Just a boy from Newfoundland

Danny Boy

2010-11-25T12:41:00.001-04:00

Oh Danny boy. Please stay, please stay. Don't leave us.
They don't care about our island in the sea.
With you going, who must, who must,
Our hero be?

Is it true?
The leaving of our pink, white and green team?
Please return and bring back with you,
Your pride and vision for the Newfoundland dream.

And if you leave us in a fortnight,
Without a leader to wade into battle,
We will fight for our right,
And the cage we will rattle.

We hope to hear,
Your love for our good name,
The snarl at fear,
And only our flag will remain.

So we wait, we wait,
For your return.
From St. John's to Twillingate,
The candle will burn.

Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, we love you so.

Brindle Swirls

2010-06-30T20:40:00.001-03:00

Summer heat
brings memories of skipping clawed feet.
Cloudless sunny sky,
Remembering ponds of floating tail-high.

Lips pulled back in fake bite,
Kisses replaced moment of fright.
Soundless sleeps with room to spare,
Our patrolling guardian has no fear.

Scratch her nose, ear, and belly,
But watch your feet - she finds them smelly.
Offer a treat with ease,
But ask and wait for the bark of please.

Cool and content,
Her father she did compliment.
Here for so long,
Taken away in a song.

Summer starts with a warm breeze,
Pollen whispers always made you sneeze.
Never forget,
Your smell when you were wet.

I will miss you Zoë.
Rest well my friend.

Home Sweet Home

2010-03-31T10:20:00.007-03:00

My focus on life is on choice and experience. It is not possible to turn the page on the past, but it is possible to move forward to a better life. You just need to take a chance.

The example here is from seven years ago, when I was leaving the west coast of Canada and returning to my roots in the east coast. I was on my way to university at the ripe age of 29 years old. I was leaving a lifestyle of drugs, booze, women and snowboarding. I was leaving a life of irresponsibility and diving straight into a potentially bright new future.

I have gone through several pseudo-editors over the years. None were able to commit to my work. I can either focus on the loss or keep my eyes forward. The time is right to be my own editor. The time is right to share with my readers. It is only fitting that the following post is from a time in my life when I was returning to my home. Just in time for when I am leaving it again.

Here you go. May you enjoy an excerpt from my memoir: Soul to Squeeze.

We all have moments in our lives that we build upon until the moment arrives. We base our days around when it will happen and daydream about what the moment will be like. The days pass. The moment grows closer and closer. Our anticipation rises. Our thoughts race forward in time.

Then, suddenly, we are in that moment. It happens so fast that we desperately want to release the jam on the fast forward button of motion that is life. We watch as the moment slides by us and then passes us by like a stranger on a busy street corner. It is all we can do to keep our heads high and wait for our next moment to arrive.

But what about the moments in between? Do we not live in between those times? Is our life nothing more than a transition from one big moment to the next big moment in between our mundane days of existence? How do we collect our moments and develop our future? How do we build upon our days and make each collection the rest of our lives instead of one fraction of it? Instead of looking forward to something that comes and goes like the precious breath we draw in and out?

Up to this point in my life, my existence was based on moments of anticipation. Moments of a better existence. Moments of anything more than what I had at that present time and place. But, slowly and surely, my outlook changes. Instead of keeping my eyes planted solely on the distant future, I fixate on my present course. Slowly and surely, I place one moment in front of the other, no matter how mundane or monotonous, and find that adding each moment to the next is the only way to design the future. To achieve the full potential of my destiny.

I focus on my days now. Focus on making each one better than the last. Each morning I wake up is a reason to smile. Each morning I wake up is a reason to live. Each day I wake up is a reason to learn. I watch as the days grow into something more than just a trivial passing of time. For, in reality, there is no such thing as a trivial passing of time. My days collect into something more. Something to push me forward. Something that I can almost taste but still have to wait to touch.

Each morning replaces each night. I center my thoughts on the idea of what happens with the collection of my days. I realize that the collection of my days eventually becomes the phases in my life. Phases of knowledge that becomes wisdom with the aid of time. Phases of experiences that teach me how to learn from my mistakes. Phases of new life that spurs tangible growth through the hard times.

I think about the phases in my life - the moments that come and go. Not the phases of puppy love or of drug use. But real phases in my lifetime. The extra push from behind that demands I make something better of myself…that I don’t let life pass me by because it is the only one I get.

I don't see my life as a moment in time but as a collection of days that guide me down the path of resistance. A guide that recognizes the signs standing firmly in the ground along the road side. I recognize the guide for what it is: an understanding that these days I live will eventually catch up to what waits patiently for me on the road ahead.

I am entering into the very first phase of my life. For so many years, I shuffled through my years and stumbled in the dark because I was terrified of the light. Then, one day, my path suddenly became true and just. It became a reason to make myself into the person I always knew was possible. Listen closely. That same message is hidden in your own moments in life.

So, here I am. More than seven years later. In a couple of days, I will reach another anniversary in life. It marks more than the date I jumped off a three storey railing and fell 50 feet to the hard ground below; fracturing my skull and shattering my lower back. It also marks three years of being clean.

Life is so fragile. Embrace it while you still can. Change yourself. Change your world. Change your life.

Until we meet again, my friends. Until we meet again.

"Waking up dead inside my head would never, never do, there is no med. No medicine to take. I've had a chance to be insane, asylum from the falling rain. I've had a chance to break." - Anthony Kiedis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers

The Promise

2009-12-22T14:18:00.002-04:00

Never give up
And I will never leave your side.

Never give in
And I will fight the surging tide.

Always look forward
And I will guard your back.

Always reach higher
And I will keep your dreams on track.

Always stay patient
And I will protect your heart.

Always keep moving
And I will honour the start.

Always treasure your love
And I will mend the tatters.

Always smile through the loss
And I will focus on what matters.

