A change of plans

It comes with the fall of leaves, the inspiration for a new platform and a new life: this new site that's going to make a real change in people's lives - perhaps a necessary one, something that will be received in good heart, perhaps by those who wanted but had no courage to face all those challenges laid down at their feet for them. I'm building a path of dead leaves, the graceful beauty with which a year of our side can die. It was all that I was capable of, I have to admit - I was not good enough for any bigger dream!

It is almost the end of the month and I thought that I had taken things seriously and would be able to make it, to do things right. Only my right way seems to be the wrong for the enemy inside, not letting me work clean and safe, healthily pushing the limits of this season towards a better plan.

It got ruined and taken away, every time, so I felt that I must have changed something in it, and so I did, but still, taken away: it was just not meant to be.

It makes me loathe myself, hate every bit of a living or dying cell in myself anything that I have to be for anybody, from anyone's idea of the life I deserve to live and somehow I still need to ask myself why? Why is it that I have this twisted kind of a view of the world surrounding me, these ugly thoughts and ideas about what's inside each and every being for me? Why can't I think too beautiful of them? - the way they really are!

It's a question for which I'm still looking to find the answer as there is no better waste of time. The change! That is what I was looking for and, here we are: I found it! What greater a change?

It was my life, my plan, and my future that I identified as a good path for me with the possibility to make a change for others. Why would the skies be against all of it? It must be that the heavens aren't such a good place, after all... there must be some lie they have been telling to us - otherwise, it makes no sense.

So, heavens can be against all good and this is how hell got born; for the sake of contrasts, and look! Just look how beautifully violent all that transfers into the reality of our season! Look... all the blood of trees crowns spilt: red, brown and yellow... some little green as well: the joy of death filling the air and our lungs. Everything feels upside down and that is somehow the right thing, good! That is somehow the translation of human history, the prediction of it, the cruel poetic memorial - its burial rite.

I take a glance at my desk. Not so long ago I felt blessed and loved enough to make it! To make that change to good, but that can be made only as thyself, the blessed and not as thyself the cursed and turned into something else that's opposing to your will, constantly. It takes courage for this change that I am supposed to make, but it takes so much more! All of a sudden I realise that I thought I had it, all the guidance and the goodwill, all the strength, and if not the instant knowledge, that's all right, I can ad on top of this cake and make it right. Still, I hear the famished flies around, checking the cake: "this looks nice enough! Sweet!" Which makes me wonder, put through doubt the quality of my cake. why can't I plant some flowers in the garden for the bees, like any other normal citizen?

Like possessed I take my chances at a real waste of time preserving my energy, watching the little flowers overgrown in my little pots forgotten with these days weather moods and see how just a few honey makers pay the visit, and many a fly takes their chance to the beauty of flowers... from which one should I learn. "Oh, dear... if you want to be a bee, know that you are more of a vulnerable being. There are rules you must obey and be ready to die when you chose to defend yourself." Flies are more resilient. They can feed upon anything. And they don't have to make anything really nice or good. They just have to feed with anything they can then be the food for something else.

I return to my desk, knowing that I have been born a fly. I'd my destiny. Now, what can I do? I'm watching my box of sewing and crocheting and imagine that I could play some little tricks, at least imagine myself a bee. So, I take some time making a scarf for myself, and a couple for a few people I used to consider my friends. Maybe Like this everybody will get to feel better and I won't remain only this annoying fly I loathe being.

It's calming, this activity I took from the old. There is no fly and no stench and no temptation. Whilst I sew on I get to fall at peace with all the story of my repeated failures, and take a chance at embracing the idea of being a fly... Hey! Maybe I can get to make it turn into something less gross, this waste I landed on! Maybe I am not that bad a hybrid insect!

The flash of a brilliant idea strikes! Hey! I know what to do to lift my spirits up! Darn waste of time - it helped! All those years I wasted on tries and work in vain! It was all worth the try. Now I have it. The idea and the means. It was all lying under my nose all the time: I just have to clean up all this mess, now!