ITS ABOUT TIME

Sometimes you feel like quitting, but only the faint hearted quit. Like a soldier you will not retreat or surrender at the altar of defeat. Real men never give up. They pick up the pieces and soldier on. It’s never an easy decision to continue. You falter several times before you get it right. And when you do so, you think it will be a smooth sail but it’s never the same. There is no sojourn amidst and like in the sea, you need to sail experiencing the rivers of pulsing light and as the lingering light is obliterated by the rapidly falling night until that time when you see the scythe of the beach, which has floury and feathery sand.

The sea is unpredictable. You don’t know when the tidal waves will be creeping with fury yet it had appeared like its slight quivery which was initially beguiling and had been welded into an extended splinter of perfection until it decided to rupture the serenity, rocking the bobbing yacht causing frenzy panic tantamount to the time when Titanic hit an iceberg and many souls got to see the other side of life.

It’s about that time you need to get out of the closet and face the world. That blurry place the where sea and sky melt into each other and is lost from sight hemming itself into a line of silver may never seem forthcoming. The transcendental experience that is interwoven with surrealism while at in the sea may be breathtaking. But not with the echo of a raspy rumbling from the enraged sea causing fusion of tremulousness to fear that there is the probity of disaster awaiting. Those times when the waves are really sloshing, slurping and slobbering with their salty lips. They pounce with a malicious stir, a warning from the ages.

As you clutch clumsily on whatever is in sight, the ebb and flow of time tinkers in your mind of how life has taken a different route. There is that déjà vu moment where memories of joy tinged with sadness become real because of the reclusivity of mental thoughts that are oscillating inside out and you feel like there should be a preamble. It’s never happening though!

The folly of man is that when one hurdle is conquered, it is usually a time to regress. Compounded by contentment, this is what the concocted recipe for misfortune subtly spooks into. None should define you. It’s a marvel that most people soon get to a gladden state of comfort after surmounting a feasible challenge (sadly, am a party). It’s about that time you got your act together and press harder. The harder it is the more spatially visual minded and intelligently associative and intuitive you will nurture courage to transcend pilot quandary so much so that it will be tricky finding your actual divergence or convergence even if life gives you that hard horrific stare.

The flight of a bird as it swims in the air is hypnotic. Does it burgle your soul when your train of thought is broken by such an elegant bird in the sky? The polished brilliance it adds to the beauty of the aura has a multisensory nourishment that is caviar for the soul. The first glimpse it makes as it ghosts into view is squint but still breathtaking. However, never mince with the cannibal eye. It googles. And on spotting a target, it swoops towards it like an avenging angel of death. It’s the pirate bird. The target is your sausage roll, it’s tangy and the aromatic smell makes you toss it violently in the air as you shudder on the ramifications of the imminent.  It never reaches the ground because this vampire is attacking it in a frenzy of barbarian proportions. Soon the noisy marauder disappears into the distance crying out in a triumphant voice. Only, you have a zingy trace of what you had intended to gobble. You resign to fate with no attribution. Not even a morsel is detectable. That is life.

You recall about him. His cobra-black fur burns brilliant under the moonlight. His mocha-brown eyes makes his grouchy face seizing for a newbie. Still he looks like a nondescript. His bushy tail is wagging intermittently portraying his protective personality. And when he barks, the sound is bottle thunder. This accentuates his powerful and aerodynamic body full of vigor which makes it as swift as a cheetah. His huge fangs are scary when irate giving you the look of doom, and he can be as temperamental as the vampires in The Green Inferno if affronted. He’s quite the character. This wonderful specimen just gets the tension in you to melt away leisurely like a cold Ice-cream exposed to torrid heat in the sandy dunes of Kalahari.

As you skritch his fur against the grain of the spine from the base of the tail, you feel that tinge of relief that is unmatched. You had lost, the only chow. But now you forget about all the ordeal and day’s recalcitrance. It’s about time.

HASTA LA VISTA BABY.

[Picture Source: Pixabay.com]