Always respect the past
And I will prepare the future.

Always live in the present
And I will plan the adventure.

Always nurture the soul
And I will develop the reason.

Always work smarter
And I will grow each season.

Always remember your character
And I will pave the road.

Always push further
And I will promise the seed is sowed.

Grey and White

2009-10-23T00:57:00.002-03:00

Floating in a soft hurry,

No cares,

No worries.

Light winds push and stall,

I watch in silence,

Marvel at its proud fall.

The paths it may travel,

The roads,

The dreams that unravel.

Alone now separated from a whole,

Flying on its own,

The wet winds taking its toll.

Will it stay,

Yet it may go,

Does it bring good fortune this day?

No one sees its flight,

Swinging to and fro,

Quiet in its wake and vulnerable in its own right.

Simple thoughts and wishes,

Single feather,

Brings me unforgettable riches.

Behind Me on the Road

2009-10-07T14:35:00.002-03:00

Autumn is here. The leaves slowly drift off the trees in a lazy swing to the wet ground below. A light mist falls on my shoulders as my thoughts race back and forth. I hurry to scramble up a mountain of doubt. To prove it wrong. To prove there is a reason. That there is a purpose. That my road is true. That it is paved with good intention.

It can be so desperately cold at times but my faith keeps me warm. Adversity. The maker of Kings. I wonder what it takes, what is necessary, to fight your way back up the heap after you were tossed to the bottom. I guess only time will tell. I am only concerned with starting the climb once again.

Here you go, and may you enjoy.

What music plays when a heart breaks? Is it the soundtrack of a continuous lost song, forgotten, now remembered? Do we pluck simple strings to elicit emotion, to pull tears unbidden without permission; hoping and praying forgiveness?

Mine has broken again and again this year. So many ups and downs. I know the road is there. I can feel it. I just can't see through this damn thick rainy fog. I just want to believe it is leading me in the right direction. No matter the cost. I want to believe.

So many questions. Not near enough answers. What is next? Where do I go? How will I get there? Do I stay here? Can I forge a better opportunity out of mere will? What was the purpose of four years of education? Was it not for a better life? A better future? I faced an addiction and accepted sobriety in order to stage the first of many victories. But I have to ask when does the disappointment lose the battle with the happiness? When? Why? Where? What? How? And the litanies keep coming and coming. No end in sight.

Pillow is wet at night. Throat is raw. Quiet whispers of sadness. Internal replies of confidence. Enough. Never enough. Sleep. Focus on the now. Race. Race. Race. Focus on the now. It will come to you. Trust. Believe. Listen. It will come to you.

Peace is coming. I can feel it. I know that hard work is necessary again. That results, a reason for hard work, happiness, that everything and more is coming. I want to believe that this is all a lesson. One day I will look back behind me on the road and understand. My faith is surreal. Pushes me. Drives me. Steadies me. Holds me upright when I want to give in to the buckling in my knees. Stay the course it tells me. Stay the course. There is reason. There is rhyme. There is purpose. It was not all for naught.

To lead is to risk failure. It is knowledge from the experience. To forge ahead when sanity urges reprieve. It is lonely. To lead is to gamble. It is desire to grow. To shape a dream from nothing but mere hope and passion. It is ephemeral. It is life. To lead is to inspire. It is reason to breathe. To see you gave it everything. That you gave it all.

This is where I am. A transition to a new level in life I never imagined was possible. I have tasted so many failures and rejections this past year that my pallet is rough and scored with slivers of disappointment. Yet I know the end to all of that is near. That a new beginning waits for me. Little, subtle, hide-and-seek glimpses into the echoes of my future. My memoir, after so many years of hard work and harder work still, is in its initial stages of editing. Each day, I read new messages from my editor about how we can shape its direction, small notes of what to leave out and what to take out. Every day a new song collapses the ache in my heart and rebuilds it with hope and desire to overcome. Fight, each song says, show your worth. Show that you are better than you can even possibly understand.

The truth is that even though my heart breaks with each chord, it is also strengthened with each word. Someone else has been on the same road as mine. To know that I am not alone in it all is more strength than I could ever ask. I sit back at times and look over my shoulder at my life. The mistakes. The memories. The moments in time that developed a life for the making. I stand back and look at the boy who struggled to find his place in the world and look inside at the man who only wants to find stable footing in the here and now. The man has laid the groundwork. Now he is told to wait. The rest will follow.

Until we meet again, my friends. Until we meet again.

"What were all those dreams we shared those many years ago / What were all those plans we made now left beside the road / Behind us on the road / More than friends I always pledged cause friends they come and go / People change as does everything / I wanted to grow old / Just want to grow old." - Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam

The Absurdity of it All

2009-08-26T18:06:00.003-03:00

It started the other night when my friend dropped by from Toronto. “It was a total whim,” he said. “I was walking through the Montreal airport and thought about heading back to the Maritimes.” He laughed and gave me thump on the chest. “I bought a ticket and here I am.”

“Good to see you brother,” he adds and looks me in the eyes. “You are looking healthy.”

I swig a gulp of beer and think about his words for a second. We are so tight and yet so far apart. Distance is one factor. He has many play-dates to keep him company. I have one. He still likes to drink. He still enjoys his highs. I only recently picked up an occasional social drink. Drugs are not a factor in my life. And it never will be again. My former lifestyle is no longer imminent in my time and day.

But I still think about it.

As recently as last week when my roommate smoked on the balcony and the pungent aroma drifted into my room. I thought about joining him. I held back. There are more important things in life. She is more important. Our love is more important. I. Am. More. Important.

My friend opens his cigarette package and lights one up to add to his already endless line of heavy smoke. My lungs wince. How I want to ask for one little drag, one little puff, maybe even a whole cancer-stick of my own. I pull a mouthful from my beer and stay silent. It is so hard sometimes. The demon inside is sick of its prison. The walls drain his creation. Let me out, it screams, let me the hell out. There are no windows here. I can’t breathe. Let me out.

