Planetary Platitudes made new again.

My brain is a universe made of many worlds:

There's the (literally) self-centered world where the actor is the product, and we sell ourselves all day.
The needing to save the world world. That one is an end from the means of... money, power, fame.
The world where all I do is follow love, and I'm so, so happy.
There's the world where I take care of my family (present and future), and I feel good.
And there's one that burns with the passion to make music and make sure it swirls around the world.

I love them all. I do. I mean, I put them there. But...

I'm stargazing, with my feet planted on... something.
I think, "If I'm the universe, they all exist within me. But one will be my home." And for the first time in my entire life, my feet leave the ground, and I'm orbiting. Window shopping.
Working so hard to live in the present moment but too aware of the future to care.
I look up. Down. Within.
So many things are a means to an end... Except love. And except music.

For 29 years, I placed on an alter an image of me, holding the scales in an almost perfect balance--a planetary platitude reading: I will have it all.
And I will. One day I will.
But in ancient times, alters were for sacrifice... and it didn't dawn on me until this week that happiness might come from simply lowering my arms. Or letting go of one for another. Or juggling with a partner--hey that sounds fun.

I had a dream I sold everything and bought a jet pack. I flew to the middle of nowhere. When I got there, I stopped in a seemingly endless field (they have those in space). It was pretty, but I couldn't tell if I'd flown TO it or just away from where I was.

With great talent comes great responsibility. Just like a superhero.
With great humanity comes the power to choose. (And a heart so big the beating is like white noise underscoring every step.) Choice--I think I feel that word welling up within my chest. I may have been neglecting it.

The sun sets, and I'm in deep space darkness, sense deprivation silence. I'm finally in the moment. I can feel the force of the atmosphere against my skin, and I remember that I'm only my own pilot--I can't control the rest.

I close my eyes and let my imaginary self lower my exhausted arms. The scales spring up, free from all the weight. Imaginary me lies on the ground, eyes closed. Huh. It's not so hard... to put everything down. Put one down. Pick one up. Cradle them all and just breath. I've been stubborn. Sometimes in a gloriously determined and optimistic way. But with my eyes closed and my heart beating, I surrender.

I envision a planet with rings of love and philanthropic moons and successful skies... and I laugh at myself for being so dreamy. And I love myself for believing that dreams can become a reality.

So.

Some day soon, I'll tell him my story.
I'll set the dowel rods and toothpicks and styrofoam balls on the table. And hopefully, we can work on building the model for a new solar system. With plenty of room for stars. And dreams. And realities. And space (and space). And time for holding someone's hand, appreciating what we built, and always appreciating the moment.

Good night, space monkeys. : )