Nine Lives

I’m entering into, for lack of better terms, a new phase in life – one where the silent, uneasy solitude will be my best friend whether I like her or not, one whom I must become familiar with until I do like her. Her company will most likely reveal the desirable and not so desirable filthy corners of an old soul, coercing me into, yet another, inadvertent spiritual cleanse.

It’s like reincarnation because I learned a long time ago that life isn’t a continuous piece of string looping through jungle gyms and obstacle courses. It is several different pieces of string that we’re dangerously swinging from, holding on tightly with weakened hands, possibly with a direction in mind, but always falling or unintentionally veering off course. Don’t get me wrong – it’s not always unintentional. Sometimes one decision, no matter how big or how small, can completely alter the direction our lives have been taking, empirically shifting almost everything about them. It’s like we’re cats with nine lives.

I’m not certain which life I’m headed into right now though if I had to guess, I would guess it’s somewhere around eight. And if I’m right, I better make this shit count! And just in case there’s any confusion, I’m not talking about some hippie, drink only lemon juice and cayenne then meditate for twelve hours cleanse or life, either. I’m simply describing that almost transcendental feeling of ruminating on the past and feeling as if a couple of years ago was actually lifetimes ago or as if it were possibly someone else’s life that I’m merely retelling a story of. Perhaps it was even a book I read?

Either way, I must carry what I learned and experienced to the present and utilize it for the greater good of those around me and myself. I’ve begun to feel as if I was put on this earth to only plant seeds, to be a part of someone’s life for what feels like such a short time because once you truly love and care for another life, time is irrelevant to the emotions. A lifetime can feel utterly insufficient. Enter lesson number 9,153 – My mother always reminded me, “The price of love is grief.”

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