I used to write fables. Not the Aesop kind, not at all. He has probably turned a few thousand times in his grave every time Ive referred to one of my flights of fancies in the creative, and occasionally dark moods that brought forth some intense feelings to this blog.
They were funny, sad, reminiscing, pensive, daring and full of chutzpah. I even had a separate space called Cesmots.com – meaning: These words. It was a beautiful home, full of pride and class. I took so much pride in it and the few readers who flocked, they did with loyalty. Each resonated with a different bunch, and it was a joy to see the connection.
Then life happened, and I had to shut it down, coz I wasn’t writing much and the site cost money.
I have most saved I think. One day they will find their way out and outside of this ether, and perhaps they will dance in black and white. Maybe they won’t. One can dream and work hard towards a goal, and all we can be sure is the sweat and the tears and the little victories, but the final goal is always intangible. Yes, of course there is faith, if not the way is painful and ridden with potholes. ..and despite the fact that most of us have varying degrees of masochism in us, most well meant paths are pleasant on hindsight.
Hindsight is 20/20 and every time we decide to quit or reach a dead end, all we have to do is look back and then on turning around, the way is cleared, just a bit more and so we skip on.
That said, despite being a busy day, I dug up the archives and remembered one particular one I had written way back in 2008.
Any old timers around, who recognize this one? Most who commented on that piece are still around, in their personal orbs :)
Life suddenly feels like a fable.
It feels like fables must come back. They were a crutch back then, and maybe now, they would prop me up. The familiarity of one’s words and the comfort they offer.
One of the hardest things in life is to let go of what we thought was real.
All things heart of course, but in the head and in tangibles too.
It feels like homecoming though. I was meant to write those again. I can already feel my fingers itch with excitement. Joy.