The energy of being in general and in each instant…of being.

It is perhaps a question about immediacy: a flow of feelings and body’s vibrational presence. Or a dip into fatigue, to be relieved by solid sleep, and the hope that tomorrow will find new…energy.

Why is this problematic? History: perhaps I was trapped by the idea that life would get somehow easier at some point.

But life seemed to become more difficult, more complicated, and I was not prepared – not mentally, not physically, not…Dreams of a fantastic future entered being, everyday.

Remember those days: depression, debilitation. I told my self I was bored. But the fact is I was waiting for something to happen.

Searching for some message, I was lamenting each moment, hoping that there was some life secret, some path of extraordinariness which would…appear, perhaps suddenly.

I was hoping that my actual life was an allegory for the wonderfulness which I felt I had been promised…

Likely to succeed! How many times did others tell me that?

What was I really seeking? Repose – I doubt it. Flattery – certainly. An easy way to become… raised my hopes.

Mainly the senses of being as being vibrant, were in my mind, supinely wishing.

Now this story seems silly, removed, remote; except that I can still find it too easily, and it finds me, in odd moments.

Now, I work to find new energy. I appreciate the rhythms of days and weeks and years, try to find myself who loves being and doing. The energy of each present means being in and remaining in…each present: new and continuing.

If there is success beyond being and doing, I am certain that it means more work, not less. The reward – a now nebulous notion – is to expend in each moment, more than the necessary. I seek energy, a synergism, such that each moment creates more. …and it often does.

Yesterday a friend told me that I am an elitist; that I drop ideas and abandon old friends as I move on in my life.

I said, no, at first, thinking he meant I was snotty and arrogant, and I feel that I am neither to any particular degree.

But he is correct. Unless there is some pedagogical  reason, some rethinkings, some…something seeming new…

I have had already many conversations, been involved in the myriad plots of novels and of life; I don’t want to rehash them forever.

I am not in love with my own history, nor totally entranced with the words I wrote yesterday.

I want to grapple with new challenges. I want to grasp at life’s chances, each and every day…with very little rest and diversion.

I don’t deny that anyone and everyone else can move along with me.

Most don’t want to, for many reasons: they are not ready to move on, or are afraid of…an uncertain or unclear future, not knowing what there could be; or they are already satisfied; or…

I would rethink with those who want to know, and converse with those who want still to engage in life’s struggles.

But I need to feel that I am serious, to live life seriously; prepared to engage in discussion and argument, and move…on…forward, with a sense of directedness, always demanding.

I try to be the observer of life’s simplicities and complications, and wonder which is which.

I want to think large, globally, to see the patterns quickly, to deepen compassion and understanding without abandoning humanity: the world’s or my own.

My skills, always limited, require honing and practice and care, lest others dissuade my purpose.

Elitist, I am, mostly about my own history. Yes, it is all me, but how to choose which memories to rethink, which to hold in abeyance. How is forward, next, expansive?

Not loving my own youth, it is how I arrived, the path which chose me.

The path of elitism – now some form of code word – travels the edge of the abyss between being worshipped and being understood.  For me, it – my elitism – is either wanting to be understood…or the abyss.

What do the others want, that they decide who I am?