Life is like

out on a hill , on a grass field, behind a old home
is a man standing, in july , on a cloudy mid day.
wind blowing through, over and beneath his arms as he holds them out in air
he's calling out.
standing there, in a empty field of a july midday, without speaking
he's calling out..

Inside his eyes, looking out, he see's himself
and incomplete unfullfilled perpective of himself
its the last day of the worst day for him
this is the day he can finally live
he started out , a long long time ago
years far back, maybe 10
he use to struggle with finding a truce between his pleasure
and his needs
the two almost never could coincide
the pleasure always overides the the important things
for him work was a thing, that could never begin
to relax he needed mental preperation
relaxing by abusing time on pleasures mental sensations
a high from no drug
time killer
mr commonplacer
himself, 10 years later now in the present. stands in a large field behind
his small home, outside his small house on a grass hill. with a light breeze of wind,
over cool july mid evening.
flash backs, black to a back, past visions
.. there he is. 12 years old.
in a room alone, fiddling with paint brushes and white sheets.
in a completely mucked room with sheets and rolls of obiquously painted
white sheets of paper. there he is
he's him...

lifes a strange story.
you start off weak, from birth
dependant on anyone but yourself
but then grow into adulthood
where your true fend from evils, is yourself...
He's a man now, 23 working at a factory house outside of newly built industrial set up in oshawa . the year 1907
its hard work. people here die. the work is very hard and the pay is very little.
every long day is 18 hours
breaks are for when you sleep, so to work again tomorrow
every day is long
long long days, every single one of them , long as the other
days just seem to stretch and blend into each other.
he can hardly take this mental abuse anymore. its not what he's built for.
"I'm too smart to work in a factory. please get me from this place. I need
to leave here, now! "
every curve ball in life thrown your way, may be a change up so keep your eyes peeled and don't look away...
its december 1922
he's 38
on his way to drop off a parcel he picked up for his mother from the post office to give to her at her home. .
she says, " arn't you tired of this john? you live a bit lately? hm?"
"yes mom.."
"you work so hard son.. you should live a bit, ya' know. ."
lifes a dilberate misconception
you think your living because you breath, but thats the fools trick life plays on you. you only think your living,
but your not really.
unless, ofcourse, your really living life the way your really supposed to be living it...
its time to take my first plane ride.
"its amazing all the things change since I was a boy."
"i never imagined to see something fly by itself, without a heart in'it.
much less be inside a flying one m'self"
life's like a airplane. it can take you wherever you need to be, as long as
your willing to get over your fear of being in flight. fear being whatever
holds you back in life from actually living... ..
he's 58..
no kids of his own. widowed mother as his true love, and meaning to life.
he sees everything in her. and wants to not let go..
dying is the only way to lose something. everything else is nothing..

visits to her on a regular weekly basis allow him to see glimpses of his
moms love that he was too young to fully understand growing up, so he yearns
for her affection like a 4 year old. .
he visits her bedside on a sunny august mid evening
his mom now in her 70's. asks him
"dear. have you bought anything new lately?.
ya' know, the benges are runnning outa business, did you hear that?"
"yes mama, i know. i dunno what i'm gonna do for work now mama"....



after she passed away. he recongnized what she always meant by, when she would ask " you live a bit lately?hm?" ...
lifes a deliberate friend. it reaches out to you when you believe to be lost
and hopeless.
in a strange way, her passing was a blessing. she also too realized something about her son before she died.
she realized he was not ready to live because he cared too much about not loving life. instead of realizing
life is what you make it, he let life dictate to him what it would be..

grey haired, breathing. the present is like no other. he's 67. and now
he opens his eyes.

standing outside his old home outside in july , on a cloudy mid day.
he opens his arms wide and extends them outwards, palms open and his fingers
dangle in the wind. touching and feeling the breeze run along his fingertips.
through his hair, on his face, his body & everywhere.
his eyes are closed, but their open.
their open, because
for the first time of his life, he's alive.
for the first time in his life. He's Living...

lifes's a beautiful thing. touch it, feel it .embrace it. cherrish it. love
every moment ,each and every second of it.
live life like if everyday was your last..

life is an ocean. from the shore you can only see whats infront of you. but if you dive into it , immerse yourself completely in it everyday, and let go
then your discoveries are truly endless.
a man who waits his whole life to live
said to me. "life is like.." .... ..

you finish the rest.