Age old battles

What the heart can't fathom, the mind refuses to accept.


{ image: Freed heart, understanding mind}

And the war continues on. Between the mind and the heart, where the dichotomy leaves me restless.

They say the heart is fickle, like a lust affair over a summer, when the foliage begins to fall the heart already proceeds. But its the mind that perseveres, that captures the moments that were, and the moments that weren't. Its within this game that someone, somewhere, something happens.

A catalystic cataclysmic reaction that allows life to move forward and the soul to shine, shine, shine through.

And what to say of patience? When the hegemonic battles trigger on, whose to say what's best and bitterest? Those memories and dreams that the mind recalls and the heart adjourns, they become but stepping stones on the cobblestoned path called life.

So where should I turn, to find peace of mind? Who shall I confront, console but my own lost legacy.

Another dismal day where the feuds war on, and rest is far from the horizon.

Waiting

They say that anticipation is the purest form of pleasure; that it is within the waiting that our senses are heightened to levels unbeknownst to us. That in the 'morrows and 'morrows we find the answers to the now.

They say.

And so it is, another fleeting moment sent wondering about the what ifs. Questioning the value of all that has come before and begging to future to show that which is to come. Clearly, concisely and without further adieu.. And so I beg, and plead with myself to go forward with patience.

Sometimes, I astound myself with my thoughts. The fact that I create a world out of mut and mud which no one is privy to but myself. Even then I create a cage and board it up allowing little light to seep through. Its within this minds cage that my thoughts are free to encompass me, create something from nothing and allow the future to be clear.

But what of when I realize that those thoughts are blurring with my reality? That the day has come when I no longer have the sanctuary of anticipation, but rather the dismal truth of the now. What of then? How will i bridge the worlds which I live in and amongst?

And to think, he could be thinking of me to.

But why bother with these thoughts, because in my mind they are so much sweater. So much cooler, so much fancier. The questions are answered and the endings can be rewritten a million times.

And so I wait a million seconds before i react, waiting for your million seconds to react.

And so they shall, and I will wait, anticipate a new beginning.