to everything, there is a season

everything has a time stamp. it’s there, telling us how long til we walk, talk, or go from trike to bike. there’s a time for our first kiss and our last breath  . . .

even bloggers have a shelf life. really. there’s that hard-to-define moment that tells you: it’s time to move on.

now it’s my turn. one more among the many in the blog-o-sphere diaspora to find their time done at a certain place.

it’s my turn. to have found that moment. at this particular place.  

for a while, it was like magic to me. a convergence of a group of people connecting on so many cylinders. and those times and people and ideas have folded themselves into me. certain songs and topics will always bring me back to those first crazy strings of repartee with RiaD, fatdave, and nocatz. the heady flinging of words in writing in the raw and those who added their stories there will always be one of my best times. not just here. but in my life.

hitting the point. making the point in words. just an incredible thing to do. people getting it, your point-of-view. just fucking wOw. and people saying things in way your brain does not think . . . and being so turned on by it.

while life ends, i don’t think there are permanent landings in life. just temporary ones. i was just here, at Docudharma. it felt like it’d be for always. like in the way i didn’t really realize one day, i’d have to leave my parents. i thought it would always be the five of us. then my parents got divorced. i got married to tim and had a home of my own, unaware how life can fool you, with its patterns and reproduce_able moments. every christmas or thanksgiving. every fall it was soccer and every spring, little league. you get up, go to work, eat, shit, sleep, get up and do it all over again. until something small shatters. like that little tic in the car windshield. it spreads, spider web-like, until the entire foundation loses its integrity, its ability to stay whole. maybe it’s set off by something like the death of your mother. i don’t know.

anyway. moving on. it’s what we do. from hunting ground and fallow fields. from relationships, lovers, and dead relatives.

where i sit now, it’s safe. for the momentary moment. it’s far away from where i started. and believe me, i had no idea i’d end up living in The Netherlands. in some ways, it’s like a step back in time. the way i’d imagine the 1950s. we go to events and dinners. we attend new year’s lunches and people there play violin, piano, and cello. they sing a cappella. and, for the life of me, it feels a little like being in the ball room of the titanic as it sinks. this lovely jarringly crazy way we have of fulfilling our routines, until the very last desperate inch. because there is this part of me, developed over eight years, that doesn’t trust the foundation, the ability of all of us to hold on and keep it whole.

and then i think all systems, at some point, disintegrate. fade. fail. it’s nature. and so i console myself thinking that there’s other life to be born. to sing. dance. create routines and figure it out. and that i should enjoy where i’ve found myself even as i simmer over the irony of it all . . .

so. for now. i’ll wander the internet highway. looking for home. for the comfort of illusion . . .

peace. and remember the ponies . . .