Friday, August 26, 2016

Perhaps We Will


The nerves kick in before the storm to come. Losing your breath happens in the same rhythm that the heart quickens and things begin to move fast and slow. They swirl together in an unmoving vortex. The great unknown lies out there; calling past, present, and future names deep into it.

These are the places we live for.

Who are we? The daring, the divided, the cast out lone wolf - the one that would not bow to alpha - the solely self praised omega, the only pup of the great divine female.
That is who we are.
The dreamers who don’t know where they’ll end up when the sun goes down and the moon rises high.
The fearful. Those who run away from pleasure and pain, seeking something they’re afraid to find.
That is who we are.
The sad old men who can't seem to pinpoint where it went wrong.
The lonely widow women wondering if she should have fled across the sea before the sea washed her up.
The damned and the saved are just steps from one another in this vast place. It’s not a rare sight to see one step across the thin, cracked and broken line and into the other side. It wouldn’t be a life lived if they never dared to try a different life.
This is what we are.

"But there is so much more to become," they whisper.

This vast places holds us all in but never keeps us here. The mountains rise and fall just as the men who climb them have done for centuries. Nothing grand stays high for long. Just like the rotten and wicked forest will one day drop a seed who will one day bear the saving fruit.

Perhaps one day we shall all feast together on that fruit. Perhaps we won’t. Thou mayest - we may or we may not - the choice belongs to us. 

Friday, August 19, 2016

Things Continue to Move On



The midnight sun starts to catch up. Vitamin D overdose starts too become apparent in the faces of all the lost and drunken millennials, the old time bartenders, and the dogs who run through the town — drunk on their existence. The songs at the bar start to repeat themselves like every other Tuesday that rolls by. The sound of morning birds meshes with the trees through the late night sunsets. Things continue on like this. On and on and on and on. The tears, the laughs, the vomit, crazy dance moves become apart of the weekly ritual that everybody is participating in — on their own time — at the same time.
Some days the only escape is to stick that hitchhikers thumb straight out and into the lane — hoping for a respectable yet enjoyable ride to wherever you want to go. The song on the radio is something different that the repeat.
Nahko always playing in the background of the mind no matter where you are. Reminding you; “Bless other men, investigate your mystery,” it is written, “I know I’m ready, big message heavy. Gotta learn to carry what comes to me directly.”

Like spring after every winter the midnight sun gives way to the real deal. Autumn kicks in — harsh and heavy — with the ever glowing moon. She stands her ground when the seasons begin to change. Demanding her time to shine in the dark of night. The sign of the moon means the leaves are changing. Trees prepare to go to sleep with the bears. This busy bustling town starts to quite down and become cold.

Remember these moments. Notice these changes. Sync with the things that don’t shy away from change, from the night. Choose which wolf you allow to howl at the moon tonight. Prepare to dream something new for the coming seasons.






Things Continue to Move On



The midnight sun starts to catch up. Vitamin D overdose starts too become apparent in the faces of all the lost and drunken millennials, the old time bartenders, and the dogs who run through the town — drunk on their existence. The songs at the bar start to repeat themselves like every other Tuesday that rolls by. The sound of morning birds meshes with the trees through the late night sunsets. Things continue on like this. On and on and on and on. The tears, the laughs, the vomit, crazy dance moves become apart of the weekly ritual that everybody is participating in — on their own time — at the same time.
Some days the only escape is to stick that hitchhikers thumb straight out and into the lane — hoping for a respectable yet enjoyable ride to wherever you want to go. The song on the radio is something different from that daily repeat.
Nahko always playing in the background of the mind no matter where you are. Reminding you; “Bless other men, investigate your mystery,” it is written, “I know I’m ready, big message heavy. Gotta learn to carry what comes to me directly.”

Like spring after every winter the midnight sun gives way to the real deal. Autumn kicks in — harsh and heavy — with the ever glowing moon. She stands her ground when the seasons begin to change. Demanding her time to shine in the dark of night. The sign of the moon means the leaves are changing. Trees prepare to go to sleep with the bears. This busy bustling town starts to quite down and become cold.

Remember these moments. Notice these changes. Sync with the things that don’t shy away from change, from the night. Prepare to dream something new for the coming seasons.






Wednesday, August 10, 2016

No Where Now Here

Feeling lost in translation with the world around isn’t the only problem she has.
She has lots of problems and she chain smokes to not think about them. She’ll smoke even more if the weed doesn’t come in. She’ll wake up in the morning and feel the tar in her lungs and regret every drag she’s even taken. Go over all the mistaken mistakes, things she shouldn't have said, things she should have said better, things she'll never say. Think about all the gone ones, afraid for ones to come. Disconnected connectedness. Conundrum to her mother, herself and most others.

Repeat the cycle for three more days. Add in a few deep breaths. A beer - or three - and maybe a walk alone if the cards favor her that day. Lucks not a strong suit.

Stuck in between that place of wanting someone to just have a conversation with that isn’t about feelings, family, or anything else within the walls that have been plastered and duct taped together, and wanting nothing at all. To be left alone, seen as a passerby stranger. But then the night time gets quite and is just as loud as all the voices at the bar. Chitter-chattering all through the night.
If only her dog was there.  


She gets crazy and manic and reaches out then lashes out the next second. Like a wounded animal who doesn’t know where the pain and love begin and end. The red bird sits on her windowsill and she’s reminded that simple is beautiful. Anything beyond that is too heavy and should be thrown away, disregarded, pushed away. Not knowing what to want, not wanting anything.

She’ll just ramble on until she’s there. Then leave once she’s gotten there. Never wanting to be here. Never wanting to be anywhere, except for over there. No where for awhile, moving onto now here. Now here she is.