Tension
This is the tension of knowing and still hoping of struggling and still breathing. It begins with small piles of to-dos that begin littering the corners of my mind. Piles become messes, messes become worries, worries become stresses, stresses worry me. This is a walk through my garden. Rows and rows of beauty trying. Worries sneaking up between, strangling the light, the air. There’s only so much water here. So much fertile soil. So many places I can be, people I can see, lessons I can learn. Teaching planted in tension can not find root in my soul. There’s no time for learning when I am madly running for the glitters of light that promise something new. A new place. Breath. Space. Time. New lessons.
The pressure builds at the gaskets of my tightest neural cavities. It pushes at my temples and crawls down my spine. It bangs it’s head against the muscles in my back and pounds at the arches of my feet. It screams for respite and begs me to ignore the piles, the weeds, the worries. It begs for sleep, play, food, anything but work. There’s no time to relax. Things need doing. Weeds need pulling before the roots grow so deep they become permanent fixtures on the landscape. So, I am afraid. Fear makes me worry, worry leads to stress, stress makes me hide, hiding leads to piles, piles become messes. This is the tension of who I want to be and who I am. The angry, confused, fearful, weeping, hopeful man that I am.