The air was sweet, dry, and mildly warm as we continued to climb further into the mountains. At this elevation, there were hardly any trees to provide shade from the glistening sun. The flowing water seemed to be the only movement out there, from what I could tell. But as we climbed, I could feel my legs burn from within.
We move atop the planet and gaze upon mountains, cross rivers, and seek shade under a solitary tree. We discover the world as we move through it. …
Religious texts provide wisdom on how we should live and what’s possible beyond this realm we know as life on earth. That’s an exciting concept. Yet, there’s a disconnect between many people and religion, particularly my generation.
If you asked most people my age what they thought of religion, they’d probably be indifferent. It just doesn’t have the same weight as it used to. My generation isn’t looking for an institution to belong to, as the world is more connected than ever before.
This connection — from technology and social media to the ways we travel — provides a historic…
A brief ride across the lake dropped us at the start of the Twenty Lakes Basin Loop Trail in California’s Eastern Sierras. The water reflected the sunny, light blue sky. With my bandana tied below my hat and my pack full of camping gear hoisted over my shoulders, I and six of my best friends stepped off of the metallic boat and onto the slowly swaying dock.
The short dock led onto the rocky shore, where expansive green meadows unfurled beyond the undulating waves of stones. …
Ants invaded my studio yesterday. They hit me from all angles. I didn’t expect it when I woke up. I found them in the kitchen, and before I knew it I was deep cleaning the tiles, the counters, the stove, anything that may have served as a road beneath the feet of my tiny guests. But that didn’t stop them.
These little unexpected and unwanted creatures change our lives; but what do we really know about them? What do they know about us? Ants are travelers in constant motion. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an ant stop to take…
I just want to tell a story. I think that’s what makes me the happiest. It’s scary, but more so, amazing and beautiful, how quickly life can change. One day we might feel down and we’re unsure of why; we just don’t feel like ourselves.
Then the next day we’re back to stasis, our resting place of joy and peace, to which we may always return. That feeling of oneness and ease is always there, readily available.
Yet we often can’t seem to get back to it, so we become anxious, worried, and make ourselves sick trying to get back.
Unsure of where I’m headed, the gift of life before me; whatever
Path that I traverse takes me to where I am.
I’m here, alive. Where else is there to go but in.
Some days feeling like a split personality, incongruent reality,
Comes in rising, falling waves, the heartbeat of the world,
Movement is all that we see.
Rippling and rolling water in a state of meditation,
Stasis, far beyond our fiercest gaze.
Life moves while we’re unaware; stars align, yet we don’t see them shift.
We just see them shine.
And dim — their distance measures time, but they’re already gone.
Last week on my early morning walk, the dark red color perhaps of blood or a rose stood out prominently against the black pavement. The air was cool as the sun made its daily ascent. I noticed the red at the bottom of the snake’s tail near the eggshell rattler. The rest of the snake was a bright and slightly shiny orange; the beautiful color grabbed my attention as cool air flowed through my body.
I moved closer to the coiled up, motionless object as a runner approached from the opposite direction. I began to make signs pointing to the…
The day holds on to the darkness of night and slowly softens. Light pervades the darkness like a drop of white paint mixed in black, but the world becomes blue, not grey; the deep, patient blue of dawn.
I’ve been continuously writing about the morning as if in a new way, even though I see the morning similarly every day. I wake up and am again in awe of what arises.
The color of dawn — blue — why is it so moving?
I continue to wonder about what gives the world meaning, and return to the inspiring answer: everything.
There’s a difference between being a surfer, and somebody who surfs. Somebody who surfs has taken up the activity; they might go on the weekends once they get the bug, or before work early in the morning.
This feels like a sort of rebellion from the day, a respite from the grind of getting up and doing something not entirely for the mere pleasure of it, but because it’s expected, part of our society, a part of being human. We get up, and we contribute.
Surfing is for the individual.
To be “a surfer” means you’ve adopted the role, the…
The beach towel is a faded blue and yellow with white stripes, and hangs from the wooden fence outside my front door. When I first moved in, I thought I shouldn’t leave it there, so the facade of the house wouldn’t look disorganized.
But now I leave it, perhaps to give walkers the feeling of summer, to say, it’s not over yet, as if while I continue to hang the towel, the season shall carry on. It’s the first thing you see when you come to my front door. You can’t get in without grabbing a hold of the white…