is a small step back to see the real picture.

I used to think you were an amazing, strong person, but I see that you really are all the things that people told me you were.  And, apparently, you are so much more than even they warned me about. 

I spoke nothing but kind things about you.  You held a place in my heart and I thought of you as a friend.  I would've moved mountains, one pebble at a time, if that's what you needed. 

Now that you've finally shown your true colors, I'm glad the day never came that I stuck my neck out for you.  Surely I would've been beheaded for a  worthless cause.

I'm not mad, not even hurt, I'm actually filled with pity.  I can't imagine how sad and pathetic you must be when you think no one is looking.  I pray I never find out.

As I walk away, thankful that you have shown who you really are, all I can say to you is this:

"Quit being a shit stirring little dick. It's just rude."