An object at rest.

What keeps us moving?

Really though, what keeps us moving?

What keeps us moving? What keeps us moving? I just keep asking. I need to know? What keeps us moving? So I just keep typing? I’ll keep typing because I have to. Because I’m afraid if I stop the idea will disappear. The idea is disappearing. Going. Going. Going. Stop. Stop. Turn, take, explode. IN MY MIND. IN MY MIND. Explode in my mind. NOW. Stop. This ephemeral shadow. Stop. The dissolve. Stop. Explode in my mind in my mind. These pieces these fragments of an idea are so much more attainable. I need it bite size. Give it to me bite size. One at a time. One at a time. I can take it now I can take it now. One, now the next and now I begin to see what you were. What you meant. And that damn explosion propelled me forward. Forward. To what. To MOVE.

Motion is not enough. MOTION WITH OUT MEANING IS IMPULSE IS A COVER UP A MASK, A MOTION TO LIE. So lie. I lie. I will lie.

Because I KEEP MOVING.

That first law will break me. It will break me. This rest will remain if I don’t explode into motion. So I need to move. I have to move to keep going forward forward. I refuse to look back, to go back, to walk back. I am of the present and in tomorrow

thoughts for a dead friend

“hello, how are you?
this fear of being
what they are… dead”

Bukowski, I love you
but oh how I would
have hated you
So bitter, so cynical, so resigned
everything I fear in myself
Did you fear happiness Charlie?
so hungry, and yet so scared…

Did you figure it out Charlie?
did you get your fill,
of women
of rage
of passion.
were you addicted to feeling
so much that you didn’t care
if it was pain or pleasure
or do you know the difference?


“All we need to continue alone
Are the dead:
Rattling the walls that close us in”

But Charlie I’d rather keep
better company than you.
You my darker side,
You my guilty laugh
A fearful threat
To what is good in me
To what is left of hope in me

Is that it Charlie?
Your dead entourage in tow,
did you forget to be
For fear of becoming?

I would like to take a train...

Travel
-Edna St Vincent Millay

The railroad track is miles away
And the day is loud with voices speaking
Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking

All night there isn’t a train goes by,
Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming
But I see its cinders red on the sky
And hear its engine steaming

My heart is warm with the friends I make,
And better friends I’ll not be knowing;
Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take,
No matter where it’s going

Science without wisdom leaves man enslaved to a world of unrelated objects in which there is no way of discovering (or creating) order and deep significance in man's own pointless existence."

-from Gandhi on Non-violence

Rebooting

I think sometimes, we need to treat humans a little more like computers. Yes, I did just say that and yes my nerd percentage just increased. But really. When your computer starts slowing down, or randomly freezing, you don't just ignore it and wait it for it to spontaneously combust. Well actually, I did that to my computer..but the point is it's a bad idea! And damn expensive.

People who take care of their computers do updates and when it starts to slow down or randomly freeze, you reset it. I think we need to allow people to have a reset button.

Today I needed a reset. A hard reset; you know when your phone's on the fritz and the only thing you can do is completely start over. I need a clean sheet. Normally I just push through the day, but I'm realizing that the more I just push my way through things, the more they pile up on my back. It's time to clean up. I wish it was as easy as rebooting a computer or resetting my phone. I'm not really sure what the method is for people. But I'm going to figure it out.

So far it involves biker boots, red lipstick, and coffee. Today I mean business.

The Little Girl: Part X-XII

X.

Now, the little girl had not really thought things through too well. She was so focused on helping the turtle herder, that she hadn’t thought through the simple things: for instance, where was she going to find a boat? She had promised she would sail across the sea, but she didn’t even know if this place had boats. She didn’t know where she would go, or how she would get back for that matter. And even if she found a ship and made it across the sea, how was she going to send word back to Mr. Jo? Did they have paper? Could the turtle herder read? What if she had to pay?

All these questions came storming down on her. For a moment she froze in the sand. How could she even go forward without knowing how anything would work out?

She thought good and hard. Perhaps she could walk around the sea instead of sailing? No, that would take too long, and she had no idea how big the sea was. Maybe, she could make a raft out of trees? No that was an awful idea. There were no trees and with just herself, there would be no way to craft a vessel. Maybe, she could just go back? She could explain to the turtle herder that she realized she hadn’t thought things through clearly and maybe another time they could go.

