Sunday Morning Comin' Down

Like faith, this morning was a mystery to me.

Ever have that feeling that you don't know where you are as soon as you wake up? Happened to me today. It's true that I was back at my parent's house, in Lebanon, PA, after a long Saturday of waxing philosophical with everyone I came into contact with (and receiving about five birthday books from a very good friend). But, when I woke up in the morning, I felt out of place. It was as if I was missing out on something spectacular. My old room is empty except for a bed and a dresser, but staying there during my visits reminds me of my angst-filled teenage years. A time when the writing first began to come together and forge itself into a means of escape.

I shook off what is usually referred to as The Blues by going on a 9-mile bike ride with my father. He was one of the individuals whom I had the pleasure of bullshitting with yesterday about the meaning of it all. Then, he went and planted flowers in the yard; thus continuing the cycle of the Torres male. From melancholy we make our way towards acceptance by examining the world around us and creating (or sometimes destroying) something beautiful to leave our mark.

He ended up inspiring me.
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"Ah-Ha"

My father called it
the "Ah-ha" moment

He's never written poetry.

But he said
that in Maine
While in the harbor
The ship he stood next to
made him feel
like the head of a pin.

Small.
Insignificant.

Until he climbed
the nearby mountain range,
and the ship
became the pin.

That was when
he measured himself
against the weight of the world.

Then he proclaimed
"Ah-ha."

I made my proclamation
while standing on a beach.
I was trying to determine
how many drops of water
formed the Atlantic,
while I counted grains of sand
between my toes,
as millions of blades of grass
waved in the breeze
from their stations,
surrounding hundreds of houses.

"Ah-ha."

"Ah-ha,"
proclaimed Einstein
years before
from a similar setting.

"Is it better to be better than to be anything?"
I recited.

"Are there any original thoughts left?"
he asked.

"No," I replied.
"Just clever plagiarism."
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Thanks, folks.

Cheers,

Ryan