Fog

Life is an interesting journey. So many things you see clearly, and so many things you can't see coming. It's a bit like driving in the fog. You have to trust your instincts without knowing if they are right. But if you know yourself then you trust your instincts. Of course there's always chance that you are making incorrect choices or saying the wrong words. Which is a scary notion. Yes you can resist the natural order of things to occur and wonder why the wrong things happen. Or you can trust yourself and let it happen. I don't interfere with what people want to pursue, I rely upon them to trust their instincts and choose wisely. I simply trust the universe to guide me without effort. 

Here's an older piece about the bones and driving in fog... I absolutely love driving in the fog. It always has fascinated me. The fog reminds me of the clouds. Sometimes as it rolls in I like to imagine I live in the clouds. How about you? Do you like the fog? Or say the wrong words sometimes? 

Enjoy!
Kisses, m. 

Scary

(december 2, 2010)

Scary. Is it?

The fog. Ah there’s nothing like it.

It’s only scary cause you cant’ see where we’re going. Not to worry there’s still a road out there. No there is. Trust me, I can see it. Can’t you, silly? Really? Look. There’s the line. Keep looking. Straight ahead. Feeling a little better about that?

Do I mind? Not at all. I never mind driving in the elements. The fog happens to be my favorite. Reminds me of what life might be like living in the clouds. The mist crawls down the mountains, across the land until it creeps into your bones. And if it ain’t creeping into your bones then it’s creeping into the dead man’s bones.

Ever hear that one? About the dead man and the coldness in his bones.  Well, let me tell you then…

The dead don’t much like the fog. In fact, they’ll sooner turn over in their graves than welcome that cold air into their bones. You have to understand that a dead man will protect his bones like you won’t believe. He’d chase down a man to the depths of sea to get his bones back. Nothing can stop him. Something about the cool mist separates a dead man from his bones. Can’t see ‘em or feel ‘em. Mistakes them for gone. Sends him out howling across the land looking for something that ain’t much further than his arm or leg, but he can’t see that. Oh, but he’ll search. Damn near, walking across every inch of that rolling cloud looking. And if you come across him, this dead man with an obsession, count yourself warned. Cause even though he might have his arm or leg, that won’t stop him from taking yours. Just like that one right there!

Scary, is it?