Inspired by the morning moon,
While gazing towards the sky,
It’s early when I feel at peace,
I think I now know why.
The world is still but my soul stirs,
I long to write it down;
The history of why we’re here,
So wonderfully profound.
I love to write about the world,
And all that makes us us,
To travel and experience life,
They call it wanderlust.
But this past year as we’ve stepped back,
Seeking which way to move,
I’ve wondered what would make me happy,
What is there to prove?
My dream is to inspire others, With…
On On the Camino de Santiago rainy mornings give way to crisp afternoons, where all one must do is take the next step, and then the next.
My dream is to one day hike the Camino de Santiago like Paulo Coelho in his book The Pilgrimage. The journey takes Coelho from Southwest France to the shrine of the apostle Saint James the Great, in the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Spain.
This is the story of a walk — imbued with history, a connection with nature, and the enrichment of one’s spirit.
I’ve read The Pilgrimage several times…
A year ago I sought a life where I couldn’t differentiate between my work and my passions, where every day time would fall away and I wouldn’t notice the seconds go.
At the end of each day, my tank would be empty and my heart would be full. I’d shut my eyes knowing I lived my life on purpose; that I was conscious, more than a cog, but a creator of something meaningful.
And so I began. I began by taking a step into the beautiful unknown. It’s often frightening, as we’re the most afraid when we’re doing something that…
Late in the afternoon with nothing left to do, I took off without a phone to climb the nearby bluffs that overlook the vast Pacific Ocean.
Don’t think so much, just go — my body drove me out the door and into the waning light.
I began my ascent, then spun around to climb backwards for an added challenge and a change of perspective. The few others walking by would give me a strange look, perhaps a laugh, while I acted as if everything was normal.
I’m glad to provide the unusual spark of somebody’s day.
I came across…
Life, not a race
What is there to chase?
Endless drive to get ahead
To make a mark before I’m dead;
But death will come to steal away,
The times where I failed to say,
What I should have said back then
I love you.
I’m grateful for you.
I love this — beautiful life — don’t want to see it go; I want to see it.
We create our destiny,
What’s before, reality.
To make time move or make it stop,
This moment, now, it’s all we’ve got.
Balance. Even the word seems balanced; unmovable, stable, peaceful…
Day; night; morning. The stage of a story.
I haven’t written a simple story in a while. Life hasn’t felt very simple. There’s much vying for my attention every day, and if I don’t stop and look around, I’ll miss this.
I’ll miss simply being present, not the one going through the motions, but the one who notices from the seat of self. The one behind the eyes, questioning whether I’m doing what makes me happy, wondering what’s honestly the point in it all; I don’t want to take this lightly. But perhaps that’s all there is to do.
For a few quick minutes, I could hardly control my body as the cold ocean water drew away my breath. But then, my body settled as the cold brought me to the present.
I swam into a state of wonder beneath the morning moon. In that moment, nothing could be more essential than the life rushing through my being — not the past or the future, a thought of fear, regret, or pain.
I focused on my breath and felt the blood pumping through my limbs. The moon — radiant a few minutes earlier while enveloped in darkness — began…
Transfixed, I watched the Golden Snitch fly around the room as if under a spell. The golden ball, about the size of a fist with delicate wings, circled the room like a bird in a cage with nowhere to go.
I remember a sense of fear, good fear, thinking perhaps the Snitch may fly from the fan attached to a long string and break something, like me. However, the sense of wonder that this piece of art contained eclipsed my fear. The Snitch was a piece of art. Art transcends reality, yet helps us understand it. …
The essence of hope is intrinsic;
Eyes open seconds fall earth turns and we turn too
But the body stops and stares in space, frozen, unable to move,
Paralyzed, gripped, unable to step beyond self-imposed reality;
Held down find it difficult to breathe, but then, freedom from reverie
Comes in words from someone close who wants the life they see
To breathe, who wants the life they see to bloom
Like flowers of the coming dawn when life’s reborn once motionless
Awakened from the senseless night when touched by rays
Of guiding light.
Our dawn has come to wake us…
The sky was split into halves like the opposing forces of yin and yang. Half of the sky was transitioning into darkness, yet still held onto the remaining light of the day. This half was a serene lavender color; the unfurling clouds didn’t just float by in one solid tone. They had iridescent facets like a cut diamond, multi-dimensional and breathtaking.
The other half of the sky appeared as the manifestation of chaos itself. I stood close to the edge of the precipitous cliff, practically on the twin forces’ dividing line and marveled at the contrast. …