Hold on. Let me write that down so I dont forget.

Sometimes, it is best to make a decision after we have had a good nite's rest. As the old saying advices, "Sleep on it and see how you feel in the morning."

Tomorrow is a new day.

A new day. Another chance. A clean slate. A fresh sheet of paper. However, if the previous day was written with a heavy hand, impressions are left on pages underneath. Teardrops may've fallen, soaked down through layers and left wrinkled spots for evidence that days before have been sorrowful.

There are indents pressed clear through to the back cover of this thick, ragged book. Like scars across an old man's withered face. Even under an occasional pleasant expression, there lingers impressions of past trauma. The most beautiful description cannot cover these blood and sweat stains that have seeped through and soiled every page.

As the sun rises and marks the beginning of this new day, I turn to the next page on the notepad of my life. Weathered and torn along the edges. Stained and smudged. This is far from a clean sheet of paper. But, just as yesterdays gone by, tomorrow has become today and, again, will leave its impression on pages yet to be turned.

Tomorrow is a new day. Another chance. Whether I decide to like it or not.

Humility or stupidity

What am I doing here? I wasnt invited. Nor, have I been accepted. Barely tolerated. My mere presence is considered to be an unessesary distraction. The imprint my foot leaves in the dirt behind me is enuff reason for these creatures to justify their frustration. It has never been my intention to cause disruption. So, I have paid special attention to cover every track I have made. In fact, I have even learned to make it through the cold nites without setting a campfire. I could choose to fly from this place today and no one would be able to prove I was ever here. As I am sure I would be gladly forgotten just as quickly.

It has never been my intention to cause disruption. If I could repair the damage I've done, I would. However, a life has been taken. I killed one of these creatures, mistaking it for food. Although, it was my last resort. As long as I remain here, I may never forget that day. As long as I remain here, these creatures may not, either. As I choose to remain here, constant attention to shifting weights between my remorse and their resentment is essential.

Others have been here before me. As their abandoned shelters and ruined attempts to make a happy life here were evident even apon my intital approach, I do believe they were at least invited at some point. Any progress I have made to build shelter has been torn apart by these creatures before Ive ever constructed anything respectable enuff for comparison to what has been left behind by others. I wonder how long they stayed. I wonder where they went. I used to wonder why they left.

So, what am I still doing here? Whats the point? Faith and humility or selfishness and stupidity. Jesus Christ had faith. So, does Charles Manson. Jesus Christ was sentenced to death and crucified by age 33. Charles Manson is still alive at almost age 80. Although different in many respects, each of us can find a rally against us. Any one of us can find a hostile heart that wants nothing more than to beat us into submission. But most importantly, what we 3 have in common is that we choose to follow our hearts.

THAT... is what I am doing here. Following my heart.

Like a fish needs a bicycle

I sit along the tree line just beyond the beach that cuts between myself and the ocean. Like a barb-wired boarder. Jagged shards for sand that catch the sun so hot and sharp. However, I have easily taken to flight over this barrier, at my leisure, on occasion.

The water infront of me, sparkles like crystal. Shimmering true blue and sunshine yellow and evergreen. Mesmerizing schools of fish and rainbow-brilliant sea-life swarm and team. Beautiful as they maybe, they are  equally carnivorous alive as they are also, poisonous when eaten.

The forest behind me is thick with lurking behavior. Musky survival hangs in the air like a hand full of wet paint. Humid and dark. Creatures digging and snorting under bushes. Eyes prying down from the treetops.

These creatures and I have become tolerant towards each other's presence, now. However, I have not hunted another only becuz these creatures are poisonous (like the fish) when eaten. Trust me, if those yummy lil things were not poisonous, I would be feasting nightly. I know they would love to devour me, too. But....

These creatures cannot fly. I can. Quite well, now too. Strong and quick. This is the only reason they have stopped their attempts for my capture. They simply hold too much pride within them to attempt and fail, yet again or one last time. It is not becuz their mouths have stopped salivating when my scent catches their breeze.

All of the things I feared when I first set foot onto this land, no longer hold any threat over me. As well, all of the things on this land that feared me, no longer question my place here. A line has been drawn and mutually accepted. They do their things and I do mine. Each a balance for the other as I sit along the tree line just beyond the beach that cuts between myself and the ocean.