Artifical Obligation

Candle-lit wine

I sat on the patio this evening after the sun had gone down. I'd opened a bottle of white wine that I'd received as a birthday present. I smelled its aroma, took a deep drink, swished it around in my mouth, swallowed, and breathed in. I smiled...something that I've lacked for a day or two. How quickly I'd forgotten simplicity.

The stars were out, not a cloud in the sky. I scouted The Big Dipper and said a hearty hello, not really caring if my neighbors heard me. Once in my life, I used to look at the stars and appreciate them, radiating in their dated energy toward the Earth. Life was easy then. I didn't know it at the time. I was debt free, was in my freshman year at university, and was in love with a hometown boy who treated me not too well. We laid on the hood of my car, a 1973 light blue Cutlass Supreme station wagon, and I told him what I'd learned in Astronomy 101. He seemed enthralled. We kissed for hours afterward. I sometimes miss being that vulnerable.

I'm at that age where I examine my life...what I've done in the past and what I want to do for the future. I sometimes find myself quite melancholy with the choices I've made. But, if I write, I come to peace with them, incorporating them into my soul and letting them go.

I have great dreams for the future. As I stated in a previous post, I want to act rather than not. I have a lovely dream, it's percolating like fresh coffee in the early morning. It's becoming warm and awakening. I don't want to write about it now, but I do want to say that it involves travel to warmer climates, something I finally and totally decided this winter, especially during the chill of close to six months, where I sat in solitude, in this house that's grown to be a burden of things to do rather than a place of solace from my sometimes inept interactions with the world. 

I occasionally become overstimulated because my mind can generate like no one else's. What about this? What about that? I want to do everything at once. I find this quite common in the Spring. The wine tempers me. I can do this. I can calm down. I can pay attention to what's right in front of me. The candle, which emanates the scent of fresh linen, dances. Oh, yes. I'm sitting on the patio with Pupa, who's absolutely refused to sit in the chair next to me. She'd rather stretch out and be the dog she is right next to my feet.

I look in the distance. I see clouds slowly moving in, covering the stars. I notice that the sky occasionally lights up--Mother Nature's fireworks. Rain is on the way. I become excited. It reminds me of being on Mom's and Dad's patio, situated on a hill where potential storms were always visible. I become a little sad. Those days are gone. Time has rolled in. Relationships have been dramatically altered. I want to wrap myself in my thoughts. I can feel the creep, but I mentally push it away.

I have to move forward. I owe it to myself and to God to do the best I can. I yearn for a permanent smile, knowing that I'm living for myself and not desperately trying to make someone else happy. What a release that will be when I can finally achieve that goal. No more pull. No more excuses. A life that is exclusively mine, devoid of artificial obligation.

Wine is constant proof that God loves us and loves to see us happy. -- Benjamin Franklin