Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Intuition.
Inspiration.
Imagination.
What must it feel like to be these words? To be an arrangement so appealing as to cause one to think, to write, to act, to move...
What if we were just ink on a page?
Hope.
Happiness.
Haven.
Words, words, words, words, words!
But to cause? That is a marvelous purpose.

Saturday, April 21, 2012

I'm not very good with titles


How often in life do we face a challenge with joy? A task is usually a burden to be lifted, an episode to conquer, an obstacle to overcome. Joy is never part of the equation, save that joy we feel with accomplishment. But how can we not see that challenge as accomplishment itself? How can we miss the beautiful lines of encouragement radiating from its core? The opportunity is life, in and of itself. It breaths, it moves, it cries, just like everything else. And when it comes to us, face to face, it comes in life – asking not for a conquer, a slayer, a hero – but for recognition from someone with eyes and ears and a heart like its own. Someone to accept it and embrace the challenge; accept it as life, and live forever more.
Joy in the challenge...is that too hard for man?

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Brrrrr


There’s something beautiful about snow; the way it surrounds the face.
It fills the holes, eliminates the beauty of those you see every day.
It paints white with forgetfulness - erases the lines in the world; trees, homes, children, fears, cars, love, worries, sleep...
Erases it all until you see only white. 

The purity of the world at your fingertips. 
Is there anything more spectacular?

You can pick it up and crush it in your gloved hand. Better yet - you can taste the hope in your un-gloved hand: feel the cold wet slip down your fingers and into your throat.

Ah what a beautiful thing, snow.

Cardiac Arrest


What is a heart but
an organ of flesh?
Something small that
with life it gives:

So much can burst to death
by the sting of it.

Wet


Wet
(Sheep Falls on The Henry’s Fork)

Battered, bruised, broken;
I cannot move for pain.
Thousands undivided:
Pressing down on my skin

Their jaws devour my flesh,
Guiding bits on with their damp
Saliva and blood.
The torrential battle forever

Raging on: the pressure consumes me.
Those below scream for help,
For friendship.

Friends now enemies and enemies
Friends as each tattered break
Moves us closer toward eternity’s end.

Some call me endless –
A base, a foundation, a rock –
But here I am, wounded,
Water’s oppressed foe.

Droplets a battalion
Ending my everlasting soul.
Time and pressure plague all.

Isn't it just?

Time moves, time bends, time releases us from bondage. When we set out to change the course of our future, we are examining our lives through a different line - one that did not exist before.
Future is relative. Past is relative. Present is probably the most relative of all.
Isn't it time we got all those relatives together and celebrated life for what it really is? 
Not a time, not an event, not a circumstance:
Nothing more or less than a blessing.

Progress


Youthful minds turn
Round and round like a gymnast
On a rough day.

We collide with
Sweat and tears, hoping someone
Will say to us -

"Give up. Give up" -
But never quitting ourselves.
We look like fools

But still craving
The failed attempts and pain.
So we keep on

Turning and Turning and Turning.

Turning till blood
Flows from our veins - asking in
Wonder: "Is this 


my own?"

Is this my own...