parrallelism

Days are succinct, flowing quickly from one to the next. What strikes is the momentum of a thought: this is time, passing. Then it's gone. Dreams linger into the morning, colorful nodes of my pure logic. Life is fair, just, sacred. Life hasn't got a remedy, save to live and more if possible. I suppose it is the fear of crossing the shadow to happiness that keeps us from it. The unknown's shadow, too, is lurking a day beyond tomorrow. This moment should be different or, I more in control. Is life ever completely in or out of control? no, it just sort-of-is. I think that is the most difficult fig to savor. I can accept that life is in or out of my hands; to accept the polarity of assertiveness and flexibility is formidable.
If I could linger a moment longer in my tensions I would crack. These tensions, they have a purpose. To remind me I am alive. I know I am alive, because I feel the tightening screw in my chest cavity. A better way to feel is to be active. If I chose to be active, then my life is full and my chest is loose. I breathe deeply and feel even the tops of my lungs expand. I experiment and bring in as much air as possible, then pause, and take in more small sips until no more air fits. I move the air around my lungs; lungs are not balloons, that is a misnomer. Lungs are spongy. The air filters into my blood and my organs work. I breathe deeply and force my lungs to aerate: this breath is life.