Start Over

Ahh, the stroke of the keypad feels rusty. The rhythym of the letters does not exist as a beat, a count, but rather as a rush and a rest, a starting and stopping.

My point of view has shifted so imperceptively but so very definitely, I suppose there should not be any wonder at the confusion that exists in my mind. I mean it IS still from behind the same eyes and from within the same mind I compose but with the emergence of a new facet built into wall of logic from whence the ideas flow it seems that the pull of the current steers the flow of the words onto and over the banks of the old stream of thought and begins cutting new channels that guide the impetus of expressed ideas and mores.

It really seems odd to me that the realization of what physical health means to the thinking being should change so much how that being expresses itself. Having come to that point I cannot deny what is so obviously true….I am not the same man I was two weeks ago. And that being said, even though my main thoughts and outlooks remain the same, enough variance exists that expressing those feelings is equal to revealing the thoughts of a comparative stranger.

When one declares from a platform familiar and steady the power of the words reflects the stability of the platform and when the platform exists in a state of flux the resolve of the words seems unsteady even to the hand that wields them.

Enough of self-revelation, for now it is enough to have restarted the engine and having goosed the throttle a little it is enough to have committed these few words to paper, it is enough to have acknowledged a new beginning.

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