He told me to find him. I told him to find himself. Where he was hidden. Where he didn’t want to come out. Where he didn’t want to be lost but stayed lost just the same.I told him to find himself just where he was sitting, where he was standing a minute ago, and where he was going to go. I told him he already knew where to look, and what he would find there. It wasn’t really a secret, locked deep without a key. It was plain to see. Just that only he could open the door.
He had before. It was good to go there. To find a piece of himself that he brought out. Refreshing. Like the end of superstition; the fear of something you didn’t know about now disclosed. To discover it was nothing, but blind darkness whose power over you was simple confusion. I told him to go back there. To that place, but just a little more, to grasp it this time. The unwind of him would fit the previous bit and he’d feel more complete, nicely packaged.
He waited a while. Then began to smile. Yes. He would do that. Concentrate. Contemplate. Extrapolate. Before it was too late. The time that would come when his life passed by the important stuff and it became too late to live with the new understanding of himself, except to think about it as a part of him, but the acting out of it in his life would be ill possible, as those years of opportunity had passed.
Hurry! It’s not a race but it’s still too late if opportunity passes. Too late to wait for the next round to come around. It comes less frequently and when it arrives it’s harder to change; the impact of it impacted by karmic gain. Double trouble.
He found himself looking for something to change within. How patterned he’d become, checkered by the back and forth of time. Yet he saw after a while what others complained about, concerned about, alluded to, when they spoke to him. His companions, enemies, friends. They didn’t want to distract him from who he was portraying to be, but they were the witnesses of his life that showed him the results of their investigation ~ from time to time, across time. He discovered he was too cross at times. Too short. Briefly annoyed at others when he wanted his way. So, he would now wonder why, inside, and see what came out. Mediate. Then, wait.
I watched him over the next while and surely what was to be found came to head. He bent himself forward and let out a heap of cranial heat, the kind that forms from arrogant impatience. The hasty one. It fell on the floor and stomped away. He was better that way. There was a calm disposition in his eyes then. Like he saw the world differently, yet still wearing the same cloak. Perhaps, less masked he was, yet garmented just the same.
I felt a tinge of heart towards him. More so. Like he was a bigger man, holding less.