The little girl stared at the blue waters just ahead of her. She thought of the little turtles and the poor turtle herder who never made it to the sea. No, she most certainly could not go back without even trying. And even if she couldn’t cross the sea, she would at least swim in it. With a nod of her head, the little girl was decided. The sea it was.

XI.

The little girl walked forward with a gleeful smile and dipped her feet into the sparkling water. The cool water was refreshing and the little girl stretched her arms up into the air and let out a silent yawn. In the distance came a loud moaning call, “AAAAHHHMMMAAAGGHHHH.” The little girl stopped, clamping her mouth shut quickly. What was that? She was silent, listening for another sound. But nothing came. The water was still and nothing was in sight. The little girl cautiously backed away from the water. She must have imagined it. The sun was hot on her back and the little girl was beginning to feel drowsy. She stretched her mouth wide open, allowing another yawn to escape.

“YYYAHHHHHNNNNNNFFFFFF.”

She clamped her hand over her mouth. The sound was louder this time. Whatever it was, was getting closer. She looked over the glistening water, standing on tiptoe in hopes of finding its source.

Then she saw it. A break in the water, not too far ahead. She could see a patch of ripples pushing outward in circles. Then slowly, very slowly something began to emerge from the center and with it came the resounding, “YYYYAAAAAHHHHNNNNFFFFF.”

From the shore the little girl watched as a fuzzy orange face emerged attached to a long slender neck. It came closer and closer until it loomed just a few feet from the shore. At first the little girl thought that the creature in front of her was a loch-ness monster. She had heard of the Ness before and had seen pictures of it. But this creature was not quite so big and looked oddly like a camel. The creature stretched its neck upward pushing its face forward toward the little girl.

The little girl stood face to face with it, unsure if she should be scared or not. The creature began to open its mouth and the little girl clasped her ears and ducked her head ready for its loud call. But there was no sound. Cautiously, she opened on eye and founding herself staring into the eyes of a she could only assume was a camel. The camel opened its mouth, “Care for a ride?” It asked in a jaunty voice.
The little girl just stared.
“Ship sails in….” the camel turned its head up toward the sun and the back at her, ”Oh goodness, I’m late… the ship sails now!”

XII.

The little girl stared blankly. “Excuse me?” she managed. The long neck stretched and the camels head came nearer, if that is conceivably possible, now eyeball to eyeball with the little girl.

She stood paralyzed, continuing to stare blankly back into the large eyes of the camel. The camel held the stare and only when the eye contact was almost unbearable, did he pull his head backward. The little girl did nothing.

The camel raised an eyebrow. “Quite as I thought. Indeed, quite as I thought.” He smacked his lips and made a “tsking” sound. The little girl was still standing unmoved and seemingly incapable of response.
“Hm yes, well then my little opossum. You’re not quite what I expected. I do suppose I can still give you a ride.

But, really you must come out of your shock so we can get going now.” He dropped his head down into the water slurped some water and then spat it abruptly into the little girl’s face.

Immediately, she snapped out of her stupor. She held her clothes out from her body allowing the water to slide down towards the ground. “You spit on me! You dirty camel!” she exclaimed indignantly.

The camel drew his head up high, clearly upset. “I’m sorry, but did you really just refer to me as a dirty camel?! I am no dirty camel and I did not spit on you! You are out of place little opossum! I am a member of Her Majesty’s Royal Fleet! You are crossing the line little opossum!”

Now it was the little girl’s turn to be upset. “Spitting? Yes that’s what we civilized people call it, and we civilized people don’t spit on others! And..And” the little girl was in a huff, but out of words…”And don’t call me an opossum! I’m not an opossum, I’m a little girl!”

The camel drew back his head and let out a loud guffaw. “Civilized? How dare you speak to me of civilization? Do you know even know how to spell it, let alone what that means?!

