Keeping score while wandering alone in the Mundo

Nope.

Not worth it.

The chase becomes the race becomes the race and finally the chase.

The tiny little salt shakers of life filled with the golden crystals of life. Of sale, exchange and trade. What ends up happening is the

Hook.

One way or another it makes its way into our front doors.In the corners of the minds. And. Hearts of a few.

Legally.

Illegally.

Sneakily.

In small amounts.

In larger amounts.

Among trains, planes and automobiles.

In four squared packages wrapped neatly in brown paper bagged wrapping paper-like the anticipation of the former brown-bagged lunch. Sometimes with a tidy label of addressed intent.

To the consumer.

Then again.

Sometimes, not.

Attention desperately becomes focused on getting the darn thing open, opened. Need the fix. Need it now. The tightly taped box laughs back at you as if to say “ha, ha, ha”: You are no match for me. Or the smaller little Reynolds’s wrap packets wrestle with the fine motor skills of the most nimble.

Trying to test their patience. In the moment.

Insidious. The way it rules the lives of many.

You think, “My whole life will change if I just get this open, consume its contents and big change will happen.” My world. Will become so much better. I will be handsome and rich and all the good things in life will fall at my feet.

How did this come to be. Was no body looking—Nobody listening. When the little buggers were walking across unchartered waters, boundaried lands of another?

Proposition? The 47th one made this kind thing easier. To flow. Out into the mundo. With recovery and treatment lost in the hustle and bustle of the dollar and sense of the majority. Charges of carrying the little white good stuff, were misdemeaned.

The leverage was lost.

And so were many, many lives.

In one way out the other.

One way or another.

By the chase.

By the race.

Ultimately,

The hook.

The delay.

The lie.

Causes the delay.

Ultimately.

Then more,

Hook.

Delay.

Lies.

Causing the delay.

Of the game.

Of the race.

Of the chase.

In some cases.

Death by 1000 cuts. Thousands die at the hands of their own hands.

Of wrath’s of this and that. Unable to admit guilt take accountability for the wrath they imposed. And left in the wake of another. To “handle”, “take care of,” “deal with.”

The good news: Life honestly becomes a lesson in honesty.

The bad news: When it doesn’t, life becomes very, very messy, messed up.

Left to the un charged devices and vices of the less than or weaker than or the less nimble. To carry the torch? Scary stuff. Equally so. The persons pushing the scary stuff. The beautiful little tiny crystals that can kill in an instant if not take correctly.

Will not kill at all, if not taken at all.

Ahh. if life were so simple out here in the mundo.

The temptation, the having it all is so great for some— just too darn enticing to have the personhood, the life and livelihood of another. At all and every cost.

Any which way and loose.

The good news: God gives us as much as we can handle.

The bad news: Humans give as much as they want another to handle.

A lesson is humanhood: To make another feel is not up to us. To feel good. To feel bad. To feel better. To feel worse.

That may be why the rush is such a remedy for some. To yell at another takes the onus off of the self and places the blame on another. The power shift of all power shifts. The manipulation of blame is most insidious because the cut is felt to the bone.

To the empty bone.

The yeller? The screamer. Feels fine? Probably because deep down they have had their fill of you, of others, of anything they have ever wanted, or thought they wanted.

Until one day, all the hours, the minutes spent laughing at another, sitting at the tables of another becomes all so.

Cheap.

Empty.

Void.

We all violate what we know is right or best. We all may have issues of resistance. To being told what to do.

We need training.

The old nature, things may have stayed the same.

New creatures create a chance for survival of the fittest. Some folks instincts are stronger than others. Some rely on the logical of their paths. Sometimes we choose well; sometimes we don’t. (hnw)

Which brings us back to having it all.

Attend to the unnoticed stuff (sq)

The unspoken stuff.

We are all basically the same out of the gate, at birth.

What we have and what we do with it is the path chosen and the way we live our life and lives of those around us. The burdens carried by one are not necessarily the burdens carried by another. To force ours upon another is not in God’s plan.

Not an option.

There have been hundreds of years of attempts, but in the end they all fall short of the most important thing.

An honest and loyal life.

The search for one magic pill for all human pain. (sq) The exact definition of an open wound allowing more open wounds with magic dust to bleed away the problems of society.

All its ills, too.

Doesn’t work well for the long term. The rush, the buzz, the yell, the shout, may have been an in-the-moment fix.

Long term.

Nope.

Blink once and the realization that things could have been done better is the tonic we needed all along. Not the big house, fancy car, mileage plus proof plans. The snap of the picture and image came along for the ride. The snap of the tiny crystals too enticing to stop along the way.

Money is the root of all evil.

We have been here and there. You won’t go here and there—as long as so and so is in charge. With stolen and with pursed lips taken, we all have taken jabs and jibes at one another. Point, aim and shoot proof we were there and you were not. Trust dissolved along with the crystals of hope for a better life.

Money in the pocket can burn a hole through it very quickly when weakness is the name of the game. Projected or bone deep. In the end it makes very little difference how we “got here”.

The repairman is knocking bloody-nuckled at the door for someone to hear his cries for help.