Some things haven’t changed.
We still walk into glass doors and flush like a turnip. We still grin through our faux pas’ and roll from one place to another with both feet in the mouth. We still secretly harbor an endless reserve to pester and still get kindly humored by the remarkable people we pester.
We still forget to return personal calls and what makes up the sparsely populated ‘personal’ still remains as infinitely accommodating as ever. Weekends are still all about toggling multiple schedules; after which we still invariably invoke rain checks to do nothing but sloth around the house. The bookshelves still keep filling and Mother still frets about things she has fretted about forever.
This little world still keeps getting closer, getting dearer as friendships of years still defy constraints of distance, space and time. Fresh sparks of purpose still alight today’s beauty by the beauty of that which we do not know of yet, but what we will be part of tomorrow.
We still endlessly wonder how much of ourselves to be with people; and all this wonderment evaporates in a poof within moments of joyous folly. The body of regrets still diminishes as whatever we thought we might have left behind at some point of time, randomly swerves by to pleasantly surprise every once in a while.
The Buddha still brings so much calm and all instinct is still centered around a certain sense of unknowing, which drawn by infinite belief never seems to die. Our cards still speak to us and our dreams still eerily reveal to us the truth behind things we truly ought to know.
Okay, so we have still been waiting for our 5 very loving fishes to finally morph into a dog.
But there has still been much about the passing year, to be silently thankful for.
We still walk into glass doors and flush like a turnip. We still grin through our faux pas’ and roll from one place to another with both feet in the mouth. We still secretly harbor an endless reserve to pester and still get kindly humored by the remarkable people we pester.
We still forget to return personal calls and what makes up the sparsely populated ‘personal’ still remains as infinitely accommodating as ever. Weekends are still all about toggling multiple schedules; after which we still invariably invoke rain checks to do nothing but sloth around the house. The bookshelves still keep filling and Mother still frets about things she has fretted about forever.
This little world still keeps getting closer, getting dearer as friendships of years still defy constraints of distance, space and time. Fresh sparks of purpose still alight today’s beauty by the beauty of that which we do not know of yet, but what we will be part of tomorrow.
We still endlessly wonder how much of ourselves to be with people; and all this wonderment evaporates in a poof within moments of joyous folly. The body of regrets still diminishes as whatever we thought we might have left behind at some point of time, randomly swerves by to pleasantly surprise every once in a while.
The Buddha still brings so much calm and all instinct is still centered around a certain sense of unknowing, which drawn by infinite belief never seems to die. Our cards still speak to us and our dreams still eerily reveal to us the truth behind things we truly ought to know.
Okay, so we have still been waiting for our 5 very loving fishes to finally morph into a dog.
But there has still been much about the passing year, to be silently thankful for.
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