This is Not About My Real Life

This is not about my real life, the one I live on ordinary days. This is about that one, the one just around the corner. The corner I am continually peeking around. I am getting better at sneaking up on it. It is there after all. It’s more than real it is alive. The reason I say it is not about my real life is because I have gone so long limping on the definition. I have confused real for larger. My larger life makes peanuts of the real. My larger life is what I am pressed to pursue but it has
already caught me. I am learning to breathe in its grasp. I am more grateful than I was last week. Last week th real was choking out the larger. The real is a stop sign but the larger is a trampoline. I can bounce into it and out of it and not bother with the wind of the real. My larger life is one I am growing into now that I am less afraid of being big. I say Less but I don’t say Not. I have had to do a lot of talking to myself. I have had to admit questions about the things I used to pretend to know. Pretending is real. Questions are large. One question leads to another and they have friends and constituents. Questions have springs and special devices for slinging me into large territories beyond what I supposed to be real. Real should not be trusted when it slams the door on large. And it will you know. Bam. Sometimes the echo lingers. Questions are the handle. I keep yanking.