Time To

Time to take back my thoughts for the day, away from the things that carry them away, to anxieties that breeds unneeded insecurities and scatters them with the winds.  The world has its own problems, of which none of them I can fix, but within my own right and self I can correct my own in more ways than one. By casting off worries that weigh down my imagination and discarding them with the old relics of the past I free my hands to roam where they will across the keyboard of my thinking in search of a vision that better illuminates the world in which I would live.  Giving new life to characters of personalities to share in a few moments of sceneries where my eyes wish to see: a coffee shop full of people drinking warm cups of fresh brews, mingling with the scents of baked items from oatmeal raisin cookies and cinnamon coffee cakes to warm apple muffins among the sweet succulent scents of caramelized, iced frostings. While I sit under a table umbrella, at a table on the sidewalk, just outside listening to the sounds of peeping birds, the murmur of talking people, the whispers of hushed conversations and the soundings of cellular phones.   Time to take my thoughts on a walk down a sidewalk where the moisture patterns from a morning rain still linger in the near noon hour reminding my senses that it was already there; watering the potted flowers hung outside business doors, trees giving shade from the brilliance of the sun who looks over my shoulder and plays with the thoughts of my shadow. “You look thin,” it whispers with a grin, “and much taller than the last time as I remember.”   While a drop of water leaps from a leaf and lands on the top of my head I slow my pace to appreciate the time I have to breathe in the fresh air and be in the light of the sun who has touched the faces of every soul on the earth the same way it does mine. Reminding me that in this moment, compared to the earth itself, the sun shines on us all the same: the short, the tall, the large, the small, the man, the woman, the child; the princes, the paupers, the sons and daughters, from the poorest to the richest billionaire.   Time to give my thoughts a lift up a stairway of ideas that grow with each step as I approach the inner sanctum of my mind.  Where I enter a room free from all other voices and listen to what my ideas have to say. To gather myself into a place where I’m away from the race of all the outer influences that exists.  To give myself time to relax and unwind and partake in the giving of a gift. That can shape atmospheres into kingdoms, with musical essence of strength and virtue where I was invited by a queen to go on a retreat or quest with a faithful friend to walk across the clouds towards the sun as it lights our steps in search of a rare flower that can turn stones into healing waters that we would gather in silver basins to scatter across the mountains below us and be able to watch the pastel colors of the sprinkled droplets fall free through the sun’s light to bring to life the blooms of a flora’s wonder, spreading the vibrancy of vegetations across dry barren soils.  Then returning triumphantly to her majesty to announce our success for her kingdoms sake; admired and well thanked then dismissed from her presence to return to our lives with her blessings.     Time to put off the fantasies of a dreaming prodigy and go in search of a more tangible inclusion of reality where plans are made and sifted; promises are made and directed to be a better moment than what was before.  To put words into actions so what’s spoken can be believed on the level it’s understood without confusions or misleadings, without guile and deceiving, the one who hears what the speaker spoke. To gird up the intentions of the words with the projection of the project and bring to mind the story lines of all the probabilities that could be invoked.  To fine line the content to shrug off the comments of those who don’t care for those things at all. Forget the lilts and the rhymes, the patterns and designs and get to the point. About the gruel and turmoil the sweat and the disbelief in anyone who has never helped you before. Time to get with it, yourself and the moment, and find something worth to be wrote.   Time to step back, reread and give slack to the twist and the turns of the pages.  Where the emotions that stirred you, provoked, or unnerved you are left where they are, right there.  In the people, the places, the clothes, and the faces that brought them all together in their now. Time to make my way back to my everyday where there’s chores to be done and other things to do.  That don’t consume every feeling, that don’t exist outside the readings, that can’t be brought to life in any shape or form. Time to forget all the dreams and flights of fancy themes and drag myself back to the norm.   Which begs me to question, who are you people and how did I get here? 

Jade Jaspers