A Juxtaposition Cocktail with Bitters

I've slowly come to the realization that my life is one of extreme juxtaposition.

I have long known that I am a person of great contradiction, though it has taken some time to become accepting of this fate. Now though, I am presented with the reality of a real-world existence that will mirror the one I lead internally.

I've said time and again that I am aware of the delicate dance life's mysteries participate in, though I've never quite recognized a pattern with which they couple themselves. It's just kind of hit me...this thing.

I must live through something beautiful and fulfilling while in another arena of my life encounter some of the ugly vicissitudes of human existence. And they are always at such extremes: not just MILDY beautiful or MILDLY ugly, but preceded by an adjective suggesting notability. Yet, there is an even distribution, not only in the contexts of the experiences, but the magnitude with which they affect me is somehow balanced.

Granted, there are long stretches of time when the color of my world's sky seems all but gray, but I can generally will-out a bit of sunlight. The converse is true in times of extended summers. And so it is when I speak of these bizarre juxtapositions, I am referring to life's "big" things.

Now is a time when all I really want to see is an expansive desert sky, like those I so fondly recollect from my youth: The wonderous way in which, at dusk, the jagged, blackened profile of the mountains become blanketed with brilliant hues of magenta and orange. I long to close my eyes and bask in the warmth of the setting sun's rays, smelling of that sweet floral musk that I've never quite been able place. It is a thing of rare beauty, and my mind keeps creeping toward that vision...

The reality, however, is that my Arizona sky is an oasis. (Though it exists somewhere, this place I'm in now is just not magnificent desert-ready.) Because, just as quickly as I begin to explore its nuances, the illusion fades, forcing me to recede into the clutches of a far less spectacular materiality.

It's funny...I have this tendency to seek out the wizard behind the curtains, but as of late I've been trying to master the art of repression. I've been striving for unabashed idealism, just to see what it's like to go about life with such an outlook. Ironically - and of its own accord - the truth has found its way back to me. The realist has resurfaced.

What I surmise from all of these elements: I can't resist the natural flow, the energy that is inherent in my existence. So, I will not feign naïveté any longer...it just ain't my style.