Monday, March 12, 2012

A watched pot never boils

Or does it?
My blood boils, sometimes, at least I feel that it could, might...will

I'll have to wait and see I guess.

Why is it that the moment we utter the words "_______" those words which reveal everything we had been preserving, concealing, keeping to and for ourselves in fear that if we open our mouths it might get away.....does get crushed, destroyed and ruined when the sounds form words, and the words have meaning.

A secret, once revealed is no longer mysterious. Once you lose mystery, what's left?
Reality of course,
But reality, I'm afraid, is not always thrilling nor even decent, heck, at times it's down right deplorable.

So should we keep it all inside, so it can stay alive, or do we have to breathe it out to test its survival skills?
What to make of this disjuncture, between inhalation, and exhalation, fact and fiction
Reality and imagination
Here and there...

Where is 'here'?
If so then ...
I'm currently where?

Where will we meet?
The choice it seems was never mine, never thine, always...ours

If we share it, does it mean it's left to 'fate'?
Because I can't control you, nor you me...
Is fate like a gatekeeper of dreams, a grouchy naysayer or a gentle promoter? An open-minded optimist or a pase pessimist?

I think fate is a tortured soul, both independent and needy. A paradox of sorts, a puzzling puzzle...A question mark ?

And still even when fate is driving, I am lost, I feel I should ask for directions. Life, this journey, is utterly bewildering and wonderful and terrible and lovely... and every day I change my mind.
I guess I just don't get it, nor do I want to, yet.

Every pot has its lid, so when it boils, I'll know... I'll hear rattling and shaking of the lid, unless of course it's the wrong size, which means we'll have to start the recipe from scratch, again.

Cooking up a recipe for a sweet ain't easy.

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