Word Count: 260
The ten commandments shouldn’t kick in until one has reached the age of maturity and things come more naturally. I don’t covet my neighbor’s house; who’d want to clean nine rooms and three bathrooms? I no longer covet my neighbor’s husband. He’s been dead now for three years.
If you believe in a God and some sort of hereafter, then the best bet would be to die as an infant. Sad, yes, in earthly terms, but a shoo-in for happily ever after if one has had no temptation, could not even speak words much less twist them into a sin.
And youth, it is all about learning. How can one know what is right until one sees what is wrong? For every good there is an evil. Youth is the time to find the fine line between the two.
But age, ah, age; age grants the allowance to temper the knowledge, to know that it is all up to intention, perception, and using space as if it were precious. To know without black lines of borders where the space of someone else intercepts. Like the overlapping of the circles. That space where the love is stored.
This is where we falter. Where we, knowing better, should not take the low path when the high road is there. Tougher to climb, with limbs stiffening, lungs gasping, eyes no longer clear. Yet clearer because of experience. Here is the time of responsibility in choices. Here is the time for the reaping.
I wish I had known all this way back then.
