Not all that wonder.. please a the wine

Everyone has heard the expression not all those who wonder are lost. But more so now than ever I believe maybe the ones that stand still are.

There is a line from my favorite book Jesus' Son, (and I think I know this by heart don't sue me if I don't):

The traveling salesman had fed me pills that made the linings of my veins feel scraped out. My jaw ached. I knew every raindrop by its name. I sensed everything before it happened. 

These words put a deep sense of adventure in me. Not because of the drugs, but because of the knowing. The adventure. It resonated in my soul. It made me long for the road, or even more maybe to hide in the woods.

Someone recently asked me if I could be a singer, a dancer, or a writer, what would I be?

Easily a writer. I don't want to be known by my talents, only by my words, because words are the most dangerous drug you can feel. No matter how hard you try they embed themselves in your soul. Like a cancer. And not to sound grim, but it is very much usually the world's spewing of hateful things that each of us fear.

I wouldn't want my words to be feared, but admired for the thoughts they could embrace.

I have the words 'Be The Coffee' tattooed on my left wrist. When most people see it they laugh. They take it as what I can only assume to be the energy that wakes you and keeps you going.

I love when I get them to embrace a deeper thought that what they could imagine.

I first tell them it has nothing to do with coffee. It gives them a very perplexed look upon their faces. And then I explain.

In life you have 3 choices. You can be eggs, carrots, or coffee.

Still very confused looks on their faces, I ask them these three questions.

What happens when you boil eggs? (They get hard) What happens when you boil carrots (They get soft) and then the next one they never have the immediate answer to. What happens when you boil coffee? I let them dwell only for a fraction of a second so I can unravel their brains into a different process of thinking.

The water doesn't change the coffee, the coffee changes the water.

If life (and it is) is a big boiling pot of water, do you want to let it make you hard? Soft? Or do you want to be life changing?

Almost every response comes with a dumbfounded understanding of depth.

It's a choice. One to make daily. To succumb to the world and crumble, or to use everything in you to contribute more to life than what's been given to you.

I imagine in my past lives I may of been Casanova breaking hearts, which is why in this one my heart breaks so much now.

Recently while in a very now knowing fake romance (if something's too good to be true it probably is) my Nana mocked me. Told me to be realistic. As I fought back screaming that I deserve to be loved, I deserve to be happy. And she sadly was right. It was all a lie. On their half. Not on mine. Because to be the coffee, you can't give up being who you are even when everyone else has chosen to be the eggs.

I just spoke with my daughter who thankfully inherited my genius as well as my heart, and ten times more. And I asked her if she thought I was a fool for love? She paused, and looked directly at me and said, yeah sometimes mom.

To which I posed another question...

Would you rather be a fool for money or for love? And she smiled earnestly and answered love.

I think the reason I may not win the lotto (besides not really playing) is because I would win take care of my responsibilities,  and give the rest away. I would help build wells for clean water. I would pay for poor kids school lunches. I would donate uniforms and books and I could never only think of myself. The world has a very strange way of giving money to those who think they need more cars and houses.

And mathematically speaking. We all get burried 8 ft under.

Except if you are close to me then you know my dying wishes are, to play Mr. Magoriums Wonder Emporium at my funeral and plant me to be a willow tree.

I have decided that if I didn't get love in this life, as a willow tree I could still feel the wind. And watch children play. Where young romance could hide under my long flowing branches to have first kisses, and picnics.  Where a dog could find the occasional frisbee, and children could climb me with laughter. Where I could still stand tall to witness the miracles of everyday life. Where I would know my roots.