The Rumbling Presence Underneath

It's always there. And it would speak with eloquence if I would simply stand aside-- out of the way of anything besides my clamorous self... that much beloved (and hated) fellow who cannot seem to recognize priorities. It seems to have some consciousness, and works its way into my dreams sometimes, when I am indolent. And then it briefly has a voice, stimulates my curiosity, and may inspire a poem or a thought to nag at me, particularly when another soul is at my side to listen. Ah, but then it tends to dwindle, fade and disappear. No, the buck stops here and it is mine alone. Mine to give the care it needs, and mine to carry into war, and peace, and consequence. Mine to rumble with, and mine even to celebrate-- then, and now, and to my own demise-- perhaps beyond for all I know. I hear it, feel it, love it helplessly. Now pardon me, for I must spend a little time to know it better still. ~