The Seed....
I was asked today if I had regrets. I replied without thinking, yes, as though I possess the capacity for hind-sight. Forward, backwards, sometimes time feels like a blur, an image of low resolution blown up too large, with giant unrecognizable pixels of color bombarding my senses with a lack of definition. As I was striving to find a difference in the pattern, moments which I should have known to regret, pass through my mind like lectures in monotone. My mouth spills out thoughts searching for like-minds to hear them, as though anyone else would hear what I said the way I meant it, or care to even listen. Upon occasion a mind of relative frequency finds empathy in my rambles but deciphers it according to their understanding. The thoughts which consume me with their vital importance leave no impact on even the most similar mind, but rather a different message is received twice removed from my intention. This too is blessed and holy if it helps to lift them, helps them to focus. But this is often not the case. Often times the unintentional message they received through the unorganized attempt on my behalf to communicate is detrimental and painful to them. And so a feeling similar to regret occurs when I believe the energy of another's mind is stripped by the tangent filled focuslessness of my own. But how should I know, through the degrees of separation, what should be regretted, what was needed, and what incredibly important message to me, was perceived only as mindless fluff to another mind of singular focus... I have never regretted what I have done, but I do regret what I was too weak or scared or intimidated or introverted to do, those words that swarmed my mind and fell short of my mouth, when something, inside me, stole them from my heart and stored it in my mind. None of this matter in a world of infinite possibilities, until that one, whose ears, those confiscated vocalization of my heart were meant for, vanishes from our world. Not until the vessel that housed the intended home of those words is boxed up and put away. I regret not trying relentlessly to voice those thoughts dear to me, with a hope, that in the pattern and code to great for my understanding, they fall upon the ears that rightfully own them, and they become a thread in the tapestry, a zero in the code. I regret not saying I love you a thousand times over to every face that crossed my path and brought me to here, opened my eyes, spoke to my ears. I regret not letting everyone know that I only care to be here in the unfathomable world of chaos because each and every one of you gives me hope. I see in your eyes the same struggle of being here, and know with or without words and their meanings we are more alike than different, more together than apart, more alive.
I was asked today if I had regrets. I replied without thinking, yes, as though I possess the capacity for hind-sight. Forward, backwards, sometimes time feels like a blur, an image of low resolution blown up too large, with giant unrecognizable pixels of color bombarding my senses with a lack of definition. As I was striving to find a difference in the pattern, moments which I should have known to regret, pass through my mind like lectures in monotone. My mouth spills out thoughts searching for like-minds to hear them, as though anyone else would hear what I said the way I meant it, or care to even listen. Upon occasion a mind of relative frequency finds empathy in my rambles but deciphers it according to their understanding. The thoughts which consume me with their vital importance leave no impact on even the most similar mind, but rather a different message is received twice removed from my intention. This too is blessed and holy if it helps to lift them, helps them to focus. But this is often not the case. Often times the unintentional message they received through the unorganized attempt on my behalf to communicate is detrimental and painful to them. And so a feeling similar to regret occurs when I believe the energy of another's mind is stripped by the tangent filled focuslessness of my own. But how should I know, through the degrees of separation, what should be regretted, what was needed, and what incredibly important message to me, was perceived only as mindless fluff to another mind of singular focus... I have never regretted what I have done, but I do regret what I was too weak or scared or intimidated or introverted to do, those words that swarmed my mind and fell short of my mouth, when something, inside me, stole them from my heart and stored it in my mind. None of this matter in a world of infinite possibilities, until that one, whose ears, those confiscated vocalization of my heart were meant for, vanishes from our world. Not until the vessel that housed the intended home of those words is boxed up and put away. I regret not trying relentlessly to voice those thoughts dear to me, with a hope, that in the pattern and code to great for my understanding, they fall upon the ears that rightfully own them, and they become a thread in the tapestry, a zero in the code. I regret not saying I love you a thousand times over to every face that crossed my path and brought me to here, opened my eyes, spoke to my ears. I regret not letting everyone know that I only care to be here in the unfathomable world of chaos because each and every one of you gives me hope. I see in your eyes the same struggle of being here, and know with or without words and their meanings we are more alike than different, more together than apart, more alive.