Everything Under the Sun

Interrupting my slumber is a postmortem I should have predicted. Perhaps my lack of intuition was always my greatest predicament. Chaos begs the question, self-fulfilling prophecy or inevitable perdition?  Were the feelings non-existent or did I delude into equilibrium? I therapize with my conscience, what was the source of my agony?  Was it latent, emergent, or the result of a self-imposed tyranny? Are we ever conscious as to the internal state of our being? Or is the truth only discoverable from the experience of living?  In a moment of weakness, I become captive to my senses. Like Stockholm Syndrome, a dark thirst this feeling quenches. In my deepest recesses, I'm suffocated by an ephemeral menace. Nothing more antithetic to deprecating a once exalted presence. From this fortuity I shall emerge with the clarity that I seek. And I'll awake once again from a long night with no sleep. Determined to succeed, finding the confidence I need.  With an obsequious mind and ...

Change can be exciting - the feeling of a positive future ahead, of having choices, of having hope. These feelings give us motivation and drive. We are explorers at heart and the prospect of change elicits a deep yearning for growth and novelty. But change can also be frightening. It's frightening to consider the divergent paths of life that we must contend with and ultimately choose from. This perennial feeling of uncertainty seemingly native to the human condition, is truly as Robert Frost summarized, "two roads diverged in a yellow wood and sorry I could not travel both." While we're a species with a deep sense of adventure and courage, we are also a species with a longing for comfort, satiation, and certainty. As the world turns to winter once more, and the year comes to a close, I find myself at a crossroads. In some exponential way, the decision tree continues to amplify and this year the magnitude of my choices is paralyzing. In this moment, I see in front of m...

I'm homeless. So I've been home less. A home is less than ideal when it's loveless. And I've been loving less, sulking more.  And sometimes sleeping on the floor. Because I'm homeless. And lately I feel hopeless. The road is long and winding, but the journey is flawless. So my cup should really be more full than less. And my life is really more than flaws and regrets.  Maybe the home I seek, hides behind the fog of misjudgment.  And if home is where the heart is, Then maybe I need to address my heartlessness, And build a home based on happiness. * originally written 10/27/22

In the midst of my dark room, an empty bed sits. On this night, I'm home alone, and the air feels thick. Surely it must be me, because it's harder to breathe, Like the feeling of being lost at sea, with no ship. I'm home sick. It's strange, despite being home, I feel homeless. This home doesn't fit, somethings missing from it. Well, isn't home where the heart is?  So maybe I'm heartless?  Or my heart is with her, miles away, to be exact, 466. Home is wherever she is.  * originally written 9/11/22

In the quiet hours of the night, fires erupt. The structure beneath our feet, begins to corrupt. Brick by brick we've chipped away at the foundation. With no signs of slowing or swaying.  We've fallen back into the trap.  I search and search, yet find no map. Can we rebuild, stronger than ever?  Or we will crumble, layer by layer? The fires around us, swell and bellow, Destroying everything in their way, above and below.  And we stay cradled in that old rickety house. Trying not to be engulfed by the flames around.  But one day those fires will completely consume, And by that time, we'll be out of the woods, or doomed. Which one will we choose?  It is actually a choice or is it simply fortune? If I look to my heart, I see what I desire; To build for us a protective layer, a fire retardant. Will we always be held captive to the way that we're wired? Or can I change the course of our destiny, and build something admired? Perhaps the answer isn't for me to kno...