In a Nutshell

Eight . . . nine  . . . ten  . . . Month after month it seems so little is happening, and then, “Okay, let’s get her started. Remember to breathe . . . focus and breathe”.

Everything begins inside the womb. For some, the contractions cause pain, but for the rest of us it’s just a container. We are determined to sustain. We take a slow ride on a slow boat looking for a golden bowl to hold all the fruits of our labor. Aided by an easterly sea breeze, we push along in peaceful security and the comforting support of our neighbors.

A sudden unexpected rush of a hurricane wind knocks the very foundation of our journey and there are consequences. The turmoil and flooding have left us stranded on the rocks just outside our comfort zone, but we come to our senses and find we’re docked just two or three miles closer to our destiny.  The clock says we’ve arrived unexpectedly early by a minute or two . . . or perhaps it’s a day or even a year, but this is a minimal distinction. In shock and in fear we abandon our path only to find a virtual jungle; complete with one thousand middle-aged runaway elephants, escaping from their inevitable extinction. Yes their numbers are dwindling, far faster than expected and we determine the reduction is natural, but far less than acceptable, and I told you for some contractions are painful.

“Stop! Focus and breathe.”

The road from here is filled with winter potholes, covered with fig leaves and lined with temptation apple trees and samples of things that should ‘n shouldn’t be. There is an abundance of essentials that just happen to reside just out of the reach of those who really need them. It’s no wonder all the good eggs and cuckoo nuts are scrambling and the squirrels and chipmunks are hunkering all their worldly possessions in their faces and the beavers are bunkering just below the surface. They need to steer clear of the little mosquitos who buzz through security without their IDs and share their disease with the rats who are racing and chasing their tails. I have no idea how the snail feels strolling along with a snowballs chance of beating the turtle, who coincidentally is competing with Mertl the speedy long-eared hare ... I mean rabbit dagnabit and I hope this is abundantly clear.

Circling above there’s vultures and long-necked geese swarming like flies, invading our skies and dropping all their business on us. And ten thousand too tall, too nosey long-necked giraffes are looking over our fences and over our shoulders invading our privacy, all the while blocking our one good shot at what really matters to us. There are a million and one electric monkeys swinging from tree to tree seizing all the excellent opportunities before they even have  a chance to present themselves to us.

I wonder, “Where do they get the energy? Stop! Focus and breathe.”

Just who is flipping the bill and  greasing the palms of all those penguins disguised as doctors and lawyers, not really knowing what they’re doing but more than willing to take a quack at it.  It’s pretty hard to track the winners; or determine who’s really a victim of chance or a victim of circumstance. We have kangaroos carrying babies and babies carrying even more babies and I can’t see no visible means of support and I only report this because it seems nobody cares.

There’s a need for a break, to contemplate and consultate with the wise old owl who just happens to reside in a tall oak tree located in an isolated place in an obscure spot that nobody knows. Ah, what could he know anyway? We’re down to earth and he’s way up there all alone not really zoned into the problems at hand. How could he understand better than my friends who are directly affected by this circumstance? I need to rest before I continue . . . I go to the fair to take time to forget and I go to a window to order a ticket to a very fast roller coaster  and I find it ain’t really helping because it’s just exposing me to new peaks ‘n valleys and I truly need to rally my emotions before the explosion . . .

Stop! Focus and breathe.

Well, the vacation is over ‘n it’s time to get sober ‘n have no remorse. And coping is moving weary bones from microscope to the telescope to get a new view of reality, of course. Below the thunder and storms I see remoras helping sharks and doctors helping people avoid the gurney to prolong this journey and I wonder why they do it. And I wonder why are all those chimpanzees continue to groom their mates? And why do all these little rabbits continue to mate? Wait!  It’s to create more rabbits, of course. And why do painters paint and sculptors continue to grind clay?  It’s to make something from nothing, and because they have something to say and this is the way they do it.

I seen little boys ‘n girls float in on butterfly wings and innocently do it with lemonade stands and money making schemes causing their bank accounts to burst at the seams, filled with hundreds and hundreds of pennies and childhood dreams. It seems unduly extreme to put pressure like this on our labor force, this being an exaggeration of course, but when we see or hear thoughts getting carried away we need to understand, time waits for no man. It’s a bullet train that moves us from cradle to tomb and some get off so fast, sooner rather than later, ‘n some seem to ride on it forever and ever, constantly looking for something better and better and in the end, we’re not doomed to this struggle and strife as it seems no matter, life comes ‘n goes, and too soon it’s passed.

And then there are folks who are older than dirt, their time has  gone with their friends who  left earlier than expected and they can’t seem to exit because the train don’t stop, it’s moving too fast. All they can do is focus and breathe because all the friends they have left are just reflections and collections of faces in books and they just want to talk to relate to anybody but they can’t because the phones don’t work ‘cause the internet’s down and the gall darn facebook is just too confusing!

“Stop! Focus and . . .

Stop! Focus . . .

Just stop.”