The camel’s irritation faded and now it was clearly amused. “Oh you poor little opossum. I’m sorry, we’ve started off so wrong. I’m sorry I “spit” on you (if you must call it that). I was merely trying to startle you out of your state of shock. Not only did I manage to frighten you but then I’ve offended you by spitting on you. Please accept my apology.” The camel was chuckling to himself, but had ducked his head down so that it was not touching the ground, but hovering it a few feet above.

The little girl was standing, her clothes wet, her hair knotted with sand and salty sea water, and her face bearing up her look of indignation while trying not to cry. Her lower lip began to tremble.

“Come come little opossum. Clearly you’ve had quite a day. Let’s start freshly now. I am Sir Archibald Fresnatt of Her Majesty’s Royal Fleet. I oversee these waters and transport guests from the South Shore to North Shore. I am terribly sorry for upsetting you, but you must accept my apology knowing how incredibly much I hate delaying my schedule and I am now precisely one hundred raindrops off scheduled departure time.”

The Little Girl: Part VII-VIII

(And the story continues. Parts I-VI are two posts down!)


VII.
Jo the turtle herded did not need much prompting. He immediately started into the history of the turtle herders and how it all began on the very sands they now stood upon.

“The great turtle herders were formed out of necessity. It did not take long for the people of these shores to find that there was something curiously wrong with our native turtles. We began to notice that when the young turtles hatched from their eggs it was with a general sense of stupor. At first we figured it was just the shock of being born. I mean if you think about, it really must be frightening to open your eyes the first time to something completely brand new and unfamiliar. But these poor baby turtles were utterly and completely lost. They would start out crawling in one direction and then the next, and then the next until they were just spinning in circles. Eventually, they would just freeze and remain still where they were. They wouldn’t budge. The sad little things eventually…they eventually…”

The turtle herder had paused with a sad look on his face. The little girl encouraged him, “What happened Mr. Jo?”

“…they eventually died” he dropped his voice barely whispering the word,” they died on the sand in the very places they were born. Our beautiful sands were littered with the lost lives of these helpless little turtles.”

“We had to do something. Eventually we discovered that these turtles were born missing something: they had no sense of smell. They could not smell the crisp seawater to direct them. That mixed with the fact that they were being laid too far in on the sands to see the water left them in complete confusion. We began to keep watch over them, posting ourselves near the eggs and waiting for them to the hatch. Then slowly, patiently we guide them to the waters where they begin their lives. We know they will return to leave their eggs and every season we wait for them, ready to guide them back to their home.” The turtle herder paused in reverent silence at the end of his account.

“Mr. Jo,” the little girl broke the silence, “Mr. Jo, what will happen to the turtles after your little brother takes over? There’s no one after him, to take the job! How will they find their way home?” The little girl was concerned. The image of dozens of baby turtles frozen in confusion was haunting her mind. “How will they survive!?”
The turtle herder was silent. Then quietly he began, “They will be fine.”

“But how?” she asked.

The turtle herder was hesitant, “They don’t need us anymore. You see long ago, one of my relatives realized that the way to prevent this tragedy was to retrain the returning turtles. You see if the mothers would leave their eggs within in sight of the shore. The young hatchling could use their vision to guide them home. It took years, but eventually they learned.” He paused, “So you see I’m not needed anymore, I need the turtles more than the turtles need me.”

VIII.

The strange orange man stood in somber silence. The little girl could tell he was on the brink of tears again, but she wasn’t sure how to comfort him.
“Mr Jo. How long have you lived here?”
He sniffed, “All my life.”
“Then you’ve never left these sandy beaches? Ever?”
“No. No this is my home. I don’t want to leave here. Why would I even want to?”
“Mr. Jo maybe the turtles are giving you a gift.” She started gently, “Maybe they are thanking for you for guarding them for so long and now they are releasing you to leave…Maybe…Maybe they want you to go find somewhere new.”
“No, no, no” the turtle herder moaned silently.
“But Mr. Jo, the world is so big! Why this morning I discovered a different side of my bed, it’s really quite amazing!”
The turtle herder appeared confused by this statement, so she continued on.
“You have so many places yet to see. You can’t know if you’ll like them until you go. And it’s not like you won’t be coming home…the best part is that no matter where you go, you can always come home. These beaches aren’t going to move, but you can!”
The turtle herder sniffed and wiped at his eyes.
The little girl continued, “You need a vacation.” She said this in her best mom voice possible, “You help these turtles to the sea every year. Each year they get to start off on a new adventure when they reach the water and you just go home. Maybe, it’s your turn?”

