When you live in the shadow of the mountain there is always the risk that the mountain may fall on you. Mountains don't often fall, however. The risk is minimal.
Sometimes I wonder if I was meant to be a sailor, circumnavigating the planet on the shoulders of buoyancy and at the whims of currents above and below. What is the risk that I have heard the siren call of the sea and, having ignored it, have doomed my soul to despair? I've never particularly liked the ocean as anything more than scenery, so the risk is minimal.
Maybe I'm gay and I don't know it. Maybe I'm living a lie, trapped in a closet of fear and denial. Maybe I'm bent the other way, and that's where fulfillment is to be found. What is the risk that I'm missing out on Mr. Right? I've never been attracted to men, and it's all I can do to stop thinking about boobs long enough to have a coherent thought. The risk is minimal.
We are beset on all sides with terrors and trials. Opportunities slip by like sand swirling down the glass. How much is lost as we release a thing to grasp another? We are driven by our hearts and minds, and we can only do what we can do. What is the risk that we are taking exactly the wrong road at every turn? Who can measure the sum of infinite risks, however minimal?
I am content, even happy, with my place and my path. If the mountain falls on me, it will be for me a stony monument. Etch upon it these words, "He lies below in peace. He regrets nothing."
How about you?
Later. Love.
P.S. - A couple of days ago I posted a short piece on my cogito writing site. It's called Head in the Clouds. I like it. Check it out, if you'd like. Thanks for stopping by.
