Changing underwear - inevitable, refreshing, and always highly anticipated. Why is this attitude not also embraced with the same vigor when presented with the opportunity to change perspective? After all, daily my mind becomes fetid, putrid, stinky, grossly smeared with labels and concepts so old that when confronted, they atrophy. Weak from lack of "food that feeds," my dogma crumbles, under the strain of scrutiny a heap lies in ruins as distorted, broken tools. At once useful, but having served their purpose, now need discarding and replaced with contemporary, advanced ideas that indicative of current flow. I image the underwear of centuries past - three words: thank you change.
Change is re-cognition - change the cog. All cogs wear out. Most - all - of my cogs need replacing. Currently, I reside in the throes of change - adjusting, developing, shifting, varying -meeting the new self while resisting its residence. Relinquishing control, a petri dish of habits sits sprouted on this couch gazing out the sliding glass doors cursing and commending the process. My life - innocuous yet a fertile reserve when tapped. What remains after this tustle? I feign an answer, as if that will stave off the mutation. No luck.
Writing about my life demolishes the dogmas that fed my childhood psyche, growing and branching into scenarios and circumstances simultaneously undesirable and essential. Maybe writing is all the answer I need - clean underwear: inevitable, refreshing, and highly anticipated.
