Top of the Journey
I’m feeling lost. At my pinnacle of success, the floor feels shaky and unsure. Like dancing through an earthquake. My steps are sure and practiced, just not so on shifting sand.
I see my summit. I can sensory smell, taste, feel, hear, see and know it’s near. But the gods or karma or fate or doubt are testing me.
This last hike on the journey is the most difficult. I’m tired, been lied too and cheated. False friends have come in to boost me up only to become the crabs pulling me back in the boiling water.
Mantua is the reigning element now. Not rain, hail or sunshine. Just sacks of smelly shit released on my head that I must turn into hair mousse. I must slick it back like it was meant to be there, even though it weighs me down. I hold my head up high, telling the world
“I meant to rub shit in my hair, it’s a fashion statement.”
I wake up every morning bogged in mud, exhausted from the constant struggle, the push back from society, and the thrill to conform.
I pull myself up, still groggy from the dreams of seeing the sunlight.
Holding the torch, statue, check, key.
My goal is to turn those dreams into daily action.
How do you eat an elephant? On bite at a time. Keep chewing. Small bites of belief will get you farther than a seaplane of a Caribbean island. The water may look pristine and full of life- but it’s job is to hold the land back- to keep it from becoming the silt that will trap and kill you.
Muse: As you dance your practiced steps over tectonic uncertainty, you are still remaining as dancer.
You’d crave a still floor and that will return. When it does you are dancing still and the exhausted naysayers will fall to their knees and look as your jig grows smaller as you dance on.
See, they can’t dance. Anyone can shake the table.
Unless you’re ready to roll over and die, the dawn brings a block of time just for you.
You can spend that time and energy either digging a grave or building a tower.
Either way the time is there or the energy has to be spent.
You’re allowed to be exhausted from days toil. We just ask that you come back to our own ready to become equally exhausted again.
Haha. See, when I’m permitted the time, the scales fall away and I get back to center.
We all do.
Yet center is some times skewed by heavy objects resting on the turntable.
Yes. Like a spider Web you’ll feel the burden and know where it is and how it robs you
Me: I’ll spin faster and cast it aside.
Back to the spider web. The one poking and disrupting could be an energy food source if properly handled.
Muse: Yes. It unwittingly floes into a trap I set because I know where it is likely to fly and how it will succumb.
The spider sees the disruption not as a hindrance but as an opportunity to grow.
Me: So I shall be devouring my naysayers. Sounds better than moaning over them.
Muse: Once it is trussed and overwhelmed I can whisper my ode as a cous de gras.
And I will use its energy to wreak revenge on their kind.
Me: I love this idea. We should write a motivational book.
They will help me end them all.
The premises is far deeper than most.
Muse: It’s all there. The landscape never changed. I just gave you a ladder to peek over the treetops and see the shoes ahead.
Me: But sometimes we forget we have the ladder.
Muse: Yep. That’s why having a buddy helps.
Me: It certainly does.
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Teri Bayus is the Host of Taste Buds, shown on Charter, KSBY, CW and on YouTube here.
Teri’s Culinary Erotic Book, Consumed is available at http://www.amazon.com/Consumed-Teri-Bayus-ebook/dp/B016DW85PA
