On a clear day

The day begins as others do, the dawn interrupts sleep. I often wonder especially when we have days that are cloudy why I can not just sleep in. Then the thought comes that I have a gift which must be used and made the best of. These are the days that are cloudy for me. I feel robbed at times. the overwhelming issues that are in my life, the great expectations, the cajoling, the oft times rudeness and rejection all affect the clearness of the time that I have been given. It is like this commercial where a child is offered a bike as long as they ride it in the square. The bike is cool but there is no real fun as the square is a prohibitive factor in the ultimate enjoyment. When the day is not clear for me it reminds me of subtle limitations and a need to refute or fight them. Then in times of despair the grind is so debilitating that the weight of institutional foolishness defeats the clarity needed to make decisions relegating me to an existence that makes me want to holler. And I can not throw up both my hands, even if I wanted to, needed to, should do, the reality is I can not do. It is the most miserable experience one can have to not quit because you can not. For quitting is the tonic of despair and once imbibed the taste never leaves. There will always be the bitter root of if I held out a week, day hour, or minute what would the end be. No it is in the cloudy day that clarity comes. Not because of any ante dote, clever saying, musing or encouragement. In this time of seeing beyond self we enter into the place of darkness, the final testing ground, where the result is pass fail. The only answer you have is stand or fall. The only relief is to make it through or succumb. To avail yourself of what you know to be true or to surrender to the mob, the conformity of others at the expense of who you are.
That is why when there are clear days I take in the moment. When the issues are so easy that solving them is stressless. That everyone agrees is a rare happening. I hang on to those moments for dear life, because at the next breath the winds change as they do, leaving you in the wake of excretions so deep and foul that it is only the sweet memory of bygone bliss that ensures there will be rescue.