"ramblings of complacency - a process"
December 03, 2001, 8:24 p.m.

I almost had an epiphany today. Like a secret lurking in the back of my mind, hiding itself from view with only its shadows and minute glimpses of what it is I do not know - teasing me, taunting me. Trying and almost commanding me that I find it.

Yet I am not driven enough nor curious enough to pursue it and only having the presence of mind in this moment to write it down. Write down only this impression of a thought that never formed. Something - about allegories. Not in my mind to make an allegory. I kept telling myself - stop it - stop making allegories about this knowledge that's trying to make itself known.

Yet, something about gardens and making them work and churning the soil against the hard rock of complacency. But therein is the allegory.

Another about baking bread. No - not baking bread. Something about bootcamp? - It it complacency that does not go with growth. It hinders growth. Energy and action and turning the rows and planting the seeds, the pruning of plants promotes growth - but here again I am allegorizing, metaphorizing, similizing.

So my thought - like trying to pierce the rolling veins in the back of my hand - do not bring fruit. (And now I am mixing my metaphors.) I cannot glean from them.

All I know is that I must be pushed from my mark in order to grow. My stagnant, stagnant mark. Whether I continue to cling to anything and everything familiar in my own complacent life or to move even myself by myself - on purpose - is quite a chore.

How can I motivate myself from the drowning depths of complacency when it is that complacency itself that I most seem to desire? Not just being complaceny-obsessive, but a prison of my own making. Is it irresponsibility that leaves me conplacent - or is it a responsibility undertaken to preserve my lifestyle of complacency?

My mind says I need a pilgrimage of sorts. Back to the boot camp. The shoving off from the mark. A pilgrimage - like walking the pilgrimage of Compostela De San Tiago - yet I choose not even to walk to the corner.

Fear: I shall die a life of complacency and will rue myself on the day I wish to live an uncomplacent life - because then it will be too late.

I am already living the life of an invalid. Invalid. In Valid. I sometimes think I live an in valid life. Nothing to show for it. What I was and what I did ten years ago is not who I am or what I do today.

Time is sand. The more I cling to the sand - the less I can do with my life - because my hands will be too full of sand to do anything.

I am not depressed - I'm simply complacent. That is sad as well. I feel I was born complacent. And all I do in my life is to lead myself back to that comfortable state of complacency. I am stubborn with complacency, like the pony I once rode on Cindy's farm - no matter how far out you took the pony, it always ran straight back to the barn. It was not much use for anything else.

Sometimes I feel I have a story in me. Sometimes I feel I have locked in my mind, something marvelous, something hiding behind the veil. A story. A poem. A piece to be written. And I foolishly expect the story to come out on its own. To unlock itself from the depths of my mind. To find its own key and free itself and present itself to me. Like a present tied with a bow. I keep hoping it will find the key. I keep hoping "I" will find the key. The key will be presented to me by myself somehow. Ah yes. A magical key. A key of magic to let my talent out of the place it has been hidden all these years.

I know the truth though and shame on me - for the truth is that to unlock that hidden talent - I must write - and THAT is the magical key. Yet I am not disciplined. I only write sometimes and when I do - I write off the top of my mind. I write from a shallow place and I know it. And here I am yearning something which is within my reach - which no one is stopping me from besides myself - and here I sit. Hands under my thighs. Sitting on my hands and refusing once again to reach for that which I yearn for. Its a refusal to get up off my behind and take that magic key and put myself to work.

Enough said.