Direction

Direction.
Forward, never back.
As back implies negative,
to be less than empty.
But memories are full,
rich with scent and emotion.
Yet forward is the goal,
the go-to, the place where
we all must strive.

Strive.
A compassionate gesture,
softer than a command,
holding space for evolution.

I imagine stillness.

The present.
Sometimes it seems less tangible
than memories or plans.
The comfort of planning,
especially when infused with
the intention of striving,
wraps my present
in a thin veil of better.

Better is always better, isn't it?

And then there is contentment.
That evasive striving for
contentment of my now.
But now can feel so...
ordinary.
Unspecial.

I long for special.
Special moments.
Special connections.
Special conversations.
Special dreams.
Special interests.
Presently, interests barely pique
through the ordinary.

Perhaps memories of
what was supposed to be
pull them toward negative.

We are told we must stay positive.
Positive thoughts.
Positive outlooks.
Positive attitudes.
Staying above that line
where zero sits.

But I am that zero.
I find comfort in that big round circle
that protects me.
Allows me to balance
at the fulcrum point.
Looking toward negative, 
past and less than.
And, whenever I choose,
setting my gaze toward positive,
future and more.
From this vantage point
I can look up or down,
allowing my focus to soar or plummet.

I so recognize the multitude
of dimensions, likely beyond that
singular point I imagine as me.

Encircled, I can soften into what is.
I can experience directions as
merely invitations to move
beyond the nothingness.

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