WHAT’S THE RUSH: Sketches of the wanderer.

What would you prefer given two options? An open blank page or a bag full of inspiration? Well, I am sitted here with these two options playing intricately within my mind as my heart plays analyst and weighs out both options in par.


Well, my mind finds its trail to the wanderer it has so become upon the phase of this beautiful mother planet earth. He thinks about his wanderings and in scope starts to analyse the open blank book… It is open and so seems like the journey he, PePa has been plunged upon to tread in a quest for his purpose.


He remembers the many times he has heard all the noises buzz through his head, right from his morning rise, most of all, he has missed the beautiful golden welcome of the morning horizon as his head is in most moments bowed down to his task or far drawn to the worries of the day.


Through the chores and bustles of his day, he has not for a moment stopped and wondered if all the noises he hears are true or just another of his troubled creations at hand. He rattles through his day and before he realizes it, time is all but spent and targets seem far from met. The sun is softly sauntering to the backs of the distant grey hills and before he lifts his head once again to behold the day, it is no longer his to have and dusk has fast taken over the glow of light and beauty that was.


He heads back home in a daze of traffic from his haze of a day. As it is, events went by so fast he did not realize all that passed him without even a single hint of his awareness to keep tabs. He lays down his aching neck on his soothing pillow and analyses his accomplishments for the day and feeling rather pleased by what he has achieved so far, he takes count of his stock of eggs to yet allow hatch come the morning next.


The alarm rings and light of day is not yet in. To his bewilderment, his mind seems filled with all the noise of distant traffic as the night owls still hoot and dogs bark in the wee of the morning. Some of these has he become so accustomed to it has become normal but his back still hurts though. His shoulder blade seems awfully sore and neck hurts more than the day previous. It isn’t stiff and that assures him that he didn’t awkwardly sleep on his side. 


Finding his way through the dark as his eyelids hold tight to ebbing sleep, he stumbles upon a cup… he had left lying on the carpet beside his bed and knocks down his laptop from his bedside table almost breaking it into half. Fortunately it doesn’t get jammed as he wakes fully and picks it up replacing it on the bedside table.


Almost cursing out loud,   he stops midway and whispers a prayer of thanksgiving. The noises haven’t yet stopped and so unlike his normal routine of bed, loo, shower and then off to work, he takes a  moment to contemplate and sitting back down on his carpet, he softly closes his eyes, not into sleep though this time, but just to draw himself into meditation…..


Closing his eyes, not from fatigue but on a trip of self-love, he almost without any effort shuts off all the noise from without and draws into himself. For a moment he wonders where all the hooting of owls and barks of dogs alongside rushing of cars has so easily dissipated to?


Everything seems calm… and the pain on both his neck and shoulder blade slowly eases off as he stretches his back straight against the cold wall. Mmmhhh, an almost healing feeling. His nerves awake as he breathes softly in and out allowing his blood to flow evenly and more rhythmically. He is more aware of himself at this point as all else seems null to his skull save for him alone. He can smell his breath and feel every ounce of fresh air racing down his ribcage. He can almost feel the wave of blood through his vessels in and out of the heart. The hoots of the distant owl have become a regular rhythmic flow of music to his relaxing mind alongside the once raging rush of cars.


As the morning songbirds rise to welcome morning insects into their belly with song, this not only lulls his mind but also makes him realise how much he has been missing in his rush to beat time. At this very moment he finds it so easy to distinguish between the hooting owl, the crow’s caws, the dove’s coos, and the humming bird’s soft chits and chirps. Not that the crickets from last night have relented their stridulations but the songs of the birds combined to create a melody of utmost beauty to his peaceful heart.


Note that; all the previous noise without means nothing anymore as he realises he had given it all unwarranted attention and missed the most important thing, him. Paying more intentional attention to himself and letting go of all the rush and clatter, he discovers something of more value than all else. He discovers him.


With a calm wave of self-discovery dawning on him alongside the peaking sunlight from the horizon, his heart opens up to the truth of being his best before giving the world his bitter self, because under pressure and strain, he realises that instead of being fruitful, he has been giving forth the short end of the stick and in turn not attaining to his ultimate desires and purpose.


He softly breathes back to the rising day and notices that he is just a wanderer who on this tread of life must learn to enjoy every moment it so brings. That however many dogs he meets barking along his journey, he may have to ignore them and not stop to throw stones if he is to catch all the scenic views along this trail.

 So for the start of this day, he opts to choose an open blank page as with it comes a wave of new possibilities over a bag full of inspiration as with this still comes more expectations of which on failure to achieve……. 








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