The Storm

I remember the days when children dreamed… of day voyages. I remember being a kid, dreaming, not of a distant shore. I dreamed of building things, building forts atop my bed, beneath the desk. I would order everything: entry system, currency, sleeping area, game area, and on. These are the dreams of a young child. These are the dreams that, once you learn to code, are rekindled. This is that voyage.

No obstacle is too large, no goal too distant, as long as you start with a small blanket, chairs, and enjoyment being alone. In this little space where the dryer sheets and fabric softener fill the space, miles of code can be written, ideas can be loosened. Ideas can be set out and tucked in like a little doll at a picnic.

Like the other day, as I was waiting in this line, it was a ridiculous line. Long, hot, boring. I watched people for only a minute or two before, plop. My head in a book, reading. Reading. Nothing to do, no one to meet. No sights to see. It was this internal clock of mine, whenever bored, read. Do a math problem. Don’t waste your time on a puzzle, do a math problem. Read a book about someone, somewhere. Perhaps history.

I was beginning to wonder, why, the stiff air didn’t snap my attention to the world. To all the other people in the same plight as me (in this line)… In heaven will I regret it? Will I regret not living more… Living out and into the natural world? Tasting the flavors of different licorice, besides black? Besides sugared ginger snacks? Pieces of tortilla for lunch? What would it be to live life, that one would regret? Would it be to live a life that doesn’t travel? A life that doesn’t ceaselessly search for sights?

There is something distilled in my attitude… I don’t long for much. I am quite plain. Conservative these days. If there is a heaven, I’m not sure what I would change now, before I leave. What I would miss, would never have another chance to do…

World minus desire. That is what it feels like, in this line. Reading the lines twice because my attention is always stunted. Having to force the majority of my thoughts onto a margin, and then into a mnemonic for memorization. It is a beautiful challenge to read in this little line, it requires less writing then I normally do. I am liberated. I let my thoughts wiff like a dream, I am not afraid to loose a single one.

In fact I stand here, ushering some ideas to stay, others to leave. This is the careless building of a fort, where gravity doesn’t take it’s toll from the feet of beauty.

About Rene Diebenkorn

Lifetime Artist. ETC.

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