I stand outside the door and listen quietly as it beats its head against the slick, moldy walls. Again. And again. And again. Over and over. Again and again. I reach down and softly ensure that the door is locked. Touch the padlock and forget where I buried the key. I turn on my heel and walk away. My dusty footprints are the only trace of my presence. The way it has to be.

Here you go and may you enjoy.

Will anyone who is not ever understand what it is like to be one who is? To walk with thoughts consumed of how to get it? Who might have it? Where to find money to pay for it? To use it as an escape from a life full of pain, full of plain, full of disdain for the uncool. The ones who never understand. The ones with the snide looks. The ones with the upturned nose. The ones on the outside of cool. The ones who walk without thoughts of how to get it. Of who might have it. Of where to find money to pay for it.

The memories cling to my matter with chemical claws and unforgiving nails scratch and rip my will to ignore. The amount of stress existing in my life at this moment is numbing. All I can think of is what needs to be done. Of the loss. To replace what is missing. To find myself once again. This stress has taken me prisoner. It is the jailer. But I refuse to beat the walls with my skull. I refuse to scream. I just look for another way out. There must be a way. There has to be.

It is deep. In its depth there is no pain. No plain. Not even disdain for the uncool. How can I forget walking city streets, high and free, floating above ground. No cares. No worries. Give me more. Give me. Give me. Give me. Free me from the constraints. Free me. Free. Me.

It is inside this prison that the demon lays. Next to me. Breathing on me. I can smell its fetid, rotten stench. Let me out, it says, let me out. I want to play, it says, I want to taste the bitter pallet of failure again. Let me out. Give in to me. Just give in. Come on. You know somewhere deep inside, that deep hole you stuck me in, that you miss it. Give in to me. Damn it. Damn you. Give in to me. Let me out.

No. As long as there is a breath to pull from my lungs, you will never get out. I faced your need. I denied it. I hold my head with pride now. You will never be the reason that it will hang in shame. I am alive. Alive.

Freedom of a different kind is my vision now. I don’t miss the guilt. I don’t miss the glaze. I don’t miss the permanent imprint in god knows how many sofas. I do miss the fact that special moments in my life were torn from my grasp. That I stood in front of so much beauty with numb thoughts and cold emotion. That I robbed myself of the simplistic rush of a waterfall, the glisten of fresh snow, the soft feel of warm grass underfoot. I do miss that.

I embrace my reality. Strange. I am learning lessons that lay, mortar by mortar, brick by brick, inch by inch, the groundwork and foundation of what is to be. The structure of complete and utter happiness just around the bend. Stability. Peace of mind. Success. Clean. Sober. Warmth. Light. Sunshine. Love.

I talked to my friend recently. Told him that the drinking, drugs, womanizing, that it was not him. I just went for it. He would either accept it or deny it. He stayed true to form. Thanked me. Told me there was only one me. I laughed.

It’s true. There is only one me. No room here for addiction any longer. I take a deep breath in and let a bigger breath out. It will be okay. I am doing what needs to be done. I have found a way out. And I will come out a newer, stronger, happier version of the person who went in. And that person was impressive. To say the least.

So now I wait. I rock back and forth gently on my heels. Muscles tense and strain against patient tendons and neurons. Don’t jump the gun, says a small voice of wisdom, don’t jump the gun. Be patient. The biggest prize of all awaits. No need to rush. Be patient. You have come this far. The rest of it is only a mere moment in time.

Until we meet again, my friends. Until we meet again.

“Its not a habit. Its cool. I feel alive. If you don’t have it you are on the other side…the deeper you stick in your vein the deeper the thought. There is no more pain. I am in heaven. I am a god. I am everywhere. I feel so hot. Its not a habit. Its cool. I feel alive. If you don’t have it you are on the other side. I’m not an addict…maybe that’s a lie.” – Sarah Bettens of K-Choice

These Are the Seasons

2009-03-10T19:30:00.003-03:00

A single year in our lives can constitute phenomenal change, challenge, and decision. Change who we were to who we become, challenge to overcome adversity, and decision to face the morning with new resolve. This is where I am. I have become, I have overcome, and I have decided. I will change, I will challenge, and I will decide.

A full compilation of seasons has come and gone. Winter to spring, spring to summer, summer to fall, and fall to winter once again. Each represent a time in my life where a decision was made, a change took place, and a challenge grew a life in leaps and bounds. I look in the mirror and each genuine smile is a new reason to forgive if only to forget. I taste life ever so palpable and sweet.

Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Clean. No more smoke in my lungs. I breathe easier and easier each day. I sleep better. No coughing. No guilt; no pressure to succumb. It was never me. Yet it was something that came so easy for so long. I make the decision and it is easy once again. Give it up. Start over again. But at what cost?

Betrayal. Loss of her. A love once so strong that was actually transparent as the rising wind, blowing her away from me, blowing away a life so close to my grasp. I see her in the hallway, and she looks at me like a stranger might on a busy street corner. No sign that two years had come and gone with passion, love, hope for a better day. Nothing. It is not until months later that I find out there was someone else. The challenge to grow becomes evident once again.

Battle. I fight through the nights when all I want is to fill my lungs with release, with smoke, with failure. Instead I fight to survive until morning, until sleep, until success. I fight through the daily illusion of student at morning, consultant at day, and addict at night. I sit through meeting after meeting, listen to the sad stories, the abuse, the uncertainty. I leave with the knowledge that my path is right and that it is paved with true intention. I walk in my door, smell the pungent and acrid smoke, hear the laughter, and ask for courage. One more night became one more morning. Outside the snow falls.

