Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Only Time Will Tell

So here I am. 32. Not exactly young anymore. I am sitting in my cave like office peering through the doorway to the depressingly bright mail room. I have about 9 tasks I am suppose to be doing but don’t really feel the desire to do any of them. Lounging back in my office chair seems like the way to go for now.


I feel this mail room is like the coat of many colors Joseph was given. It kept me out of the heckish elements. It came with a free pass from painful manual labor. It came with a monetary raise and with an un-spoken promise that one day I would advance further up the ranks into City Hall stardom.

Yes, I was the favored son of the property yard.

Turns out my reality is a tattered remnant of a once joyous existence.

I look around and all I see are dead end stops to things someone else should be doing; I cringe. When I look at the bone white walls reflecting fluorescent death I see paintings forcing themselves out, screaming their attentions, directed to me; I cringe. Little visions and glimpses into a world all my own, of my making, of my choosing, something that only I have the power to share with the world we inhabit, but cannot, given Time

But, alas, maybe I am the coat, and the many colors have become a singular red. Or, maybe the man and the coat are the same piece to a different puzzle.

Yes, I have been flung into Egypt; a foreign world with more grace, but less… substance. Like threads before they’re woven, they warm nothing, they hold nothing.

As a twist of fate, my saving grace seems to be: Time. The end of the day will come. Tasks will be completed - or they won’t. Does it matter? As Life’s Tradition seems to emblazon upon us from our first breath, I get to come home to a seriously loud house. Five smile filled mouths attack me when I shuffle through the door. Time becomes less important here as I go through the nightly routines… The threads have been woven, re-woven, the coat has been re-done, the night carries on…

My worlds’ importance level, the one only I can see, becomes not so blaringly loud when back in the warm womb of loved ones.

But, alas, time attacks again; it is the morn’. The brothers - do they ever actually learn? For Time is a jealous mistress, the wicked witch that wouldn’t, no - couldn’t, melt. This multi hued coat that sparkles promise is donned again. So I ask you, you followers of humanities desperate plight for fullfilledness. Is the symbol greater than the purpose? Must we follow routingly in the same tracks because we must? Does Time ever learn?


Only time will tell.



That is all

4 comments:

Frits said...

good job on the bible references. Maybe you are being called into the ministry?

mom said...

32 is within the window of opportunity. it is time, yes we can control time, it is time to take a chance and control both the metaphor and the meaning. loveyou seth

mom said...

the above comment is actually be dad

noah said...

5 stars