On letting go

Still painted on the front window screen was the date my vehicle was impounded. Two calendar months had passed, but I had decided to remain frozen in time. I wondered if anybody else had noticed, if anybody else had attempted to arrest time so desperately like umbilical cords or Memento Mori photographs. I don’t desire to keep time in 2/4, a syncopated march resolute on following orders, I keep it in 3/4 like a dance, but even that feels routinely inhibiting, doesn’t it? I chip away at the paint and bring myself to the present moment. I am here. As I sit in the drivers seat I begin to piece together a dream that had left me beguiled. In said dream I’m participating in a Herculean task of carefully pouring all of the ocean into glass cups, a prodigious task for someone who rarely uses measuring cups. I reflect. Yet another reminder that life is not to be held, contained, or controlled. Suppose dream Janette does complete the task of parsing out the ocean in glass cups- even then, even then all of the ocean in cups will never be the ocean in it’s true form. We cannot parse and divide life into days or hold on tightly to it, because the more the fly struggles to get out of the honey, the faster he is stuck.