Time. Days turn into weeks and weeks blur into nights of bottomless bottles, clinking of tide, and lost memories mired deep in a liquid fog. When will enough be enough? When will it be time? Soon. Soon you will find who you are meant to be. Patience. Weeks become months. Exams, papers, more exams, and then, a decision. Where do I go? Bermuda? Australia? New Zealand? Stay in Halifax? Where next? Write my last exam, the next day write my last paper, and then I am free from my commitment. A voice says go for it. Go for it. Buck the naysayers and the unsure because they never understood you anyway. It never was and never will be for them. It is for those who believe. Go for that dream. Outside the flowers wake and embrace the light.

Complete. I walk down an aisle, feel the paper in my hands, see my mother beam at me. A graduate. A degree. It was supposed to be our day. I listen to her speak about her educational experience, think about how we were meant to leave together. Make a road trip. Start a life. Instead, I listen to her speak of a new destination. A place where I once lived yet where I have no place by her side. The sadness wells in my throat and robs me of the true happiness of a day that can never be replaced. We go to dinner and celebrate our success. I confess my love, watch her cry, listen to her tell me as we both agree that it had to be. Days later I drive her to the airport and watch her walk out of my life. Gone.

Write. And write. And write some more. Blank paper becomes pregnant with potential as words scrawl across the surface and a plan, dare a dream, becomes a reality. I sit in front of people with my future in their hands and yet I do not bat an eyelash. This is my destiny. I have been walking to it since one fateful morning after waking up in a hospital bed, my skull fractured and my back shattered. I always knew that adversity only develops character. That the hardest challenge is only accepting that choice. The rest is easy. Outside the sun shines and splits the ground with love, with hope, splits my sadness apart and replaces it with faith.

I start my own business. Buy a car, find my own space, do the impossible: ignite a business from scratch without a single client and only letters of intent. I walk the concrete, find people to meet, sell, sell, write, write, and write some more. Each night is spent alone, nothing more than myself and a computer screen. The solitude I wanted so badly becomes a tomb of silence. It is unbearable. I long to smoke away the silence, to inhale the darkness, to break down and admit defeat. Yet I wake in the morning, more alive than the day before, and face the day with courage. I face life with knowledge that my path is right and that it is paved with true intention. Believe. Have faith. Believe. Trust. You are only given what you can handle. Nothing more. Believe, damn you, believe.

Then the night falls and begs me to play. It begs me to come back and join the fray that once almost took my life. You are missed. It is no fun without you. Okay, I say, okay. One more time becomes one more week and one more week becomes one more month. Then came the day I will never forget. The day I said it is enough. It is enough. I decide to face the day without any drugs. I decide to embrace the night sober, with no smoke, no spirit, and only my courage to test the hand of fate. If is this is how it is meant to be, if this is the right path, then I walk it with true intention, with true faith, with love in my heart. Outside the leaves begin to fall.

Opportunity. One single night, on Halloween of all nights, nine years to the day I almost took my own life…I meet her, the woman in control, the woman in charge, the woman with certainty in her step, and beauty in her voice. She meets me, the addict who is sober, the addict who is clean, the addict who believes. We dance. We laugh. We smile. We walk and talk, and laugh some more. I travel to an island far away and laugh with friends I have not seen in years. They see a man they do not know but yet always believed they would one day meet.

Home. I return. We sit. We talk. We laugh. She sings to me in a voice literally stolen from the heavens and trapped on earth. Be patient she tells me. It will all come when it is meant to come. I just want to get to know you, learn you, see if you are truly what I believe. Okay, I say, okay. I tell her that I am glad to be the man she met and that she will never meet the boy I used to be. I like this person she knows. So do I, she says, so do I. Outside the snow begins to fall.

Celebrate. I sit down at a table laden with holiday cheer, share a cup of coffee and not-so-ordinary conversation with my mother. So proud, she says, so proud. Days slowly become the best holiday of cheer, of music, and yet no spirit touches my lips, and no wasted nights passed out in a forgotten mist. Sober. A business ails as a market falls. A decision to make once again. Do I drink the frustration and stress away? Do I roll it all into a simple burn of faith and lose myself in the rising cloud of failure? I smile. Shake my head. Laugh at my demons. Make some calls. Join the market once again and plan for the day when I will once again be my own boss. Adversity. The creator of kings.

I feel that each day is a step forward. A movement, ever so subtle, not to meet a woman meant for me, but to the man who is waiting for me. I am smiling, watching my journey to the place I have been sitting, waiting ever so patient for the man who is clean, the man who is sober, the man who understands that adversity is only a reason to develop character. That one day is another day to place one foot in front of the next. To walk toward my destiny, no matter what it might hold. I know that my path is right because my intention is true. And I will know that when my day comes I will meet it clean, I will meet it sober, and I will recognize the man I have become. The seasons change, the demons call, but the courage to succeed stays with me every step of the way. Nothing but me and true intention.

Until we meet again my friends. Until we meet again.

“Say hello and wave goodbye...we were born before the wind. Who were we to understand? We were born before the wind...say goodbye. Through the rain, hail, sleet and snow...say goodbye."
- David Gray

Picking Up the Pieces

2008-10-04T20:56:00.002-03:00

There comes a time in our life when we must take stock of our decisions. Are we doing the best we can to live a higher and more fulfilling life? Are our egos confusing our actions? Are we running our lives or is it our habits and vices that make the rules? Finally, what is more important: our image or our identity?

I asked myself these hard questions recently. It was necessary to set my position and potential course direction for the rest of my life. It was time to become my own one-man-army.

Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I am clean. From drugs, and now I even dare to remove booze from my life. Not an easy choice, but surprisingly my resolve is strong. My birthday recently passed, only a couple of days ago, and I stayed sober. I drove my new car home in the early morning dawn and thought about where I have come from…even more so what I have survived.

Too many nights I stumbled home and crashed into walls. Kicked in doors because they stubbornly refused to yield to my shoulder. Passed out in my bed only to wake up, groggy, and oh so guilty. An empty wallet and a hazy memory of the night before. At some point I had to ask, “When does it all stop? When is enough really and truly enough?”