The turtle herder looked down at the turtles and then far across the sandy dunes. His eyes were dry now.
“I’ve always wanted to see what’s on the other side of the water.” He started slowly. “I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to take a little trip. I mean who knows what’s on the other side out there!”
He was starting to speak rapidly. “I could ride on a ship, I could swim in the sea, I could…I could..” He fell silent again.
“What’s the matter Mr. Jo?” asked the little girl.
“How can I go, where I’ve never been before. How would I know where to go or how to get there? No, no it’s best for me to just stay home.”
He paused, “And the sea, the sea is dangerous, I wouldn’t want to do anything foolish. No, it is better for me here where it is safe.”

The little girl smiled up at the turtle herder. “It’s okay to be afraid,” she whispered gently to him. She stopped for a moment considering the turtle herder’s predicament. Then she found it. She found the solution to his anxiety.

“Mr. Jo, I’m moving on. I was planning on heading toward the sea. What if I went first? What if I went to the sea and sailed across? What if I sent you back word when I reach the other side? Would you feel better than? Would it help to know someone else has gone ahead of you?”

The turtle herder considered this. He looked across the sand toward the sea. He looked up at the sky. At last he looked down at the 8 turtles.

The little girl waited for him to speak, but he remained silent.

At last he turned to her, “But you’ll go first?”

Lost in the Current

(a preface: I realize this is a big departure from the last post and I will be continuing to post segments of the children's story, so forgo this one if you need to or bear with me)


A thought. Today at church I was listening to everyone around me sing as usual. The music leader changed the key and started into “O the Deep Deep Love of Jesus” a song I have always loved, if not for the words than for the fact that is in a minor key. The song is solemn, like a dirge. When I hear it, I hear it as a song of mourning. But when you listen to the words, its all about the love of God and how wonderful it is. I struggled to sing it today, not for the first time though. The more I think the harder it is for me see God’s love. I can imagine that someday when ALL creation is redeemed I will see God’s love brilliantly. But lately no matter what good I see in life, there is even more bad to outweigh it. It’s hard for me to think, let alone say God is love when I am watching this suffering.

Sure I’ve seen God’s love in my life. I have been more than blessed. But what about everyone else? What about those in East Africa who are starving to death? To just smile and say “God has a plan and he is love” is like spitting in their face. The reality, those children you see pictures of with their bones sticking out: they will never experience that love in this life. They will die. Their existence will only be marked by suffering and the case is the same for many other people. It’s on their behalf that I can’t see this love. You can say it’s sin..but do you really think of that child as a sinful being? In reality has it ever done anything so wrong as to deserve such a fate, such a life? So how does it work. I can’t just shake it off and say, “Some things cannot be explained. In the end it will all be explained.” I can’t say that, because as much as I believe in an ultimate end, I also believe in the present. I believe that Kingdom of God is here and now. So where is that love? As a person who works in the "helping field" and who is striving for social justice, I am daily confronted with circumstances and events that are devoid of good...that are not fair. Where is this love?

One could say it’s in us. That God has placed us to be those agents of love. But in some way that seems to imply that he has withdrawn and watches as we do our best to bear the burden of love to a bleeding screaming world. That just doesn’t work.

But I had this thought, that maybe that hymn has something figured out that all those joyful praise songs can’t quite put a finger on. There is sorrow in love. There is pain in love. It’s strange to sing about love in minor key with a sorrowful heart. But for those of you who have experienced pain, who truly know what it means to suffer. Than you can understand. There is love out there, but it is not untainted by sorrow.

You can’t say that love brings only good things. IT doesn’t. But as I listened to the words and music, I understood a reality of sorrowful love. That cries and dies with us. That sits in our spirit and understands our deepest sorrows. I can’t explain the bad. I will never call it good. I will never try to cheapen a person’s sorrow with a bandaid of “This is for a reason.” There is no reason in suffering, there is no reason in hardship. Don’t try and tell me otherwise. Instead I will partake in the sorrow, as I believe that God does. I truly can’t say that I understand God’s role in this world. The more I ask, the less I know. But I hope in love. I hope in a God that will not turn a blind eye to suffering. I don’t know why he doesn’t change it, why he doesn't intervene. I wish I could demand the answer, I wish I could find a way. But all I have this. That the pain I feel, he feels too. There has to be more to it than that. But for now, it's all I have.

