Fulcrum, Scroll Down and Chinese
As I sit, listening to Don’t Fear the Reaper and type, it is 10 degrees outside at 7:30a. There was a 13% chance of having a white Christmas yesterday and it happened: Fresh snow all along the foothills, plains and Rocky Mountains.
The day was perfect, with food, glued to TV’s and children singing.
But today seems again to be the beginning of purse snatchers, languid mirages hammering out a direction, and a passion for skiing in Breckenridge, where the disconnected dots on the landscape of time merge toward a new ideal, constellations popping out of a twilight.
The new year is such a delectable time, where you get to refocus, use as much hocus pocus as you can muster and dedicate yourself to a dream sewn between sugar plums dancing in your head, Santa Claus back at the North Pole and a full moon rising over a cloudy late December.
Shoot for that moon. Crank start a moment turned into turbine momentum, where fortunes are still being made despite the fiscal cliff.
Be of good cheer, for all that is and can be, all that will be and shall be…is in your head, caught between a small decision to think big, to dig in, to swim downstream, to climb uphill, to walk the edge of the mountaintops, while, all the while, getting a running start, living a lark, and having that internal spark to make it so….
Slip into something a little more comfortable like a planet 12 light years away, newly discovered, much like earth, and all you can do is whisper, “Who is out there?”
Live with the zest and zeal and squeal of wheels speeding toward a new day, a new year, an inclination, a dedication to superb play, to a another chance for a new deal.
Today, before the sun is completely up, before the snow begins to melt and they force you to eat spelt, smile all the while…for it is your day, your winter, your sunrise, your inevitable prize to grow toward the sun, to own the mountaintops and the gobs of slush funds and warm winds at your back.
Be the poet, the cool dude in a long black coat eating your way through little Italy, with a hankering for a tadpole idea that can grow from coast-to-coast, made in China—but leave the profits in a bank in Seattle.
Today, winter is here, but Florida is there, and California is wringing dry the New Year with mudslides and supercollider’s of yesteryear dreams where Jerry Brown is living under cover again.
Today is the remark of a lifetime, a quote to live by, a giant Montana blue sky, and you and yours are recycling all the boxes that came to your doorstep with free shipping, where the new item of the year was a handheld ice scraper attached to a warm glove.
But what does this have to do with your dreams, the next super bowl and a trip down memory lane?
Live on purpose. Live with dreams full-bore. Take this new coming year, this new coming day, this first trial run and give it all that you have.
For you are entitled to greatness, to leaving footprints in the sand of time, in a howl, a perfect time to do, make and have your perfect wishes come true.
There is not much else to do…so dream big again. Live with light. Feel cosmic energies fueling your intensions…for it is and always has been a wonderful life.