I always worried that if I gave up drugs, gave up alcohol, would my soul follow suit? There is an old saying about no junk, no soul for a writer. It is a mythical idealogy that a writer is nothing without a nasty habit. He or she has nothing to pull from anymore, and even worse, nothing to create for the future. No parties, no broken hearts, no empty, dusty bottles of whiskey, and no fragrant whisps of smoke filling the air with false inspiration.

I reflect back to another time for a moment. To a time when music was my salvation. I was encased in a body-cast, and only a few days out of a two-week hospital stay. I walked around my living room, headphones on, and listened to the Red Hot Chili Peppers soulful harmony in my ears. I was so aware of the contraints in my life at the time. The headphone leash that limited me to a few feet of freedom. The fibercast tomb that trapped me in my body. One, a leash tethered to sanity; the other, a physical reminder of insanity. Yet, all I could do was walk back and forth, pace and pace, and taste life so palable on my lips. New life. Second chance.

There came a day, more like a morning in fact, when I knew it was time. I woke up with what may be my last hangover, groggy, guilty about an empty wallet, and a memory fading into the ether of my mind. I searched for my car in an underground concrete parking, fearful it was towed away. I retraced my steps, and realized in my confused state that I had walked right past it. When would enough be enough? That was the day. I had too much to lose now. I had a business, a future so promising that I could not afford to ignore warning signals. Pay attention, said the signals, pay attention before you give it all away for free. Pay attention.

This past week has been an escape from the trappings of drugs and booze, but a return to the beauty and freedom of music. It has been seven days full of parties, live music, and dancing under neon lights. Swaying, bouncing, swinging to powerful beats and real words from real people. I was surrounded by others with bottles to their lips, stumbled hitches in their steps, blurred lights in their vision. Loving life. But I was sober. It was so real. My outlet was real. To dance, sway, bounce to soulful harmony because I could. No constraints. No restrictions. No leash.

New life. Second chance. Freedom.

It is the first week. In two more months, it will be a year clean of drugs. I used to laugh when people asked me how long I was clean. It was one month, three months, even six. It was ephemeral at the time. Now it has been almost a year. There have been challenges and there have been many a test. But, I passed and each day continues on from the next with another opportunity to disappoint myself. That is what it comes down to for me. It is not the opportunity to fail but the opportunity to look at myself in the mirror in the morning…and be proud. So, it is one week. I wonder how long it will take before a year passes in single blink of an eye…I wonder.

Scattered all around me are pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. I have been building this damn puzzle my whole life. Just when it is seemingly complete, I realize there is a missing piece. In frustration sometimes, I scatter all the pieces into the wind and then chase after them. Start all over again. Place them all on a flat surface and rebuild. Time after time. One piece fits here. Another piece fits there. Each one fits easier than the last. Gives me hope that the next piece will be the link to the complete puzzle. To a complete me. No missing pieces. More whole than the last time I put myself back together after I scattered my identity into the wind in frustration. Time after time and time again. I have come to see over the years that I am not forming an image after all. I am working on completing a master identity. An example, a change for others to see. For others to follow. At the very least, the change I need to follow in my own life.

With every day comes another day to walk one step in front of the next. One step at a time. One day at a time. I keep my head up and watch out for the signals, whether warning or warming, and think about one day at a time. I think about these goals that I set for myself and I smile. I am a soldier. So, it would make sense that my one-man-army keeps marching to its own beat. One day at a time.

Until we meet again, my friends. Until we meet again.

Peace and love.

“But my hand was made strong by the and of the Almighty. We forward in this generation...triumphantly. Won't you help to sing these songs of freedom? Because all I ever have...redemption songs. Redemption songs. Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery...none but ourselves can free our minds." - Bob Marley

My Own Sunroom

2008-07-29T23:18:00.005-03:00

I move into my own place in a couple of weeks. No roommates. My own space. I started my own agency recently and will run my office out of this new place. I can't wait. However, I am procrastinating from packing. I am not a fan of packing. Never have been. This is more about inspiring myself to feel the energy and excitement of having my own place.

I wrote the following piece last fall. It seems fitting. It captures why I am in this moment at this very stage in my life. It's a reason behind why I chose life over destruction. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

"And this is our sunroom."

I looked around the room, every little corner filled with sunlight. There was such a natural calm to the room. Next to the picture window, just under the sill, sat a small table and some comfortable looking chairs. The whole place just begged me to sit down and just think for a while.

I was fourteen at the time and had never seen a room quite like this one. "A...a sunroom?" I finally stuttered out.

"Yes, sort of like our breakfast room," he said.

"But didn't we just pass that?" I asked him.

"No," he said and laughed. "That was our, um, hmmm...my parents call it the formal dining room."

I instantly thought of our small battered table in my kitchen. All the contrasts between my new friend and I flashed quickly in my mind. His big house with its own separate land placed just far enough away from his neighours. My small, pseudo-lego, government-subsidized townhouse that connected to two other identical ones to mine.

I thought of his lawn with its beautiful thriving trees and alive with its multi-coloured flowers. My house had a small patch of grass with nothing but a neatly mown face. I thought of the flower bed that Mom always attempted to grow each year, but how the soil was never rich enough.

He had two parents who could give him anything he wanted. My Mother was raising me on her own. I never needed. Anything. But he never even wanted. There was such a huge gap in the collective standard of living. I felt sick. The gap was so expansive and it threatened to swallow me whole if I ever jumped across it.

That was twenty years ago. I sit here now, typing away on my laptop, and think of how twenty years can do much to a man's confidence. It all truly started five years ago with a single phone call.

"I want to move in with you when I turn sixteen," she politely demanded over the phone.

"Okay," I said.

"And my room needs to have an ocean view," she whispered.

