It is a hot day. I feel it at a high of 85 degrees and I am home hibernating. No one is around and this is my alone time and my me time which I rather quiet enjoy.
Yes, I am a lonely person. No, I am not sad. I am lonely by choice. I enjoy my solitude, my world. I know I am peculiar person, a strange one, a perplexing one, and I accept it now. Finally. I accept it. Lately, I have been having this urge to run away again, and go off to another adventure. I reckon an adventure soon… I look forward to be as silent as a tree, or a cloud, and still as a mountain. I look forward to hiding among them.
How can I be sad when I am outdoors, in front of a body of water, in front of a mountain, the sea, the shore? If I am laughing, singing, writing, I am happy. If I am dancing, running, flying, I am happy. I don’t need company. I am happy to simply be living. I am happy to simply be human, born human, with the sensibility of a human. Think how miraculous to be born a human and not a fly, an ant, a lizard? Why waste the breath we were granted and the spirit we were housed with?
You know, I’ve always wanted my very own version of the Walden Pond, away from society. I always fancied the idea, I’ve always admired that lifestyle. I also have always visualized myself living this way or some kind of rendition of it. I don’t know why I do?
I don’t know why I love Steinbeck’s writing and his works. I don’t know why I have so much respect for Joan Baez and Bob Dylan, Paulo Choelo, Whitman, or Mark Twain. What is it about Frida Kahlo and Emily Dickinson, Audrey Hepburn, or Marilyn? What is about John Lennon, Selena, Bob Marley, that is so entrancing? I don’t know why I like what I like.
Why is it that I like the sound of the train? The smell of house paint or glue? Why do I like the way I feel the pen in between my fingers, or I like the stride of ink glide onto my paper? I don’t know why I like all this sad sappy stuff. Why I am so damn compassionate to the point of brink? I don’t know why, but it will never change… I was born this way and it is about time I learn to embrace it, own my crazy… After all, I am only a moth looking for her light.
I know I am some sort of crazy but I know I am also beautiful. I feel it. I feel beauty when all the butterflies I’ve seen today have flirted around me, twirling around my aura and scent. I feel beauty when the hummingbird leads me or the little boy at the market feels bashful in front of me. I feel beauty when a gentlemen holds the door for me… I feel beauty in a gust of wind sweeping past me.
I am strange and beautiful, as are you. I know you feel beauty too. Everyone is beautiful in their own way. So, its time to own it… Own your crazy. There is only one of me and one of you in this entire world, and we have a chance to shine, to speak, to be the change we want to see and by all means do it. We do need it….