from an essay

2 Apr

A cemented and purposed purpose entails an immediate dismissal of negative ebbs.  All of them.  Rumor, the ‘whomever-say’, the anyone-say.  If there’s a nay, it need be severed.  And not with malice, it’s merely that one-dimensional and simple a transaction.  Now I’m home, with daughter upstairs asleep, and son with Mama, both out of town.  I collect for them, my purpose— the kids, family, watching son the other day practice and practice, be proactive with his basketball shots, saying “Look, Daddy… I’m getting better.” In that scene, set of breaths, he pronounced his purpose, his immediate thesis.  His own purpose-penner, the little bloke, with his every action and attempt, getting the ball into the basket.  Sitting on the floor of this first level of the Autumn Walk Studio, as I often do, I’m Seeing.  Me.  Getting older.  My kids, looking to me for purpose, for answers, for help with everything from bath time to shooting hoops, to building something Lego-related to making a meal.  Guess I’m the chef.  Build my experience through scene repeats, and the writer’s more dedicated to his education.

Only now, at this age, 30-fucking-9, almost, do I know my purpose.  Not sure if that’s late, or right on time, or I don’t know how it could be, but, early…. I’m here, seeing.  No negatives.  Only the ascension and those boasting their ribbons and medals, certificates on paper, so believing that constitutes and forwards purpose, well, maybe it does.  But, all I search for is whatever’s already around me.  Purpose…  Purpose. It’s propelled by the immediate and musical, tangible, positive.  That yay-say I want to be known for, when I’m gone.

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