Meditation Kicks Ass

Day Twenty-two.

At a Crossroads.

Corner of Old Hwy 20 E & Gonzales St.

Paige, TX

I grew up in a home 

headed by an escalator.

No matter how small an incident was

it was made into a huge deal.

Break a glass?

End of the World!

Fight with your sibling?

You’re going to Hell! 

That sort of thing.

Day in.

Day out.

This type of training will really

fuck with your head.

I grew up to be

extremely reactive.

Whatever happened

it was, I (thought) I knew, probably the end of the world.

So ingrained was this doom sense

that I didn’t even realize it was not

a genetic part of me

until rather recently.

Now, I look back and try to remember what I’m sure

felt like major decisions at the time.

Yes, I can remember some decisions:

keeping a pregnancy,

ending a pregnancy,

moving to a new town.

But I know there are an endless number of choices

I simply cannot recall,

though I’m sure they felt dire at the time.

Sitting at this crossroads

I was thinking about that

about how it’s not a “good” decision

or a “bad” decision.

Whatever you decide

you decide.

You might not like the results

but it happened

you’re not going to hell and

it’s not the end of the world.

I’m not sure how or when my son got into

the habit

(and I hope he got it from me

but some how I doubt it)

but whenever my ancient We’re All Fucked!

thing comes into play

he’ll just look at me and say

the most important three words in the world:

We’ll figgerit out.

Hello End of the World.

Goodbye End of the World.

Please STOP and look both ways before crossing

but try not to be too hard on yourself.

We’ll figgerit out.

Thank you.