Have I grown up? Or have I grown down?

I’ve always been stirred by the earth. The wind.

Beautiful human bodies. Delicious food and drink. Fallen into vice of course.

The path of goodness is narrow.

It is ridden with difficulties and most often confusion.

The holiest of men are constantly thinking they are the lowest of men.

The ability to hold two opposing thoughts at one point in time never made sense to me.

I’ve missed whisky. Smoking a cigarette after something doesn’t go my way.

And then smoking another realizing how ridiculous I sound to myself.

Allowing myself to be angered by my friends in their absence and realizing that is why I love them so.

I forgot of the freedom of telling a woman that I long for her comfort. And yet still the solace of solitude remains so appealing. To indulge without gluttony and to acquire without hoarding.

I am now more conscious of the love for myself and others. The whisky not quite as strong anymore. Not quite as melancholic.

So does defeat. Its bitterness sobers me and is needed for my pallet.

And Victoria. Oh even that ecstasy has seemed to fade all the faster. A reminder of the transience of life. I used to try to hold for dear life.

Human connection is the only thing that fills my glass now.

The cigarettes don’t repress feeling as before. I feel the grounding of the tobacco from my lofty ambitions.

As if the spirit of the mighty plant humbles my own designs for life.

Letting go of these designs is still irritating but not excruciating. Prayers and books are one and the same.

I have have surrendered in many ways. Yet all I have done is stayed in the game.

Death speaks to me in different ways than before. It talks to me through the wind. It speaks of life and regret.

God is no longer a mystical word but rather name of a friend that loves you for all of your glory and stupidity.

I see my father now and I see the bitter sweet nature of life. How sacrifice and love are star-crossed lovers. I see him and feel of the possibility of bringing life into this world and the responsibility that is birthed long before the child. Most of all I see the despair of envy and love-lost.

Visions of my mother ache at my heart and yet they free me to the wonders of this world. She is till the reminder of light in all things although here light is dimmed.

Hugging my brother reminds me of my powerlessness and of my infinite well of energy. That my mortal body has never been capable of separating us. His smiles brings me to the highest peaks and his tears to the lowest rivers.

I give of myself more freely now. I think of myself more freely, and so consider myself much less. For what do I require than that which is freely given to me.

I put less stock in the ideas of books and prayers and more value on what my heart feels about those things.

I rather write one page of my own thoughts and feelings that read a hundred books.

I want to know more of others and their thoughts and feelings watch as it stirs my soul.

It is evident that the characteristics of they call growing up. Patience. Temperance. Response ability. Discernment. I’ve had these things all along. I just believed the lie that I had to develop them.

I’ve spent a quarter of a 21st century lifespan struggling to return to who I already was when I was in the playground without fear and judgment.

I’m learning to grown down to my roots.

Strip myself of delusions. It’s quite a beautiful ride.

Let them say that they want to say.

Think what they want to think.

Our dream is our own.

To ponder and to sculpt.

May it beautiful and loud.

So that we may descend into a deeper sleep.

With peace in our hearts.