Peace in my Pocket

Each new day arrives on the coattails of the direction and reason and forward motion of what we have done and where we have come from. There is always a history behind what we may or may not be currently doing after what may or may not have happened to us, for us, and against us. 

So the narrative goes…

But there’s always a piece of something left as a souvenir from all our journeys. A piece of what? The only way to know is to check the pockets of the social garments and ideas we have dressed ourselves in. 

In these emotional pockets dwell the possibility of what we felt, chose not to feel, and what we wished could have been possible. Feelings tell no lies. Feelings give us all the answers we need. 

Find the feeling, find the breadcrumbs back to peace.

Piece by piece the motions and swirls of existence spiral around us, harkening us to dance along. But who may choose to dance when rocks and boulders of obstacles fall from the sky? When cars pile into desert mirages of emotional traffic in front of us, blocking and delaying our arrival to the party of the best life ever? 

Stuffing it all down yet again as we clock into the day job. 

But what about the dreams? What has come of them? Where have they gone? Did they move to another planet and take on a life of their own? How can we reach a sky of possibilities so vast, which we see only for mere seconds in between shifts?  

I must choose to shift, I tell myself. 

I must choose to move.

I must choose to remember that feeling that was so important to me. Once.

What was it?

If only I can remember it. 

It must be in one of these pockets here…

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