Okay, I said.

That was five years ago. I have been moving along the path to slow, but sure success ever since. Funny, but it took the words of my then-seven-year old niece to give me the initial push.

I've seen so many beautiful houses in my life. So much character in deep, dark mahogany handrails, in attics with so many rooms that it could be a house on its own, and yet each time the old familiar feeling returned. I always felt sick. It would never be mine.

Nice place, I would say. Then ask to use the bathroom and hope not to vomit.

Yet...I walked into what would be considered a mansion. It was monolithic. I gazed around. What a house. Piano. Chandelier. Vaulted ceilings. Large winding staircase. I joined the party outside and walked past the outdoor pool and the large, catered open bar.

"I could have this," I said to Sarah.

She smiled at me. "Yup."

"You only have so many years before she turns sixteen," she added.

"Yup," I said.

Not to state an old adage that time waits for no man, but...we only have so much of it. Once it's gone; it's gone. I see a tool-belt wrapped around my waist, hear the workers by my side, and taste the glistening sweat sliding down my skin. I can feel the blueprint design under my fingers. My house. Built with my own hands and the way I want it to be.

Anything is possible. While there is still time. I dream but I am now finally living those dreams. I have my own business and am almost finished the last edition to my memoir. I even have an editor now. Soon it will be pitched to publishing houses. I will be the agency that promotes it. It is not about the money, nor the thought of it, that drives and fuels me. No. Not at all.

It is the thought that one day I will sit in my own sunroom. With a table right next to the picture window, and just under the sill, a small table with some comfortable looking chairs. I will greet my sleepy-eyed niece as she walks in for breakfast and ask her..."How was your ocean-room view?" And Mom will follow in right behind her. I can't wait for that day.

Until we meet again, my friends. Until we meet again.

"I am looking forward to a sunrise where I don't have to face a storm to go outside. And here at last, with a new found understanding, all the baggage not withstanding, it means no more. And all is well. When I am looking into friendly eyes. Lo how their hands keep me warm and hang on tight....and that's my plan. Yeah that's my plan." - Justin Hines

The Best of You

2008-04-19T18:21:00.002-03:00

I ran into her today. Her hair was dyed jet-black and cut into ragged angles. She looked incredible. I thought about the man she now calls hers and walked away with a heavy heart. Then that small little voice, the same one that consoles me and pushes me, said, “Be happy for her. There is more waiting for you. Not someone else, but you. Find out who you are and find that balance you need in life. Find the best of you.”

I bit back tears, looked up at the blue sky, and thought of my life. I thought of a time when I fought to live in a hospital bed. I can do better. Not better as in better than her. That would not show her the respect she deserves. No. I can do better in life.

I wonder at times about being single again. Why it had to happen and why I have to be alone. I know why now. It only took me years of thinking and pondering and a chance meeting to resolve. I need this time not to get the best from someone else…but to get the best from me.

Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I have learned to let go of pain. I have learned its lesson and removed its presence from my life. It is the only way to push through in life without having something drag me from behind and hold me back. It is hard. I won’t deny that. But anything in life worth fighting for is hard. It is a reason to fight.

It all started in my childhood and the times I was pushed to the outside and forced to look in. Look into the fun, look into the laughter, but more importantly: to look within. I think my journey as a fighter started in those days. Pain was my worst opponent and always beat me down. To my knees. To the ground. To the dirt. Eat that it said. Eat that and live it.

It followed me. It taunted me. It tempted me. “You can run from me,” it said, “You can take that pill, snort that line, or smoke that joint. But, I will find you time and time again.” It played with me like a predator played with its prey…keeping me alive only to kill me time and time again in the end.

Time and time again. I even leaned on it as a friend leans on a friend. I sometimes wondered if pain followed me or if I followed it. I reveled in it. I licked my own wounds and sewed my own scars. I asked for it again and again. Give me more I said….gimme gimmie gimmie.

Some say that pain feels good. No fuck that. Pain is your body’s way of telling you something is wrong. Pain is a warning signal. Pay attention it says or you will be in a world of agony. I only finally realized a couple of months ago. I came to this conclusion on November 1st, 2007. That day, ironically enough, was eight years after I woke up in a hospital bed with a fractured skull and shattered back. That day, only months ago, was the day I decided to get clean from drugs. I lost everything that day. I lost her. I lost my pride. I even lost the trust of my mother. That hurt more than anything else. I started all over again. One more time.

I survived some really rough times these last number of months. So many moments of confusion and times of sadness…nights spent in solitude with only a pen, paper, and my thoughts. I was lost and yet so found. I put my head down, opened book after book, worked hard, and came out more alive than I have ever felt in my life. I made plans for me and no one else. I started to trust in me. I focused on me. I spent time with me. I became my own teacher.

I stopped looking into a future impossible to predict and took one day at a time. One more day without a drug is one more morning to look proudly in the mirror. That pride grows every single day. I have strength now that I don’t even comprehend. Life has opened up again. I feel like it is truly starting for the first time. I love that feeling. It is not the first time I have tasted it.

I would not be here now unless pain came again. It still visits now and then but we sit and talk like old friends. It tells me what is wrong and lets me figure it out on my own. “Don’t fear me anymore,” it says, “See me for what I am.” I smile more now. Pain is no longer that ravenous, mongrel dog feeding on the empty hole of my soul. It is my companion now. It pushes me. It shows me. It warns me. Be more it says. Be more and the less you will see of me.

It is real. I won’t deny that. But I have decided that happiness is the best way to fill that hole. Do what I want to do and take a risk for what I want in this day and time. Fight for it. Fight for my life. I walk out now into a beautiful sunny day and stare up at an empty sky. I see blue all around me. I see vast potential. I will feel the pain but I will resist the urge to taste it. I will refuse it past the point of warning. It understands.

