Accidental Words Tumbling Out

I want to write, but recently the words barely come forth.
I want to craft thoughts into words, into sentences and paragraphs, if that’s where they take me.
And maybe they’ll make sense, of some sort, to a reader. And to me months from now, if I’m brave enough to read them again.
Maybe today will be different.

I want to draw more. But the lines, shapes and colors aren’t appearing.
There’s watercolor pens, pencils, drawing tools, and paper on my work table.
They are forlorn, lifeless on their own, not joined in expressive effort.

What happened? Why did the thoughts, words, and shapes dwindle?
Why did they start to begin with?

“Why” has no answer. Other than “It is.”
This existence of incomprehension, impermanence, and amazement.

How to live? I live as I live.
As it comes to/from me. Whatever.
Makes no sense and a lot of sense. It’s reality.
No matter. It’s who I am — apparently. At this moment.
Inevitability?

Birth and death. A continuum from where to where?
I’m here, but where is here? In the midst of billions of universes.
History is just a moment ago. Only in my mind.

Thoughts as they occur, writing them down.
Out from my mind, making room for more.
These thoughts and words are not my creation. Magically, mysteriously, occurring.
Why these and not others?
Destiny up to this moment?

The world, existence, a swirl.
Jump in and flow with it. If possible.
Not really much of a choice.
I suppose one could also float or drown in it. Or even fight against it.
Some do it appears.

Feel the world. All these humans, animals, trees, planets, air, et al, et al.
Existing for me, so I sometimes feel.
Inevitably now.

One day I’ll dissipate into the miasma of the cosmos.
The atoms that were my body will recombine into other forms.
So the physicists say.
I have no control over it, regardless.

Accepting death?
Knowing and accepting my diminishment, day by day. Mmm?
And honoring this in others.
Their humanness, illnesses and suffering.
There’s also much joy and love. A lot to appreciate, to wonder at and be excited about.

Live a good life, an abundant life. This approach sounds right, although I’m not always with it.
Don’t even know what it really is. Looking back I see it, sort of. But not in front of me.
Apparent choices among many.
But didn’t I earlier say that thoughts and words are not my creation? Even if I were to think otherwise?

Gratefulness and longing, and other feelings and thoughts.
This is me being human.
I wonder, am amazed and bewildered with existence.

Some say that non-attachment and accepting impermanence is the key to equanimity, lack of suffering, and joy. To truly feel, see, the essence of life, its beauty and wonder.
And yet there’s so much that isn’t so, so it seems.

All there is comes and goes at the same moment. And then the next one.
The wholeness of existence?

Expectations. No not them.
They cause disappointment.
What about hope?

I live with hope, some kind of hope, sometimes.
It’s a tempered hope after years of living with hopes that aren’t realized. Dreams that remain dreams.
And yes there are also hopes that have been realized. Why them?

I read that I should be careful about hoping. It can bring heartache, particularly when hopes are confused with expectations.

I dream and hope for something better, for me and my family, friends, and others.
I know that some of it always occurs.
But also know that at some point in time there will be suffering, pain, anguish. Such is life’s reality, which I often forget.
Probably for the better.

My impermanent life, all of it, except maybe for a tiny bit, is out of my influence.
It’s preordained, given to me, for better or worse. Including how I see and feel existence, my physiology and how I live with it.
Yet I also live thinking otherwise. A great conundrum of life.

To have longings and hopes appears to be the human condition, at least for most of us, even knowing that many of them will never be fulfilled. Yet continuing to hope that our pain will be soothed, might come to an end in a happy way.
Hoping a solution will appear out of the blue, just as the suffering appeared.
Why not.

Amidst sometime melancholy I know that I’m loved and am able to love. Every day there are people dear to me who love me. I’m certain.
I read that some people don’t know how, or believe they don’t have the chance, or live without being loved.

I prepare for the unknown. Sort of.
How if it’s unknown?
And there’s much to do today.

Smile. At peace with myself, with others.
In this accidental moment.