Prospecting

Anticipation is greedily

eating at my guts.

I’m excited at some

prospects and terrified

of their possibilities.

On one hand, I can get

what I want; on the other hand,

I have to deal with the hands

of others getting what they

want.

The limbo of being perpetually

in between giving and taking,

of offering and receiving,

of selfishness and generosity,

spinning into a mishmash of

some equivalent nonsense.

It is all in an effort to obtain

balance. Balance teetering on

the edge of a cliff, while hoisting

an elephant on your shoulders,

and having to pee without a

restroom in sight.

It is unclear why we have

to heft this elephant onto our

shoulders, but it seems like the

thing to do to achieve fulfillment

and fulfill the wants of those others

that need to be fulfilled.

Blathering nonsense, wrapped in

profundity, carved into the landscape,

through which we must trek, burdened

like wagon oxen or pack mules, in the

hopes of reward.

My stomach, grumbling like a gold

prospector hoping to hit the mother

lode and then not share it with anyone

or ever reveal its secreted location.

But maybe leave a map, X marking the spot.

Anticipation; will it

live up to expectation,

are expectations unrealistic,

is hoping for the best, planning

for the worst a fair strategy?

We seek surety in an unsure

world, a balance between

what will be, what can be, and

what we can control, adjusted by

variables of all sorts.

It is the stuff of life I suppose,

neither at the helm absently

steering or rigidly focused on

the path ahead.

My guts, eaten by anxious possibilities.