Such a marvelous moment happened today.
In the truest sense of what one could stop and marvel at, deeply searching through seconds to find the resounding why. In the face of overwhelming news and unexpected circumstances, how do you outset a new and cleanly-adapted life?
Through meticulous planning and watchful performance, the brunt of the work will be done. While important, and in fact completely crucial, to the process of overcoming, there is an underlying critical element outlining the entire recipe.
The true prescription, as it flows, shined on me today through the song of sun and sky. It spoke and revealed the preeminent ingredient–to have outstanding faith in my ability to overcome.
And why open the book at all, if faith didn’t exist? To trust in the method and execute the actions–only to finally understand some single part about what it means to believe in myself.
I woke up today feeling strong.
I woke up today and for some reason, baggage looked different and carried in a more meaningful way. It’s not to see the dents and scratches as ugly or undesired, but instead to appreciate the impact those wounds had, or may still be having. I look at the weakness and pain that plagues many hours of the day and I refuse to see it as frail. I condemn the sickly idea of accepting this state as procedure, seeing only a problem or distracting annoyance in my path. There is no way forward, no ‘light at the end of the tunnel’. There is no tunnel, and I am not moving through it. There is no tunnel, and how could there be, when there is light shining all around from a vast ocean sky.
I woke up today and felt strong because I accepted my weakness as strength. I welcomed the idea that grace and mercy reside only to empower my inevitable growth.
I woke up today knowing that I am strong.
For the past week or so, my beautiful dog Mia has been having some health issues. Nothing serious—starting with a bit of a stomach bug, and then moving to some constipation. She has handled it like a champion and is feeling a lot better today. Continue reading “A Dog’s Lesson”
Across the table, where there stands no mirror
I see myself—sitting and staring through my own body
Feel the beams of vision pierce through my sternum
Pressing into matter that pumps blood through my beating heart
Meandering around bones and fibers that carry my being
Shooting out of my back, into an unknown corner of this room
Continue reading “In His Image”
I think of the water—crashing and reaming against the sides of their boats, rocking the steel platforms that they had their feet planted on. A frothy, foamy excursion through wailing winds and raging ocean waters. The spray would plume up and over the sides of the boats, misting them with a salty shower that seeped into their cuts and sores, chapped their dried, burned lips, and singed their swollen tongues. The unforgiving water would cling to their jackets, soaking through into their shirts, chilling their cores to a shivering edge. It would bleed into their boots, coating their socks in the freezing ocean rain until their feet were frozen and wrinkled, covered in blistering wounds that ached with every step. Continue reading “June 6th, 1944 – D-Day Remembrance”
What’s the hurry? If we always hurried to the next moment our lives, would we ever actually stand to experience the moment we are in? Or would every passing second slip through our fingers, losing it’s meaning because of our rush to prepare for this unreachable future, ever eluding us, ever being chased over fences to greener pastures, ever dangling just out of grasp. To fully live the present in service to the future is to live both pieces half-heartedly. Continue reading “Hurriers Wall”
I ate a strawberry muffin
That was so dense
It seemed to fill my shoes
With every teething bite
Thick and grainy
As if to chew on memory foam
Chomping and mulling
Into paste between my gums
I ate a strawberry muffin
Plastered with leaves of crimson
Skin curled up round edges
Slashing the bread in berry red
Blood—sweet and tart, dripping
Oozing across rose petal pockets
Flecks of orange zest squirm
Cheeks to bitter-sweet
I ate a strawberry muffin
A fusion I hadn’t tried
I found I much prefer them
Than blended in a baker’s tie
I have traveled 3,004.8 miles on this little adventure of mine, up to this point, sitting just outside of Bend, Oregon. Or at least, that is how far my car has driven—I could probably tack on a few extra miles to the overall count if I added in the nature hikes and city walks I have been on. It doesn’t feel like 3,004.8 miles—for some reason, it feels like a lot less, which could be due to the length of time I have spread the mileage out over (roughly 3 weeks).
I have traveled 3,004.8 miles, and what do I have to show for it? Continue reading “3,004.8 Miles”
Being on the road is such a strange experience–and not because of the obvious reasons, like having to figure out where to sleep, where to piss, where to get a snack, or where to get some free WiFi. Although, these things are all aspects that take more consideration when living on the road. I’m referring more to the mental game of transitioning from living in a house with four walls, to living in a car with six windows. From a place where I had any luxury I needed–heat, internet, memory foam bedding, a couch and T.V., people walking around, filling those spaces–to this point, of balancing the car battery and fuel bill for heat and power, paying close attention to data usage for mobile hot spots, eating out of the Rubbermaid pantry that sits in my back seat, and pit-stopping every day or two for a new bag of ice to keep my passenger-side fridge operational. Continue reading “Free-duh-m”
I have spent too many hours trying to define what this blog functions as in my life. When I began it, I was thinking it would be a portfolio, a collection of everything that was my ‘best work’, so that when I applied to jobs, I could easily shoot off a simple link that pointed critical eyes here. The only issue with ‘self-publishing’ your ‘best work’ on your own blog, is that it becomes just that: published work. It sounds completely absurd to think that writing some blurb about your feelings and posting it online counts as ‘published work’, I know. Continue reading “The truth of it is…”