A battle of wills made by difficult by the witless on both sides. Discussions derailed by wild-eye gadflies on fire.
Goalposts travel here and there and then disappear. The crux is lost in the shuffle, replaced by ad hominems galore.

The gavel is coated with sound protection. The recordings are distortions  interspersed with specious conspiracies.
Look around and see the painfully contorted faces on the mouth breathers wrapped up like intricate pretzels.

No good fight in sight. Just power grabs and jostling for attention and 180 degree turns for the almighty dollar.
Where are the heroes, the selfless willing to break the chain of mendacity and vileness even knowing it will boomerang?

Walking on air with that buzzing feeling all around you. Looking at people but not really seeing them.
Someone is talking. I can hear them. I realize it is me. Some odd kind of fevered chatter without approval.
My skin belongs to a stranger. It’s not mine to my touch. I’m turned inside out with no barrier of protection.
I’m a recognized bystander watching me through a kaleidoscope.  I witnessed my falls that came out of nowhere.
A slow good-by and now walking a straight line. But I have fond memories of my phase of delirium. It set me loose.

Wonder a world without time. A pleasure to skate through at your own speed, beholden to no ticking.
No midnight, no daytime, just a current passing through and picking us up on the way to no ticking.
No straight line, rather a sensuous curvilinear ride free of anxiety and stress, on the way to no ticking.
No time to worry about death. No time to degrade our spirit. Just here and not here, no ticking time.

The connections weaving in and out recall a past when it was a marvel to be attached.
The pre-birth bliss before the fall, no worries, a perfect swim, a blank slate to be filled.

The chains that held people together tethered to the MAN recall a past and present full of tears.
Enslavement of body, heart, and soul destroys the body, heart, and soul of generations. Our legacy.

The bond between two people, fragile and ephemeral, is electrically charged until the storm comes.
Brothers, lovers, soulmate friends – one key word, one misstep, a torrent of mixed messages.

But the most intimate tie? Our inescapable mortality. We are locked together on that final path.
Oh, that we could circle back to the embrace of our beginnings – no worries, a perfect swim, forever.

The amazing maze constructed out of old ideas and rotty themes has its grip on me.
My feet in still wet cement have to get some direction from the top, the Man in charge.
I’m going to cut in line to tell him that this is a metaphorical matter of life or death.
I hope and pray that he will anoint me with his special touch and show me a new way.

Fortuitously my appeal would be heard. Some winged figures issued me into his chamber.
But all I could hear was a growly old man behind a green curtain that was suddenly invisible.
And the wiggly “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.” Man or god, I now have
The courage, the brain, and the heart to find my own way. It’s an old path, to my home.

The stretch as she wakes up, her nose already smelling her dehydrated breakfast and first laps of water.
Her manic, jubilant rampage around the house before she drops down and naps with one paw on me.
Her luxurious fur glistening in the ray of sunshine like a silver veneer, soft to the touch as pure down.

I often wonder what she sees when she looks at me. Am I just the one that keeps her alive and kicking?
I’d like to think that she has unselfish love for me, that she would save me from some earthly disaster.
What is behind those big, soulful eyes that follow me everywhere? The tail that has its own language?

Does she know love? Memory? Sadness and grief? Can she feel joy and wonder at being alive?
I’ve asked her these questions, and after much consideration, she expressed her feelings about a dog’s life.

                     I’ve translated her barking response --
            
               IT SURE AS HELL BEATS BEING A HUMAN

Wrong. Only death is immutable.The status quo today is yesterday’s news tomorrow.
Love is in the air this morning, gone by dusk. Your life’s plan rarely pans out.

Shape-forming, turbulence, flashes of lightning, skin grafts everywhere, children growing into tyrants.
The foundation crumbles, the trees felled, the virus mutates, the beliefs dissipate, corners clipped.

Rest assured that constancy exists only on paper, the future is untold, your prospects unknown.
Cross off everything on your list. Throw the list away. Float on air to your next destination.