One fit does not size all. Virtually, we all come out of a similar ‘box’. (Apologies to my feminine cohorts for the uncouth analogy to the female body.) Yet, whatever you think is the right, best, must, or essential thing, I’m here to confirm that’s cush coolio for you. Although, don’t go all plump ego expecting it to be so for me, nor anyone else. Chasms frankly lay all around. Regardless of how many privileges may or are prohibited to abound, there are some of us who are gonna fall outside the dotted lines. Please don’t get me wrong, though. I become all gushy speaking with those of you with upper degrees I’ve shunned to swanky access-pass lounges that I’ve pretended belong to someone like me. The trajectory of a-peeling to me involves carefully strengthening my superpowers when societal echelon rages. If you’ve ever felt a throbbing robbing you of your core beliefs, I reckon we’re resonance cousins.
Our roads to unearthing our most enterprising groove often waffle from that with which we’ve buried to the bounty of digging into the perks of buried treasures. Stripping off the layers that aren’t extolling the gospel of you or me isn’t a guaranteed payday. It’s always seemed easier to follow the leaders. Until the chiefs to priests to masters of everything you’ve thus managed leave you questing far beyond ~ that space known as inward. The world may deliver weird when you draw a tree as (/instead of) a house. They’ll ally provided you’re dropping sweet-somethings. However, beware of scolding if you’re boldly trading primo rent for prospects of long trips with nature, succulent self-development curriculum, bodacious blog writing, or gutsy online dating. Measuring up to ourselves instead of others can carry loads of the middle finger’s might when it comes to communal continuity.
No matter what ground you actually take up, in my eyes, we’re all fundamentally neighbors. My Ethiopian to German to Indian friends sit side by side in my thoughts same as my American realm and up-close Hawaiian locals. But, it’s never meant that we ought to be assumed suitable for the entire sphere in which we’re sliced. Especially squashed by ongoing pandemonium perplexing, I’m detecting added identity quandaries. We’re locked into our own selves more than ever before. It makes quite a few want to find or shut that front door! Perhaps your asymmetry is gender itself or bickering with family, lack of a dwelling, or the fact that yours doesn’t match the cookie-cutters in your hood, or that you’re in a place people call the hood compared to another who drives home to a posh palace zone. To all y’all I’ll plead we cease this invasion game.
I’ve spent a lifetime wrastling with the chore of conformity. Along the path to my dalliances with enlightenment, I’ve been bribed by considerable detours. It’s hard for me to forget about fantasizing over your multi-thousand square foot dream residence, lush zen garden labyrinth so elaborate that ending up lost is par for the course, or that hip chatter of the first time you met a prestigious poetry slam champ marrying your mutual buddies atop bucolic mountain scenery. What appears to be nirvana to one person really does make for enticing mental flitting. Therefore, when I’m down on my luck praying, it’s pretty habitual I’m rotating assets that don’t necessarily jive righteously within me. Then along I let flood my organic stream ~ these mentors, such preachers of decency. A flock of teachers of truth-sayers quelling any facades with visions that they were still off the hook.
Getting back to a semblance that feels akin to any luxurious instance is the full pirouette to me. On one hand, it’s the quality of wading in hot bath bubbles beneath candlelight after a sleigh ride to the tippy peak for a privately catered meal amongst compatriates. Next, I’d sooner shack-up under a spell of stars counting scars with you, while the moonlight moves us to a lullaby of music. Someday we should laugh if you wind up picnicking on my picket-fence lawn or splashing about my Olympic-sized seaside infinity pool with me. In the meantime, I’m aiming for skies that alight with those smiley-faced hearts. Where clouds could wink at me as much as I will at them. I’ll keep the cosmos busy striving to rival all lackluster immorality. What I didn’t plan or prep for usually sequel crowning stories. All you’ve got to do is give unto the folklore of the lotus petals.
May your ultimate flowering be less eager for an external show than rather a showing of your true self.