A little something about this thing called ambition

This entry will be just me typing non-stop, it will be un-organized and will probably make no sense at all; just my train of thought leaving a mark at a point in space and time to prove my existence. I know I haven't been keeping up with the blogging, however there are some things that I need to get off of my chest and my head before it bursts like a bulging white zit and slips away to the vast openness of my heart. It is around 4:45 in the morning, and this is probably the 100th time the song "For My Father" is repeating itself through the cheap computer speakers I own.


I wept.


It's just so beautiful; it is not the music that I am referring to, although the song itself is a great and captivating work of art.


Life is beautiful.


I believe that life isn't about any ambitious so called "plans" that we humans to the greatest of our infinite capability could conjure or invoke, but rather how we face it. Rocky Balboa said that "...nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain't about how hard ya hit. It's about how hard you can get it and keep moving forward. How much you can take and keep moving forward." and I believe this with every inch of my heart and every ounce of my soul. Life is about picking a destination, find your direction, and start walking. When or how you progress, what or who you include in the journey is important, but it isn't everything and still remains to be everything at the sametime; this is what makes life special. Each and everyday I gaze upon testimony after testimony without seeing, yet there it is regardless of my acknowledgement.


It is hard to believe that one can wake up each morning and be so calloused to the blessings each and every day, yet here I stand, stareing right into the so called "butt crack of life". Please do not confuse this crack with that of Angelina Jolie or whatever god/goddess you hold dearest to the bottom of your heart. Oh no, make no mistake, this is the definitive crack of that sweaty, hairy, fatman of fame. *For those of you've not seen, just imagine yourself watching the ugliest person you know from behind while they're trying to take care of your toilet issue with a plunger, and there's that Kodak moment with the crack.*

Despite the image, I can't help "but" to think "a-butt" all the good in life; just the thought of life itself is gripping leaving me gasping for air. *seriously, did the two cheeks come up? I "crack" myself up sometimes.*

It has dawned on me in the past few days that I've been obtuse to life for awhile now. Once I had a dream, or even further to say that I dared to dream that God could ever have a vision of what is to become of me on this earth. Somehow, somewhere in the midst of chaos that is this world, I lost my senses, my child like curiosity to the point where I almost stopped caring; I've decided that it is good enough to be mediocre, to be normal, to be average.


I am weeping profoundly.


For the lost and sacrifices that took place? or for the joys and hopes that came with what was found again?

I've been wondering if this apathetic outlook has more to do with being unambitious? or uninspired? or are they both just a poor excuse for being lazy and trying to be unoriginal? I don't think I'll never know. Is it truly that terrible to have no definitive out look in life? Are we not allowed by to float along like a leaf in the wind, go wherever the wind takes us? I can't believe that it comes down to this, to think of what took place this far, and what might have been further down that road, I guess I'll never find out. It's a pity, and a shame, but life makes it's choices just as we do, with haste, and it catches people off guard; it caught me off guard.


I feel angry.


I am anger at it's most vulnerable.


The anger ascends from decisions, or the lack of mine in call of progress. To be powerless, to surrender authority, to yield to the fact that I do not have complete control of my life and never will. How or when was it that I became blind? It could have been a train and I still wouldn't have noticed it. The sadness, joy, and anger comes from a place deep in my soul me that is and forced loose, the part of my life that will never be shared, ever again. How is it that people are able to live a facade, yet to still claim joy and gladness?


It's the morning; I am mourning that I mourned.


I suppose the pursuit of happiness in life is an ambition by itself; after all, I believe that people can go through their whole life without happiness. The declaration of what drives for hopes and dreams cannot be if one isn't full of joy with self, with life; if this were to hold true, then I can say that I am truely happy and that I am ready.



Bring it on.