The question I first think of on this day, to the effect of balance, is to wonder how much I can say before I worry others. How much can I tell before you think I’ve gone insane. What will it take for you to realize that I really did eat the red pill?

But more so, how much can I say before you don’t believe me? Though that probably is at a very low level. I believe that even if I showed the evidence of my interactions, then you would not believe because the proof is only from my perspective and from which I have conducted and reviewed. You cannot see what I see in the moment and cannot verify the magical moments. You need your own. 

The problem lies in that you aren’t looking for the magic around you or that you haven’t yet been invited into the circus tent where it all takes place. “For the Best!”, I am certain that you think, because the nut house is fairly lonely and no one will come visit you. Though I’m undecided if I’ve gone nuts, I really don’t think I have. 

Yet so many new ideas make sense finally, but only after a few distinct clues have arranged themselves into answers for the riddles of my life. Explaining the course of my life as preparation for the now and future to come. Within the explanation, there are certain scenarios that must be looked at from exact perspective to see the reasoning but without the action, would have never found the answer that lies in front. 

The balance of this story in flux determines not what is done, but only to what is professed to be seen. As in when my camera stopped working in Colorado, so I stopped taking pictures for fear of missing moments around me and for holding my own images to myself. I reason to the idea that no one looks at pictures enough to justify the hundreds taken of each moment when you could just soak it all up in the moment and take whatever you manage for the memory bank. Sanctify the moment and allow the pieces that would fade to naturally fade into the past, holding what you can for now and future, allowing memory to grow to myth and then to Legend — even if the legend is a lie. 

That is what occurs anyhow when the photo is not readily accessible. The one photo of ten thousand to not be found and that was the real proof, but instead nine thousand nine hundred and ninety nine photos clearly show the probability of the past and so we create a story to infer the moment of our lacking. Yet the moment, gone, is no longer true – or is the proof of the possibility enough to prove the moment in question actually happened or in case that likely is best, did it actually happen this way?

The detail could be anything from a color to a name. We cannot capture each detail of our futures’ query. Is my fading memory not enough to speak of my love of the past without seeing proof? That it all was perfectly as remembered or better that the essense is remembered because I was there and present in the moment — without a lense in front of my eye like a robotic version of a voyeur, so I could watch my present in the future. I would rather be here now and save my future for the present because that is exactly where it will be enjoyed by me. 

In the present. 

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12.20.17 Wednesday, 9:34am