What strikes me about this is that it seems to strongly depend and cohere to my feelings about life at that particular time. It seems that writing has become my answer to my own problems, a way of identifying as well as solving the problem. It’s an interesting methodology I guess, but I think people need a way to get through things, and it helps that I’ve found mine I guess. The odd thing I find is that, as much as I enjoy the writing process, I don’t have anything to write about when I’m feeling okay with the world. When things are good, when life is content, when there really is nothing to complain about in the magnificence of creation, I’m so tongue tied that I have nothing to say.
This post then really is in homage to the goodness of life that is given to me at this time. There is a serenity about it that I enjoy, a surety and a clarity of both routine and purpose that I have never enjoyed before in my life. This odd feeling, that for a little while the ship of my soul has both captain and navigator, both confident that the strong wind behind them is pushing continuously in the right direction.
I’m enjoying it while it lasts, it is as I’ve emphasised a reassuring and comforting feeling for a little while at least. What I find amusing though is that I have the cynical perspective internalised off course, but that simultaneously I’m unworried about its implications, sure that I can keep going on as long as the wind holds true. But in the interests of being careful and declaring my metaphor totally overextended, I’m very keenly aware that the wind is that of fortune, and it is a capricious and vicious wind, which often and violently changes, leaving many a ship in the lurch and a long way from shore. Life goes on though, and it looks like the right perspective on it makes life much more viable then it should ever be.