Her

She 

Lovely

Quivering in the corner of a hand-me-down couch, by the light of the shadowy apartment lamp

Me

I

Lusting in anticipation of something not rightfully mine, but sinfully craved like the icing off the side of the cake or the first chocolate caramel of Christmas. 

They

Them

Brows raised, heads shaking, disappointment strewn across their faces thinking of the penalties while ignoring the gasps of enraptured bliss

We 

Us

fighting the demon that begs for our cooperation to give into the urges and engage in The act that will bring us to ecstasy.

Him

He

Left in the cold, unbeknownst yet with an inkling and wanting to get on the inside but never being given the truth

It 

Is

Pain for all angles, a confusion of desires and tangled web of lies to one another and ourselves

I wonder if we all get “here” at some point in one (or all) of our lives. To see all of the beauty that surrounds us in nature. To appreciate it ever so grately for our likeness to things that grow and die, which bring forth resources and leave behind memories. To acknowledge the impermanent spirit of all things while also recognizing their purpose, simple as it may seem to be. To be aware of and question man’s force toward impermanence at the cost of other men which is futile but enrages the others. We believe that trees and birds do not fight death yet slip gracefully into this “heaven’s” sent belief, but why then does a deer run from the sound of a shot gun bang? Does not resistance then, define our character? 

As I read Wordsworth’s poem “Lines Written in Early Spring” it made me think… I thought about my own struggles with the future of this country, the world, my own personal life and our children’s lives. Then I realized that there need not be struggle or worry in order to reach the impermanence, for we will all meet it at some point regardless. Poor Wordsworth. Poor younger me. Poor people still so wrapped up in what is to come… And the despair of what “man made of man”. We are impermanent as man. We will pass on. We will become something else once our bodies are left and who really knows what that is. And who cares! What does it matter, except where we are here and now and what we do with this moment, and the next. And this one. Right. Now. One brick at a time, my friend told me when I asked him how to do something. It wasn’t to build a wall. But it made sense nonetheless. One brick at a time builds resistance and shows the character of who you are attempting to become who you wish to be. It doesn’t have to be a struggle or a worry. What matters is that you put forth effort toward where you want to be, and follow through until completion. Other walls will be built. Many walls will fall. Where are you in the building of your own? Start here. Start NOW.