Three of us are sitting around a table at a fancy steakhouse talking about life as it is now and reminiscing about how it was in college.
For the moment they are still Californians visiting Texas and I am a Californian living in Texas.
We banter back and forth and they ask me questions about life here looking for help and insights and I laugh because in some ways I feel like I haven’t much to offer.
But I do my best to offer suggestions and guidance on places to live, things to do and remarks ab0ut how to avoid some of the pitfalls and traps I hit.
Not sure if it helped, but I did my best and that is all we can do.
“You did something not everyone can or would do. Don’t shrug your shoulders, I respect that.”
I nod my head and I say I am not homeless nor a hobo, but I feel like I might have done both.
A familiar IP address shows itself in multiple places and I smile. “looks like someone did the circuit. Probably should check to see what I updated recently and think about what I ought to update.”
It is 11:30 and my belly is full so I don’t intend to do much more than put down a few words here. but I have plenty to say elsewhere.
Of course the question isn’t will I share, but when. Might be tonight, might be tomorrow.
Or I might say I’ll share at the movie theater this weekend as I map out my ideas for a movie…maybe.
I am tired, exhausted from rowing my boat ashore because Michael can’t do it and because my boat isn’t a tiny rowboat, it is something that Captain Stubing would consider fitting of his command.
So tonight when I climb into an empty bed and close my eyes I’ll probably sleep well or so I hope.
Waiting for a response to an email that might prove I roped the moon or suggest I pound sand. Chances are slim it will be the latter and only slightly better that it will be the former.
But maybe, just maybe I have done what they call in hearts, “Shoot the Moon.”
Brother Pablo speaks to me and I nod my head.
“Some people hear our cries but never acknowledge them and some wait to be taken by the hand. Others do things differently, but I do as I do knowing there are no options. I must be who I am.”
Brother Pablo says that sounds like bullshit and I say it might be, but if I do as I say and act as I hope–well wishes may do more than waft unfulfilled in the wind.”
He tells me again it is nonsense and says he is a poet to which I answer, I speak my heart and look for those who don’t consider it to be rude, gibberish, unbecoming or silent.”
Brother Pablo nods his head and I nod mine.
We are not homeless nor hobos but men whose spirits demand more than silence.