I am that someone who needs the best from me. I want the best from me. I have not given that yet. No one else but me can give it either. I want the best from me now. Only I can give that. The best of me will be the rest of me.

So I search for balance now. A balance between extreme highs and extreme lows. A steady flow of positive feelings and positive thoughts. I feed on something entirely new now. Something better than I can even imagine. I have never felt so honoured to be in this joy we call life. I am not on this road alone. There are many to keep me company. Walk with me. Learn with me. Live with me. Find the best of you.

Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

“Has someone taken your faith? It’s real. The pain you feel. The life. The love. You’ve got to heal. The hope that starts the broken heart. Your trust. You must. Confess. Is someone getting the best of you, the best, the best, the best of you? Is someone getting the best of you, the best, the best, the best of you? I’ve got another confession my friend. I’m no fool. I’m getting tired of starting again…somewhere new. Were you born to resist? Or be abused? I swear I’ll never give in. I refuse.” – Dave Grohl of the Foo Fighters

Just Part of a Journey

2008-04-17T18:47:00.003-03:00

The bitter cold reaches into my lungs and yanks measured breaths out in crystallized puffs of air. I climb higher up the back of the mountain and leave behind an empty footprint with each step.

Sweat slides down my spine and pools at the base of my lower back. I tighten my grip on my board and flex my fingers over its base. I use it to chop into the snow in front of me and lean on it for extra support during the hike.

It is a beautiful cloud-less morning and it has been snowing for the last couple of weeks. There is plenty of powder to find. And, judging by the absence of tracks leading up the mountain in front of us, I could tell it was just me and my friends.

It was a stellar day for riding: fresh snow, good friends, steep cliffs, and big old empty bowls of pure bliss. What else could I ask for? I think about my question as I click into my bindings, ease off my edge, and drop off the first of what would be many cliffs that day.

Oh yes...that's right. I know what else to ask for. Even more so, what was needed. Progression. At that moment in my life, I knew the only true road to progression was the road that points to education. At that moment in time, education was only a mere couple of months down the road. Man...it came and went so quick.

Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I sat in a classroom today, surrounded by other students, and wrote the final exam of my degree. Four years later and it is all said and done. My degree may be done but my learning is only truly beginning.

I feel that my life is at an apex. I have reached the summit of the mother of all hikes and stand at the lip of the biggest cliff I ever seen. No fear. Once again, I do not hesitate to strap in, lean back, and make a running jump off the lip. I hate cliches, really I do, but in the end it is not the destination in life that matters...it really is about the journey. It is about the nicks and scrapes you receive along the way. It is about the wounds that score your skin and leave behind a permanent scar. It is about having your heart broken only so you can rebuild it stronger each time. It is about taking risks and either learning from the loss or reaping the reward.

I am so blessed. So many people stood behind me during these last years while I was in school. My best friend Steve, who watched over me in a hospital bed, my best friend Sophie who was there from the beginning of it all - she even drove me from the mountains across Canada. My professors who pushed me to excel. So many people.

And then...there is Gail.

My mother is my hero. She was there every single, iota, minuscule or large step of the way. She held my hand when I was alone, she rubbed my shoulders when I was tired, she fed me when I could not afford to feed myself. She shared my failures. She celebrated my successes. I never knew how to thank her over the years. Now I do. It is called being a university graduate.

This feeling is so hard to describe right now. I have worked so hard for a little piece of paper and yet the quantitative benefits are unmeasurable. The three little letters of BPR stand for so much more than Bachelor of Public Relations. It stands for late nights, early mornings, horrible headaches, travels to caribbean waters, a back tattoo, a loss of a friend, a couple of broken hearts here and there. It stands for being clean from drugs. No more foreign substances in my blood. It means being stronger than I even realize. It stands for a book I wrote that just passed its first round of edits with fabulous reviews. It stands for my new direction in life.

Today is not the same as yesterday, and tomorrow, tomorrow will never be the same as today. I have learned to wring and twist every little drop of life out of every day now. I am taken advantage of the opportunities to right the wrongs in my life. To not give up when I want to quit. To work harder when I am past the state of exhaustion. To laugh when I want to cry. To hold my head up and see the world around me.

I am proud of this. Proud is only a word from our simple language that could never capture the emotion inside or explain how I really feel. Our simple language could never capture the hard work that went into this. The fun times. The incredible times. The simply amazing people I have met. The pure unfettered happiness of the insanity called school. I will miss it so but I look forward to what comes next.

So, tonight I celebrate. Next week, I start a business plan for my own PR agency. Yup. I am going for the whole enchilada. I wonder if they will allow running on the stage when I go to accept my degree? One step down, Gail, and so many more to go. One day at a time.

Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"If I was young, I'd flee this town, I'd bury my dreams underground/As did I, we drink to die, we drink tonight/Far from home, elephant gun/Let's take them down one by one/We'll lay it down, it's not been found, it's not around/Let the seasons begin - it rolls right on...let the season begin - take the big king down." - Zach Condon of Beirut

Equal Footing

2008-02-28T17:48:00.003-04:00

Prepared to go on my own.
Ask and
Then ask again some more.

Is it a new beginning?
Different life
Seen through different eyes?

Is it new ideas?
Clear suggestions
Heard from an open mind?

Is it physical?
New skin
Replacing old memories with body chemistry?

Is it emotional?
New feelings
Covering up dusty windows into my soul?

Is it jealousy?
What was once mine
Could not possibly be yours?

Is it me?
If it is in me
Will I ever know?

Search and
Then search again some more.
Ready to go on my own.

My Thoughts

2008-01-10T16:06:00.000-04:00

I am afraid to be alone with you sometimes,
Especially when the rain falls,
And evening pulls its dark hood over the sun’s eyes.

I refuse to be alone with you sometimes,
When I lay awake,
And breathe into that empty void.