The Little Girl

So I've decided to start posting in increments a short children's story I've been working on. It's silly but I hope you enjoy it. Here's the first post.


Part I


There once was a little girl who woke up one day on the wrong side of the bed. She simply stepped off her bed and found herself in a completely different place than she had ever been before.


It wasn’t accident. No not at all; that morning the little girl woke up and decided that she had never rolled out of bed on the other side before. She wasn’t sure why not, perhaps it simply had never occurred to her before. And quite frankly, she didn’t know why she shouldn’t. This being the case the little girl, quite intentionally rolled out of bed to the left.


The left side of one’s bed is a curious thing. It is a place unaccustomed to visitors, a place that holds a great deal of mystery and a good deal of questions for those who have never ventured there.


II.

As I said before the little girl found herself in a place completely unfamiliar. She looked down and found that her feet were completely covered in sand. She looked to her left. She looked to her right. On either side of her was sand. In front of her was sand. She didn’t bother to look behind as she already knew what was there.
The little girl considered her surroundings.
“I could be wrong, but I think I might have stepped into a desert. “ She conjectured aloud.

She thought some more.

“Or I do suppose I might have landed myself on an enormous sandy beach.”

“Hmmmm. Or perhaps I have stepped into a giant’s sandbox.” But that of course was a silly idea.

Having come up with these possibilities, but no real idea of where she was, the little girl decided to find out. So she stepped forward into the new land.
The little girl walked forward one foot after another and soon she began to hear the sound of crashing waves. She could see the spot in the distance where the deep blue sky blended into the line of water and far ahead, just out of reach, she could see the blurry shape of a person. She continued to walk toward the water and consequently also toward the unknown figure. When she was just a short distance away she stopped.


III.

The little girl could make out the person better from where she now stood. It was a man. He seemed young but it was hard to tell as he wore a full beard a color so bright she had to hold one hand to the sun and the other to over his hair to see anything whatsoever. The beard’s shade was a flaming orange color that matched his neatly trimmed hair. The man held a long stick that was crooked at the end much like a candy cane only it was also bright orange.

From where she stood, the little girl could not make out what he was doing. The man would stand still for a moment, then step to the left, pause, then move back, pause again, and move off to the right. He repeated this odd sort of dance over and over, all the time slowly moving forward.

What a strange man, thought the little girl with curiosity.
Just as she was considering whether or not she should move forward, the man turned. Even though he was still a good distance away, she could tell he was looking at her. He turned quickly around before she could decide whether or not to wave or call out to him. Without any real reason, the little girl felt that he must be a friendly sort of stranger so she ventured forward.

IV.

Just as the little girl was approaching the brightly clad man, he froze and without turning his head greeted her.
“Hello.”
“Hello.” The little girl replied. And waited. And waited.
Seeing that he was not going to turn to look at her, she took a step forward so that now she was standing next to him.
“Hello.” She tried again.
“Hello.” He responded again, still not turning toward her.
The little girl watched him. He seemed to be intently watching the sand in front of him.
“Excuse me,” she tried, “but are you looking for something?”
“Oh no, I’m not looking for anything,” he said shifting his staff to his other hand.
It was quiet again.
“Oh.” The little girl joined in the quiet, unsure of what to say. She watched as he continued to stare resolutely down at the ground.

