standing at the crossroads: carry on tuesday continues as the narrative of my life

Image by StarrGazr via Flickr

standing at the cross roads: prompt for for Sunday, October 18.

carry on tuesday Keith

lives inside my head

for when he picks for us to “carry on”

a partial phrase to use in prose or fiction

it so often reflects my mood

my circumstances

my (un)realities

that I feel like there is a doorway/a portal

between his thought patterns and my life

like the doorway on the shorten ceilings of floor 13 in Being John Malkovich

although I don’t end up inside someone else’s mind/body

the phrase from October 18 – from one of my favo(u)rite performers – Eric Clapton

“standing at the cross roads”

I could write prose (and I may still as I can envision the story)

continue this freefall, stream of (un)consciousness

or revert to one of my free verses (or even try an rhyme)

but, the phrase says it all; sums up my life so well

I’m a bit scared at how often carry on is my life

I am so much at the crossroads;

hoping for signposts, directional arrows, ads for life-changing/life-affirming ways to go

the tao of the crossroads; the first scary steps toward . . .

I am at that crossroad, and Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken” is echoing in my mind

(apologies to those who find my entries long and somewhat rambling – tis my style of late)

again a reflection of having somewhat of a new freedom

though worry, stress, meltdowns, darkness and regret still colo(u)r my world

and my choices

I leave the rest to Robert Frost – like carryon Tuesday, he has captured the essence of my existence in an elegance, style, skill, and wordsmithing I can but aspire to:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

 

 

* * * * *

Standing at the crossroads; which path to take?
The one less travelled will no doubt make all the difference
Now, which one is the one less travelled?

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