The turning.

I just saw a picture of Keanu Reeves from his film, "The Day the Earth Stood Still" sporting a full beard. Not one grey hair to be seen. How is this possible? The guy's older than I am. I thought Mister Reeves was one of those reluctantly good looking fellows. In interviews he doesn't even wash or comb his hair. He doesn't shave or wear clean clothes. He doesn't care about how he looks, right? He's a bohemian. He's too cool to care about how he looks. Just like Johnny Depp. Like the rest of the chosen, he just happens to perpetually look twenty-five. It's his curse. Unleeeessss ... No! Unless he's actually just another phony prissy-boy. No. Not possible. Not in All-Hallowedwood.

I just don't get it. The rest of us have to deal with the ever turning clock. Why is it that no one in Hollywood ever gets grey hair? I've got more grey hair than William Shatner and I'm pretty sure he's older than me. In the real world we get grey hair, why don't they? I just can't figure that out. Odd. Very odd indeed. And their skin. It's so tight. Like bounce a quarter tight. Five minutes after having a baby they're in bikinis without a bit of loose skin or a stretch mark in sight. It's like they're not even human. O. Wait a minute. Wait just one minute. I may actually be on to something here. Robots or aliens? Aliens or robots? Maybe robotic aliens?

...

I'm exhausted. Life exhausts me. Maybe it's the coming of dreaded Winter? The short, dark days? The cold weather and the green turning to brown. Wet to dry. Alive to dead. Whatever it is, I'm finding myself feeling consumed by the stress and the seemingly pointless struggle. It's kind of strange because I feel both exhausted and stressed out and at the same time I feel rather good, relaxed and at peace. How can these things all be mixed together inside of one head? Maybe I'm nuts? This is something I've considered before. I think it would be relaxing to be crazy if I were the right kind of crazy. So long as the world in which I lived in was a nice one. Who cares what is true or not when you're comfortably crazy. That's what I'd like to be ... comfortably crazy. Hum. Maybe not. Maybe I'd just rather be comfortable. Yeah. That sounds better. I want to be comfortable.

I'm an anti-social extrovert. I've mentioned this before. If you ever met me you'd most likely come away thinking that I really enjoyed being around people. Maybe I do, 'cause I often am? The truth is that I've always valued my solitude. It's not that I like being alone so much as most people drive me up the wall after only a few minutes. They might be wonderful people, but they still tend to drive me completely batty. This is not to say that I do not, and have not in my life, very much enjoy the company of a few. A very select few. This is not to say that I have not even longed for the company and companionship of these select very few. What it is to say is that 99.9999% of people I'd rather not spend time with. As a whole, I prefer books to people. Which makes me a little creepy, perhaps but ... whatever. It is what it is. It seems as though things are changing a bit and I've started making more of an effort to not be such a hermit. Which isn't easy for me because I really and truly like my cave. Along the way I've discovered that I am terrible at juggling a schedule of any kind. I disappoint, and am disappointed by, just about everyone. I'm terrible at being social. I'm trying, but it's just not a skill I have. It doesn't come naturally to me. Still, I can fake it well enough to get by. I wear the social mask well enough when I need to. Maybe this is as good as it will get? Maybe it's as good as I need to be? Or will ever be?

Life, like the seasons, changes. One thing becomes another and all those things we thought would last forever, don't. Life is in a constant state of never-ending change. Just as I begin to get comfortable things take an unexpected turn. Rarely is it a good turn. I have discovered that I am not one of those people good things happen to. I am one of those people adept at making the best of a bad situation. This gets a little tiring after a while. I'd like to be one of those people who have good luck. Just once. Maybe twice. I'd like the next phone call to be a good one. The next person I see leave me a little better for the visit rather than leaving me with a need to recover and mend. I'd enjoy an unexplained happiness and joy rather than one rationalized and manufactured.

Art has always been such a big part of my life. It has defined me long before I realized that this is what it was doing. Art has been both my blessing and my curse. It has brought me much and taken from me perhaps even more. Unfortunately my life isn't offering me the peace and solitude to be able to fall into my artwork and let it consume me. I cannot allow myself the pleasure of disappearing into my work because there is too much to do "in the real world". Life in this world has become a complicated mess and I find myself with little true peace any more. What I get are moments when what I need is hours, even days. I haven't the time and when I have the time I haven't the peace.

Maybe things will change. They've changed before. I've been more often than not, regretfully caught up in the turning. Now I find myself seeking it.

...

Mini-rant: To all the so-called faithful believers: Shut up and show me. I believe that one day we will each stand before the King of Creation and be asked, not who we condemned in His name, but who we loved in His name. Compassion and understanding is our calling. Leave the judging to God. Don't tell me about God's love, show me.

...

Sadly, I find myself waiting for a breather that doesn't seem to be coming. I suppose that I'll have to take a deep breath and jump in. I'm just so darned exhausted.

Maybe I'll check if the Warrior Buddha will be home tonight and see if I can't lose myself from myself for a bit. Either that or head home and crawl under warm covers losing myself in a reality of fading dreams.