Life told through stories.

I’ve felt a lot of inspired inspiration lately to write. The great opinionated ideas have been flowing freely mixed in with the thoughts of “well, I really don’t know anything.”
I ask myself why I even write when I am just one person? what inspires a bird to swim or a fish to fly? What makes me or you or Oprah or Jesus an authority to share anyways?
We are all born entitled to share our stories, each one sacred and unique. We grow up bubbling to tell ourselves to the world and so many times that desire gets lost. I love the way children do this as if they are thinking out loud. “I have a wedgie and I’m going to pick it and have a cookie or two or three and my favourite show is strawberry shortcake. I like purple.”
What would it sound like if adults spoke out loud?
For me often it would sound like “Fuck I’m irritated. Be peaceful. Breathe. It’s ok. Man that’s irritating. Get away from it. NOW!” My thoughts are a lot less fun. I’ll try harder to suppress them. Seriously though I don’t want to cloud my stories with the ranting of thoughts that come from lack and limitation. I want to see clearly the brilliant unfolding of what is my life. Will I be able to put down the distractions and be completely immersed in life? Maybe the thoughts are our life stories?
We can learn a lot from each others stories. I think about all the stories that have been lost. How did my grandparents meet? What were their most treasured possessions during hard times? In the future, what hard times would my kids find nostalgic? Would it be huddling in a tent under thunder so loud you cover your ears and lightening so loud it temporarily blinds you? Will I remember how we left the comfort of our home to have the experience of the wind pushing the tent right onto my face while I’m lying down?
Will we fondly remember when we first moved here and ate cases of no-name kraft dinner with hemp in it? That’s hilarious considering how we eat now. You can see that we were trying with the added hemp. And it tasted horrible.
It’s lightens my heart to think of these stories and I wonder what I am doing now that may be ridiculous and funny to me later. I am sitting on the couch drinking a coffee with an egg blended into it while flies swarm and land on my face as I type furiously on my phone to get you my non-message before the children wake. The message is that there is no message. There’s flowers and flies and an abundance of world to explore. As I gain more years, I feel a calmness in this skin and a kinship with this life. I heard last night that the fifties are the best years and I can totally see why. I look forward to it. Can’t wait to be even smarter and have great stories to tell.

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