“Well, what are you looking at?” she tried again.
“Turtles.” He said simply.
“Turtles?” The girl looked around. All she could see was the sand and the distant water.
“I don’t see any turtles.”
“I wouldn’t think you could.” He commented.
“Excuse me?”
“If you don’t want to see the turtles why should you think you would?” He explained.
The little girl was confused and hesitated. “I do want to see the turtles. Why wouldn’t I?”
“If you did, you would.” He replied abruptly and continued to watch the ground.
She looked down again. Still nothing. She kept watching and watching and after some time she began to notice movement in the sand in front of her. The entire patch of ground began to shake with movement. She looked up in amazement at the man, but he continued to calmly watch the ground.
Out of the sand crawled 8 tiny turtles, no bigger than a person’s hand. The little girl gasped in delight. “There are turtles!”
“Of course there are.” Said the man sounding exasperated.
“But you didn’t tell me they were underneath the sand!” She accused.
“I didn’t? Oh I suppose I forgot to mention that. They were taking their noontime nap.” He explained.
“How very strange” whispered the girl.
“No, not really. They nap at this time every day.”
“Every day?” She questioned. “Do you sit here and watch them every day?”
The man laughed. “Well of course I do. I am a turtle shepherd, am I not? What else would I do?!”

V.

Now the little girl hadn’t lived as long as the man, but she had lived enough years to know that she had never heard of such a thing.
“A turtle shepherd?” She asked. “But I’ve never heard of a turtle shepherd.”
“I suppose you wouldn’t have.” The turtle shepherd replied, “You didn’t exactly see the turtles at first either now did you?.”
“But that’s not fair,” pleaded the little girl. “The turtles were sleeping. You know I could not have seen them.”
“I suppose that’s true. But, I’ve never heard of a girl your age who has not heard of the turtle shepherders. Why every little child has heard of the great turtle herders! I suppose you haven’t even heard of the great Zaphonious…or of the epic Treaty of Fortina Zemuna and the Camel Clan!”
The little girl watched in amazement as the strange man continued to spew out names and titles she had never heard of, let alone could even dare to pronounce.
“Jphantka Pedunta, Calciphonas, Pertrapha the Great, Ralphent Vatronious!” he continued his face beginning to match his orange hair. Suddenly, he stopped. He became silent and his face turned downward, “And I suppose you have not heard of me.” It was more of a statement than a question.
The little girl was beginning to feel guilty for her lack of knowledge in the area of turtle herding. She could see that the strange man was really let down.
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t heard of you. But I’d be happy to know you now.” Offered the little girl.
The strange man turned to her and said simply, “My name is Jo.”

VI.

The little girl smiled kindly up at Jo the turtle herder. “Hello Mr. Jo. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The turtle herder sank to the ground with a sigh, buried his head in his hands, and begin to cry loudly. The little girl watched as all the turtles turned and slowly began to congregate around Jo the turtle herder as if sensing their guardian’s distress.
“Mr. Jo,” the girl asked gently, “Why are you so sad?” She placed what she hoped was a comforting hand on his shoulder and carefully sat down next to him on the sand. Jo the turtle herder lifted his head. “What’s the matter? What’s the matter?! The matter is that you don’t know! Nobody knows!” He exclaimed and dejectedly dropped his head back to his knees.
“Nobody knows what?” the little girl asked carefully.
“Nobody remembers the turtle herders. I’m almost the last of my line. My little brother J will be the final turtle shepherd and then what will the turtles do? You wouldn’t know of course, but I am from the line of the great Ptanphajophethusia. He was the greatest of all the turtle herders. After him, each of his descendants took his name, subtracting one letter each time it was passed down. Now we are at the end…Jo and J.”
“What a strange tradition.” The little girl thought aloud.
Jo the turtle herder raised his head indignantly, “I don’t find it any stranger than a child your age who has not heard of the turtle shepherds.” He turned away from her and silently scooped up one of the turtles.

The little girl waited. The turtle herder sniffed loudly. The little girl was silent. The turtle herder cleared his throat.
Finally the little girl asked, “Please Mr. Jo would you tell me about turtle herding?”

I am not what you are

It is time to step away
I told myself with closed eyes
And pushed off with two feet
Head first into the dark.

When will I learn
When will I learn that I am
Not.
I am not here nor there.
I am not moving or still.
I am not brave.
I am not afraid.
I am not.

You are.
You are afraid.
You are brave.
You are moving and yet stand still.
You are here. You are there.
You are.
What I am not.

You are and I have yet to be.

