MayMetMo 2020 #30: Beggars for Comfort

They can’t be choosers, and what comfort in having no choices to make.  Said with such earnest honesty that you almost believe it to be that case.  But sight unseen, I remain to this day comforted by the sight of an old man and his dog begging for scraps on my way up to the office at the end of my walk.  Wondering why they choose to remain in the same place, I scoff, he could go anywhere he wants.  the irony is lost on the boy in the man suit,  as he makes his 9,000th cup of coffee at the same time and place every day.  there is comfort in the familiar, and we are, all of us, trapped by the routine of that comfort until the rut in the road becomes insurmountable as mountains on either side of the valley we call home.  traversable only by going around and never through.  So entrenched in belief, and malady that to adjust even a small thing is an affront to that same faith.  the mountains rise up until the sun is blocked except for in the height of the day, and we grow so adaptive to the darkness we believe the day has grown shorter and left us entirely.  No greater comfort than, the hands of truth to blind us from our lies.  Seek out that which is uncomfortable, beg for it as if alone had the power to change the world.  For it is all that does.  We are the beggars for comfort, seeking solace in routine and the ease of life not lived, but merely existed in.  Soon to be plucked from our cosmic abyss and thrust into the daylight just on the other side of the road, where we will be passed by those in fancy suits on their journey to continue their own comfortable existences, which they too are trapped in.