By The River

A Tribe Called Quest - Stressed Out

The cool breeze is gentle, singing sweet lullabies into my ears and serenading the rage of summer into soft slumber. Taking a walk, jasmine fills the air as I pass the rice fields, cross the hills and arrive at the river. The soft stream plays relaxing rhythms as its hymn fades away the uselessness of inconsequentiality; identifies and refines focus.

The tides have changed, the crashing waves given way to clear fields of rubble. What was beautiful now laid to waste, swept aside to reveal a new path. Empty objects blocking my path gone away to once again show the horizon. It's further away than before, but still there.

Apprehension of critical backlash got me skeptical from writing like this. But it doesn't matter. Such things are meaningless and a matter of perspective and context. Destroying yourself to blend into the background is not a sense of modesty but denial of what you are. You can't please everyone. We have all our faculties to choose, but not the mind to see, only at the right time. Let go and float down stream.

Watching the water's reflection is time of reflection. I don't know what I'm doing, but slowly I will. I know I'm an attention seeker, a performer, and hopefully it's not because of insecurity but something that's meaningful. I have to express myself however I feel is right in whatever facet of emotion, even at the risk of being immature. I'd better learn something.