I want to see you kicking up dust,
sticking back the thorns,
strolling through the forest,
running the current in the river
over to wherever it is you are.

And call your name into the air;
and hear it whistle between the trees
until something answers back:
We see you too
and we’re here.

I want you to touch the grass;
and feel the grass touch you back.
Sit cross legged, bottom legged tickled
by infinite hands: we’d lift you up
but we’re just gonna lie down instead.

And warmth of the setting sun bound itself
around your shoulders for one last time,
before it winked out
over the mountain tops;
a friend saying:
“Until the next.”

And a biting reminder
when cold sets in;
but the sudden burst of a fire
roaring itself into life
and drawing the wanderers in
promising rest
pushes back that frigid blanket.

Instead, I see you tucked into
the warmth
of friends surrounding you;
they, like curls of flames;
you, like glowing hot coals:
breathing in and out,
as bright as you can
until you’re not,
but never never never
losing the spirit to stay
burning

And make warmth.
And leave the soul covered in ash,
but still
pulsing and beating.

Oh, I’ve never seen such beauty.
Like a treasure reappeared
when it had been so at risk of loss.
I saw you glow and in me,
I’d been sparked back to life.

We’re here to burn magnificent, baby!

It was a very rough day at work today, so I think I’m allowing myself to take it easy on myself in terms of writing this entry. I still think it’s very important that I log my thoughts for today, just so that we can keep up the habit and I can demonstrate my discipline.

But man, if some days just take more out of you than others.

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I’ve been writing these meditations, I’ve noticed at least in the periphery of my thoughts, this lingering suspicion that I might just be writing this as a show. That rather than being genuinely committed to affecting change in my life, and making some progress on transforming myself, that I’m trying to show others that I’m making an effort. I can’t speak as to the truth of that, considering the only way to prove that wrong both to myself and others is to simply follow through until we have results.

Though perhaps it begs the question: Is prompting myself to think of my emotional state critically progress enough? What is the bare minimum we need to consider this less an act of vanity, and a more an act of true reflection?

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Over the last year and a half, I’ve regained the sense of what it was like to have a family.

I spent a time period between January 2019 - March 2020 living with my aunt, uncle, cousins, grandmother, step-grandfather, and mother under the same house. Being able to see them when I got home from work. Being bothered by them and forced to cut naps short. Returning to home cooked meals. All the troubles and blessings I had grown up with.

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I believe I’ve said at least a few times that I’m resolved to accomplish some very lofty goals, without actually naming what those goals are. The reason for doing so was that although I had very firmly cemented myself in those goals, I found that at the time, I had been wavering in my resolve, and coming up short in terms of planning.

Those needs felt more immediate. But since we’ve tackled those, and I believe these meditations are taking me in the correct direction, we can backpedal a bit and begin to fill in some gaps.

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So, if I finish tonight’s post, we can call today a success as far as these meditations go. I will not lie: I actually looked forward to writing this for most of the day. The idea of spurring myself on, by making a record of my own introspection was something that I’ve recently found to be almost essential.

I think perhaps, that there is a need to ground myself somehow. To establish the “known and fixed” parts of myself, so that I know where it is I am working from. I feel like I’ve already established a pretty solid feel for my identity, but I am coming to a point where a feeling isn’t enough.

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Since waking up this morning, I’ve come to the conclusion that at least some of last night’s rambling was due in part to sleeplessness.

At least we can be assured that I am not at all times such a headcase. That was almost concerning.

Anyhow, I’ve decided to go back to blogging in an attempt to foster some type of habit, in being mindfully and deliberately introspective. I’m going to call them my “meditations,” mostly out of respect for the intentions and methodology in which I will attempt this.

Keep reading

I’ve attempted to write a post, about something, about anything, for awhile now.

But there is something in me, that I am allowing to defeat myself. As soon as I get the words on the page, should I find myself dissatisfied with it, I erase it. Or worse yet, I claim a half-victory in saving it as a draft, knowing full well the possibility that I am likely never to return and complete those thoughts.

But these thoughts are complete; they are resolved, I have feelings about their conclusions, the only problem being that they are in my head, and it has long been a practice of mine to consider that to be enough. I’ve somehow convinced myself that there isn’t much use in my putting these thoughts to paper.

But secretly, I fear that I am actually afraid to look deeply; to be able to create an unbroken line of thought into my more shameful, more difficult emotions, that I might be reminded of them. I believe my inability to write about personal matters to be an indication of my fear.

As I write this, I feel as if I am able to complete this post, and publish it, I can consider it a victory. Please, let that be a victory.

Keep reading

My soul feels lighter. All my appreciation for you both:

1) It’s harder to care; and the more it matters, the harder it is. Thank you for teaching me that lesson.

2) Your weight is so heavy, and I’m making it a point to grow past you. I will be a better man than you were. Thank you for making the mistakes ahead of me, so that I know not to. I still love you, but I won’t fall into the weaknesses we both had/have.

I read once that being an artist is a constant climbing of stairs. Imagine the horizontal being your ability to dissect and analyze your craft; the vertical being your ability to create and materialize.

Ideally, these two keep pace with each other, so as to enable a steady climb. However in practice, this is rarely true. A person tends towards one or the other, outpacing their ability to create with their ability to recognize what is good or bad art, and/or vice versa.

So often do I think that I run into writers blocks because I’ve always considered myself great at disassembling something in order to understand it, but less skilled when it comes to putting what I know into practice.

I suppose knowing that, it’d only contribute to the problem if I didn’t put more effort into creating. Even just writing this article, I can feel an odd hesitance, as I overly mind what I write before I put it down. That’s extent of my unfamiliarity with my own craft.

This is a really weird way to segue into this, but long story short, it would appear I’m back on this website.

Hi guys.