KODA

If I were to make a kit for the rest of my life
In a day
Something for every moment, through each breath
Something that would protect me from losing myself
To guide me through moments of fear, sadness, and ecstacy

I wonder what I would put inside this package
Simple things perhaps, which at moments I know I’ll need
Like bandaids, rubber bands, and papers and pencils
A note with some writing on it, saying “don’t take yourself too seriously”

Colors, emotions, and nuances might fade with time
So I will have to pack them up into words, drawings, and music
Music that reminds me what passion feels like

I wonder what my kit would look like
It could be a metal box with a lid
Or a piece of paper
A brown paper bag, or an investor’s suitcase
Something to hold all my wildest dreams, and most solemn plans
To take anywhere and everywhere

Or maybe
It would be a tiny seed
A great truth, a burning flame
That when planted will grow and expand and change shapes
As I do

It would grow limbs, branches and leaves-
Permutations and tiny variations of every path across time
And a trunk anchored into the deepest wholes and creations
And it would breathe the air just like I do
Whereas I exhale carbon dioxide, it would take it in
It’s height would make the sky seem taller

And that would be enough
For any moment
For any dream
I can open up my kit
And find what I need.

Once I had built my kit
My kit in a day
Then
I would throw it away
Because then I wouldn’t need it anymore.

I’ve had these things with me all along.