Soothsayers of old sing of these things, poets and muses and stories speak of things “as far as the eye can reach.” When will “it” ever be enough?

 

There is an air that dogs your steps, my steps, and gibbers at us in darkness. One glance of an eye to see the end of your life days might draw you back…or might send you tumbling into oblivion.

 

We cast sidelong glances at others, drunk with envy and loathing, which only sends us scattering and groping in the dark.

 

It is a slight of hand, a trickery, meant to make our hearts quail. It is a necromancy that draws us to quarrel and to destruction.

 

What if we all tended our own lot? But even more, what if we produced a harvest for others?

 

Like fire to dead leaves so is the death of comparison…of, if only’s.

 

I am reminded of the green light in The Great Gatsby, of the hour of his discontent that stretched over a lifetime, of the emptiness and hollowness of a pretense created to be someone he was not until he was nothing more than a caricature of himself.

 

Surrounded by luxury and wealth and the guise of friendship, his parties echoed the great void that lived in his heart, and he looking out over the bay to the life he craved, to the dream of Daisy and a love that could never be.

 

His dream of the life killed any chance he might have had, for the dream of Daisy could never live up to the reality of her.

 

The green light could easily be the green grass…a constant gazing to something just beyond your reach that might never be.

 

There is nothing wrong with dreaming, with hoping for a better place than where we might be. But do not be fooled by the bright lights and parties and strong wine into thinking that the grass is greener on the other side.

 

Maybe, just maybe, the grass is greener where you are and you are being saved from ruin.

 

 You just don’t know it.