Shroud
Friday, December 18, 2009 at 8:27AM The damn Magic 8-Ball is giving me trouble again. I pick it up and shake, hold a question firmly in my mind.
My sources say no.
Reply hazy, try again.
Outlook not so good.
...Screw you, Magic 8.
It's a habit of mine to claim that I want answers, to talk up the value of clarity. Except, apparently, when I don't like the response. I fling this oracle aside.
Life paints bold murals from little moments that gather and crystallize. I reach for examples to showcase here and come back empty-handed, thinking instead about a recent coffeehouse conversation that circled around this concept: that all that we notice foreshadows what is, what is to become. Our lives create stories if we remember to pay attention.
My hands, knuckles bruised and scarred, reach for the mug and offer up the taste of espresso and soy. Taking in this moment, allowing myself to sit with all that is and breathe before dropping the shade again: blanketing myself in busy and rushing out into the day.
Reader Comments (1)
Besides its number, the defining characteristic of the eight ball, that quality which separates it from all the other ball, is that it is black. I can't think of the eight ball without seeing its blackness. I am now reading color in everything you write. I am seeing what you write. Pretty cool!