I lay here, waking up from a sleep that started what seemed to be much to early, on a spare bed in a spare room in a friend's house. The weather isn't unpleasant out yet, although this weekend is supposed to be a killer. I lay here thinking of earlier today when I was making this stupid face to Ryan... this stupid face where it looked like I had no chin. Easy to say with his being the size of a small state. But pondering this in my sub-awake state, I have to ask how much of my life is a stupid face and how much is just my face? How much is just me making a statement or a scene and how much is reality, pure and simple? I think we generally put to much stock in what could or should be instead of just accepting qwhat is and what can be. The deference in could and should versus can is that could and should imply difficulty between what is now and what we lust after. What can is a simple acknowledgement that things, ideas, goals exist that we have not yet touched. They're just out there, waiting to share themselves with us like food on a shelf at the market, waiting to be chosen to nourish our souls with their energy, their essense for being. I sometimes feel like that sharing is similar to how we are chosen for consumption by this world, this universe, this God, that we are tested and poked and checked every day to see how ripe we are, to see if we're fit to bring to the table. What kind of face are you wearing? What kind of skin are we showing? Does our navel smell of melon?
I love waking up and thinking of silly things.