Scribing 40 - In the end, we're all equal

From birth comes death
From life comes life
From death comes life
In death, we are all equal

The sun beats down on an unkempt garden
Beautiful in many ways but not in an organisational capacity
Which is funny enough
The organiser of such a garden is an organiser type

For some we only control completely what we can control completely
Then the slipping away of the rest of the world goes to its chaos
But the little pockets of order
Are driven by a need, an urge, to make things more and eternally perfect

The fruit sits in the bowl in front of me, in the middle of the table
Two apples
Two nectarines
Two bananas
Two avocados

The circular and oblong fruits are grouped in an arrangement of six
The bananas sit beside this grouping of six, in a splayed out but cozy fashion
Someone deliberately placed this fruit in this bowl
And a new order will emerge with the removal of one its members

The breeze comes through the house
The workmen making clanking noises in a construction site can be heard every now and then
The running of tap, the chopping of vegetables
The gurgling of an old fridge, kept past its time

The birds have their say
The crickets too
The colours in the spectrum are red, wood browns, beige and deep greens
In a painting of many people, smiling dosily as if they were all stoned

Everyone has a place
No one is left without
We all do what we do, feeling important because we are the group each one of us
And each small group within that is not joined with another is a potential whole of another group

Am I doing enough?
Am I helping enough?
Is things ok with me?
What does it matter?

The erratic thoughts that cloud the brain
Bringing me away from the moment
My company has a similar infatuation with the incessant wrapping at the window of the mind
So in a sense, the greatest test is before me
But also the greatest blessing

Time to practice my craft
Get my scales on
Move through the barrier of time and learn things for my body to repeat over and over again

Into the day and beyond

The races are on today
The men and women will shout and scream as horses run around a track
Many will drink and bet money
And this is the thing that we do

We drink and we bet money
Until we are dead

And then we do it all again.

What a life.