My mind is once again in the midst of a mind storm. Whirlwinds of thoughts circling around, only occasionally pausing enough for me to catch a glimpse before swirling away to be replaced by the next thought. Each thought seemingly different yet somehow related.
Once again patterns are emerging. But this time they are as much patterns of things yet to be as things that already are. Today, on Friday the 13th, as we are heading to exit 13, driving in the fog, the world emerges one little bit at a time. A feeling of mystique; of pending magic and creation waiting to happen permeates my very being.
A thought reemerges from earlier. When, exactly, do our opinions become our own, and not the product of our parent’s, or the other strong influences of our life?
The buzzer moos at me (who knew buzzers moo?). My sandwich is ready.
Another thought in the whirlwind spins by again. It is time to make my mark on the world; time to reclaim my inner nomad. But how? That too a conversation on Facebook.
Over the meal my sister and I talk about walking, but with purpose.
The sandwich is tasty.
My brother-in-law joins us. We continue to eat. And talk. Taxes. Snow. Mom and dad. Future possibilities. Past occurrences.
A pleasant bit o’ jazz guitar. A cool wall fountain.
The storm whirls. The thoughts spin in and out. I am in the center. And it whirls around me.
I catch the fresh scent of possibility again.
My soul tingles with electric potential as the sun now shines in through the skylight above.
Discussion of lives at their endings as my sister and brother-n-law head out the door to help guide some lives in their beginnings. I am left in the midst of life in the now – ing. Music. Voices chattering in many languages. The song of the cafe in the background.
Where have I come from? Where am I going next?
Look out world! I am back!