This will be the year when everything becomes clear.

This will be the year when everything becomes clear. Where have I heard that before? This will be the year when accelerated changes take place, when work transitions into a passion, a calling, a vocation. Where have I heard that before?

This will be the year that I finally wake up and become a real man, not a half-awake boyish, shadow man grasping at straws and shadows of other men’s dreams. I’ve heard this one, too.

I am not thinking about who I am, but who I will be for you when you finally come to read me. I will be no different than the other men and women pressed between the pages of books and left behind in lost and forgotten photographs. I will not be me, but I might be more than me, or perhaps less, if I am not careful.

For anyone who has lived on thie earth with some degree of privilege and luck, or the promise of such, there lies the perfect, warm and wet spring day that arrives with a friend who will touch and you and never let go.

For everyone else, there is the hope of a heaven that is kinder than the men who rule this planet.

I can’t help but imagine a fortuitous spring that never came for me. I was one who held the promise of the spring in his hands, but never quite grasped it. My fortune, it was clear, lay in my autumn and winter, though I never really knew myself to be an autumn child.

The familiar tropes were destroyed by the monster who ate itself. The will to be a child with an epic story faded as the story was retold many times over. Soon, it was clear that the land was not as fertile as we once thought it could be.

The grandchildren lived off of the royalties of their grandparents’ novelties. The novelties of the day were nothing more than recycled visions of the same eroding future. It was encumbent upon us to do something rather than think something, write something, playact something.

But, we playacted anyway. It was the easier choice, and the materials from our grandparents’ closet were soft enough to seduce us into a warm embrace that might have worked if we’d just kept our heads buried a little longer until the bomb came and went.

After the bomb, nothing was soft. Everything was harsh and sharp.

…with new insights into how the energies flow.

There are energies that flow through you, energies you block from flowing into you, ones you block from flowing out of you, and ones you create out of thought patterns that have spun out of control. All of these energies are flowing in you and about you, and it’s up to you to decide how you want them to flow through your core.

The worst thing you can do is create more negative energies for the Universe. Even if you keep them trapped inside you for years, they will come out one day when you are placed into a new environment in which you can’t control them.

There are other, less-obvious ways in which you can mismanage the energies that flow through you: trying to own or control energies that aren’t yours to own or control, trying to force an energy wave of gladness to override one of sadness (imagine a surfer trying to push back a large, rolling wave because it wasn’t the one he wanted).

What about trapping feelings of grief or love? What about blocking the flow of empathy or love when it’s coming from others? What if the Universe is really communicating through these energies, and your fear of being able to handle them is what’s keeping you from succeeding at communicating with others?

It is the the energies, my friend, that matter. Forget about body language or verbal cues. These are things that come as an output of a true source that lies somewhere else.