MY PRESCRIPTION
… sing your song, see what is inside
Saturday Mar. 1, 2014
I see china I’m afraid will break – be careful.
Is this some remedy for me?
This is not, not for me – but for you.
Transformative comes – understanding each other better, through looking glasses, peering, seeing – as they really are – analysis, interpretation, to understand no matter how we stare at plain things, they remain elusive.
That is why?
It ain’t about you sweetheart – my working title for best-o-musings book, came from après-dinner-party conversation (DA & SA’s 11 years ago). DA inquired if I got reactions from people when columns were obviously about them.
Who?
Indeed.
I joked – some were from people I wasn’t writing about, who thought that I was.
I said, “I tell them it ain’t about you sweetheart”.
Après dinner conversation last night, fermenting delicious pizza (thanks CIBO) , clarifies my view. This IS about you sweetheart”.
I see you (meaning person I am writing about) as so much yet-untapped potential.
You see purposelessness, failings, inadequacies – in need of numbing.
I see joy, skill, talent and intelligence.
You question reasons for living.
I question different things: why not spread that joy, use that talent and show off that intelligence?
We appear to be seeing different facets of a diamond as if you were opposite sides of a coin when there is no coin involved.
You are no coin.
You aren’t two-sided or two-faced – but multiple-personalities without the disorder.
You are flesh and flourish.
You are not your demons.
Those crutches.
Canes.
You don’t need them.
Run.
Soar.
I see that.
Clearly.
Clearer, my view of you . . .
I write only words.
You – must sing your song.
Then you’ll see.
Mark Kolke
198,712
column written/ published from Calgary
morning walk: -30C (wind chill -44) / -22F, deepfreeze till Monday is forecast, sunny is nice but horribly difficult to stay out long. Gusta didn’t want to run. My car was reluctant to start (yes, it was plugged in all night), yet we saw a well-layered runner in designer sunglasses cruising by as if the weather and sketchy footing didn’t exist . . .