Some days we are ghosts

Today I finally made it to church...and I left before the service was half over. I had that feeling that I thought I had moved on from. Not quite stifling, but I just didn't feel right sitting there, almost like I could not breathe. I wanted to talk to someone, but it didn't seem fitting. So I got up and walked out past the pews, past the unfamiliar eyes and out the door into the fresh air. I almost sat down and sighed right there on the steps of the church. Instead, I made my way across the bridge to Barista where I found myself sitting outside on the porch, with a cup of Ritual iced coffee.

Sometimes I just like to watch life happen. From my chair on the wood planked porch I can watch time. In the Pearl there is an oddly gentle juxtaposition of modern and historical. Maybe it isn't easy on everyone's eyes...maybe I'm a city girl who loves the city, but either way I like seeing the tall glass buildings that reflect the bluish gray sky. I like seeing them as guardians overlooking the old brick buildings with water towers long ago abandoned nestled in the roofing.

Sometimes I wish I understood the undefinable flutterings that race through my head. I wish I could raise a hand and catch them to see what they actually are.

Yesterday was a quiet day. I ran. I slept. I cleaned. I baked. I kept walking to the front window and just standing and staring at the cars going by. I was not waiting for anyone, looking for anyone, hoping for anything. I simply watched. I kept returning to the window throughout the day to stand and stare, watching time.

Some days you need to simply breathe deep. Some days you need to be so still that the silence envelops you to the point that you almost feel uncomfortable in it. In the occasion that you allow it to, you allow yourself to stand down from being a participant. You become a voluntary bystander outside of time.

Today I breathe deep. Today I am silent. I watch the people around me. The couples walking hand in hand. The father towing a cherry red wagon with a harmonica playing child inside it. The families marching by in matching North Face gear. The ambling young man sporting a bright green Timbers sweatshirt. The people behind me discussing dinner plans.

And now the drums. Somewhere in the streets ahead of me an army of percussionists have ignited a thundering call punctuated by clashing cymbals and a whining car alarm. It is a typical Portland day. A chill breeze and a blanket of shifting gray clouds that are interrupted by spots of glowing pale.

I think about how connected we all are. That African idea of Ubuntu: I am what I am because of who we all are. This is something I think of often. I believe it. I wonder what it would be like to visually see the threads by which we are all connected. To see how each action, each word can spill onto an unsuspecting stranger altering their pathway in life.

Sometimes I wish I was a little bolder. I wish I was less afraid to break the barriers that make us strangers with one another. I make eye contact with someone passing by. I have the urge to say hello and invite them to join me at my table. But I am a bystander. Today I am a ghost: simply watching and listening. And now: now it is time to get up and become a participant once again.

Alternate Reality

I've been sick for a week. One week, in bed. I'm not used to this much time in the house. It's oddly unsettling. I spent the first few days watching endless hours of tv. Then when I began to feel like I was living in alternative reality, I decided it was time to shut off the tv.

Have you ever done that? Have you ever spent so much time living in a different world, that reality began to feel unfamiliar. (Yes that is correct I'm officially crazy). But really. When I was younger I would disappear into books for days. When I finally finished whatever series I was in, I would return disappointed the real world. What happens when the real world becomes a pale comparison to the world you want to live in?
I suppose that's why so many people turn to other things. I'm sure if I wasn't so afraid of pain I would turn into an adrenaline junkie.

Doesn't matter. Anyway the product of the last week in bed has been for me to begin writing again. Obviously that has not shown up here. I'm working on a book. When you read books about writers, they always tell you to write about what you know. But I think that there are actually two realms of writers. Those who write about what they know, what is familiar and those who write to create a world that cannot be realized in the present. I think the latter type tends to get pushed into children's literature or sci-fi/fantasy. It seems that those are the books that inspire us when we are young. They make us want to be bigger, better, and brighter than we are.

Tomorrow, I go back to work and my writing will probably get laid aside for a time. But this week has made me want to do 2 things: continue to write the world that I cannot live and then to make my own life the best story it can possibly be, so that I no longer wish to escape.

That's all.

Cheers

I logged on so that I could delete my account and instead have decided to revive it. We'll see how long that lasts. But with the summer coming, I'm hoping to write more which will fill these pages! So here's to summer! Here's to books! Here's to my next chapter in life!