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Abkhazian passenger train passing Psyrtskha stop
Image via Wikipedia

The train has left the station
Oh yes, I got onboard
The route and destination
Both totally unknown

My choice made at a crossroad
We’ll see how smart it was
Head lost to heart the battle
Thus my path’s chosen

The train has left the station
Its course by fate destined
There’s really naught to do now
My part at present done

I do however wonder
No pretense I don’t care
Might I someday lament
Unseen strife and sorrow there

Still better some tomorrow
Some future time not past
Should I pause in fond reflection
Of a trip over too fast

If you knew then what you know now . . . what would you have done differently?  I review this thought from time-to-time.  I ponder my chosen paths.  I seek new meanings and insights with a clearer view through the lens of time and newfound understandings.


My existence by most “normal” standards could lead you to believe my list of do-overs would be exceedingly long.  The diverse catastrophes others would judge to be . . . regretful, immoral, painful, tragic, hurtful, disruptive, sinful, insane . . . are the verses of my life’s song. 


Tell me, how does one battle self-doubt?  That droning in your head that nags at you.  It can be about anything . . . your job . . . your appearance . . . your parenting . . . your lifestyle . . . your art . . . your behavior . . . your relationships . . . most usually your choices.  How do you silence the nasty, little voice that questions the ways that you have chosen to follow and recriminates you when your life goes astray?


I have during my life given that voice, my “invisible friend” plenty of ammunition.  There are too those more than willing to remind me how poorly I have managed things past.


Most of the time, my “friend” is silent these days.  I have made a peace with myself as to who I am.  It hasn’t always been that way.  I have through my life made a colossal mess of things and continue to this day to suffer the calamities that seem a part of my destiny.  The tumbles I now have become easier to take in stride.  I have learned to more readily accept the lessons fate is teaching me and to gather to me those things offered that make me grow.



In answer to the old query, “If you knew then what you know now, what would you have done differently” . . . I wouldn’t change one bit of it.  I regret none of the choices I made.  I’m secure in those moments I was being tested I did the best I could.   There is no requisite that we must make life miserable simply because miserable things happen. I keep hearing a thing that makes more sense to me every day.  We are not human entities having a spiritual experience, but rather spiritual entities having a human experience. 


I see that human experience as a journey opportuning us visits to great stores of knowledge and understanding.  I have learned to gather to me the positive things and be happy of the gift.  Should I not harm anyone, should I help someone, should I love others, should I touch another, should I have caused laughter, thought, happiness, succor, then I’m okay with what comes to me in my life.  I know it is sent to me so I may grow spiritually in the only likely way I might. 


If I hadn’t done then what I did, I wouldn’t know now what I do.  So when its all said and done . . . you might as well enjoy the trip.






Where am I to go?







What am I to do?







How am I to know?


Regardless what I’ve tried

I’m still alive.

How sad is she? 


She’s beautiful

With flaxen hair

Soft, sad eyes

Still laughing there


She’s intelligent

Of that no doubt

Many the subjects

She’ll converse about


How sad is she?


She’s talented

Her words are fair

The proof of which

Will come to bear


How sad is she?

But really is she?


She has loved

And that is rare

To love a gift

Beyond compare


How sad is she?

Lucky I’d say


Sometimes the only option is to surrender to my demon lover . . .


Strange safety in that dark embrace

So intimate his arms surrounding

His wicked touch does run though me


Sometimes the only reason is to lay with the coming night . . .


Soft, sweet his whispers all I hear now

To yield the only answer left me

My fragile soul does grant surrender


Sometimes the only justification is my lunatic desire . . .



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June 2023