Future Me
![Image](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGKDUStaobtivegOBWj4Wqit_Z-W-nt6vgLmvTJqLEAU4LfehAdluZ-COBPghG3nNq-ZCcm4oQ29TR7We4oOcdiqJZoPJ_ZWrS-DDHpyj7FR9q7n5HHUhwqtOZnLHsPu4FeXROnN1CP8o/s320/IMG_20180126_111045.jpg)
Under the blurred waxing of a blood moon, we are frowning, getting pestered with details, nothing so vital, just needing attention, but there’s not enough sleep for this nonsense. Metaphorically one cannot step without finding a splinter in a sole, a bee in one’s hair, and the phone ringing and the hob on fire, and there’s no coffee. There will be peace and quiet though, under that mess. I will find it. Might need help. So I will meditate, I will take a guided meditation - I have a list and choose this one: Guidance From A Future Self. She will know about the mess and the peace. So I am walking barefoot without splinters or thistles in an imaginary, familiar place, smelling warm salt air, fresh cut grass, to a bench where Future Me sits. I can’t see her clearly, she’s hazy, I like her presence, it seems wise. How will I get to where you are? Is my question. I don’t exist, she says, I only exist depending on what you do. I can’t help, it’s on you. What?