Wednesday, September 26, 2012


When he is free he is really free.  He writes, he calls, he uses kind words.
When he is free he lets himself be himself.  He watches attentively, speaks without error and always, almost always, smiles.
When he is free.
But that doesn't always happen.  He doesn't always let himself be free.  He sleeps less and works more.
When he is free he is open to change, open to seeing, open to smiling.
His heart feels happy.  You can see it on his face.  The creases above his eyebrows lessen, his mouth curls up, and his eyes shine.
When he is free.



Ba     lance.

Balan      ce.

No matter how much I try for it, it always ends up looking something like:

B                 alance.


Balanc                                        e.

It doesn’t come with ease.  It’s one thing or it’s another. 
Push, push, push yourself. 
Totally collapse.

I guess it’s what we constantly strive for.  I know it’s what I am constantly striving for. 

Maybe it’s the striving that throws me off.  Maybe just the mere awareness of it makes it more attainable.  Who knows.  But something doesn’t feel quite right.