I am terrified to be alone with you sometimes,
When there is no one else around,
And the silent ticking of wasted time falls faster and faster.

I breathe deep,
In and out,
Exhale and yet want to scream and shout.

Strong,
Strong,
Stand strong.

I need to be alone with you always,
It is the only way I can grow,
And understand what to remove and what needs to remain.

I have to be alone with you always,
To tell me everything will be okay,
And that the road ahead is sweeter than the road behind.

I want to be alone with you always,
Memorable times of days before,
And better days yet to come.

Without a Father Figure

2007-12-22T05:26:00.000-04:00

Crash. Boom. Bang.

I walked softly downstairs to see where the noise came from. I saw my step-father passed out on the couch. It was 2:30 in the morning and he snored away on the couch. I looked him over for a couple of minutes and listened to his heavy rasps of air.

I went back upstairs, sat in front of the computer, and thought of the news I heard today. I knew it was coming. I just wasn't ready to hear it. I just didn't want to hear it.

I hope you can handle what I am about to say. I just need to get it out and rid my heart of the terrible weight that has burdened it for so long. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I was one when my mother left my father. I don't recall the night it happened. I only vaguely remember waking up on Christmas morning and my brothers telling me of the bad happening the night before. I went downstairs with them and noticed that it was a different living room, a different Christmas tree, and a different house. Funny. My mom left my father on Christmas Eve, took her sons to her sister's house, and started a holiday tradition that lasted for many years. From that moment on, we went to my aunt's house every Christmas for dinner.

I never knew my father. Bill was not exactly the affectionate type. I don't remember hugs. No. None of that. I only remember one kiss from him. Unfortunately, I also remember the bitter sting of his palm one time. It happened when I was five years old. Mom ran out of time to find me a sitter and had to take me to a family wedding outside of St. John's. My parents had been divorced maybe a year or two at the most at the time.

I wore only shorts and a rugby t-shirt because of the summertime heat. We met up with Bill and he was not happy to see me tagging along. They argued in my uncle's kitchen while I sat in the living room. Then he called me in. I was terrified of this man. I knew who Bill was but I had no connection with him. I immediately latched onto my mom's pant leg. He reached over, pulled me off, called me a baby, and tossed me into the cupboards. I bounced back off it and careened straight into his open palm.

Bam. Right on the kisser. I can still feel the hard cold linoleum under my ass when my body hit the floor.

I don't remember much after that, except for the fact he bought me soda pop all night, and told me that he didn't mean to hit me. I sucked my liquid sugar through a straw and nodded at him in silence. Sure. Just please don't hit me again. I don't like it. But I dared not say that out loud.

I grew up in a house of boys without a male figure. My brothers tried to be a father to me, but our household was just too violent. Not a day went by without a fistfight. To this day, I am still in awe at my mother. How she put up with it all is beyond me. She only pulled us closer and refused to give up on any of us.

My mom met a man many years later when I was eleven years old. He became a male figure in my life but well; not a father figure. At that point, I had become so disassociated with what a father figure meant anyway. My mom was the law in our family. She was the solvent that melted away the sadness of not having a father. She was everything to me growing up.

I met a girl when I turned 21 and we ended up moving into her father's house. I became close with him. Jim was such an intelligent man with a caring and gentle soul. He opened not only his doors for me but openly embraced me into his family. We hung out in his room and watched old movies. I listened as he explained the history of etymology behind historical names. He had been a teacher once and he taught me during our conversations. How to love a child and the small little things that make a difference in a child's life. Kisses he said. Lots and lots of kisses. You can never give them enough kisses. Then he laughed at his simple words. And I laughed with him.

We even took a technology program together for a year. I sat in the same class with him and envied his ability to get better marks than me. Well son, he said, maybe you should actually study. Then he laughed at his simple words. And I laughed with him.

His daughter and I eventually separated but I continued to live with Jim even when she moved out. I loved her father. He was the father figure I never knew. He was always there for me. His door was always open. And, believe me, I took advantage of that open door policy many, many times. It was incredible to know that I was like a son to him.

Time went on and people move on as we are known to do. I moved out, left the province, and traveled across North America for five years. I spent each of those years in a different mountain every winter and snowboarded with abandon. I almost even died on a scary, dark night during those same years. I lost touch with all of Jim's lessons and forgot about everything my mom told me about drugs. I almost drowned under the dark heavy weight of misspent youth.

Yet, as those years passed, I still called him. We always knew how the other was and he always wanted to know if I was being safe. He was one of the few I called when I dropped back into town to visit mom. We always went out for lunch. He always paid. The last time I saw him was a couple of years ago.

I am back in town again. I emailed my old girlfriend to meet up, have some drinks, and meet her new fiancee. I have not seen or even talked to her in over eight years. I asked her how her father was and noticed an absence in her written reply.

Today, I called another old mutual friend of ours who I had also not talked to in over eight years. Have you talked to our friend, she asked? Yes, I said, and I left a phone message with her last night. Do you know what happened, she asked. Do you know that her father passed away from cancer last year? She mentioned that she had no idea how to get ahold of you. She told me how close you and her father were.

No, I said, no I didn't know that. I hung up the phone a couple moments later and put it all out of my mind. I spent the day shopping with my mom, saw my old friend, got a haircut, and dropped mom off at home later on in the night.

I drove to get some food and then it hit me. He's gone. He's really, really...gone. No chance to even say goodbye. Gone. The one and only father figure in my life...gone.

The keyboard blurs in my vision. I think of all the motivating reasons I have created over the years to make sense of my life. To push me forward with haste. To make sure that this life does not pass me by and leave me with regrets. For me primarily, for my mother, for my close friends, heck, even for the random strangers I will hopefully inspire to live a life more than ordinary.

I think about my age and guage how much time I have left to make an impact in this world. People talk about age all the time. We are a culture so inudated and saturated with youth that we forget what comes with age. We turn a blind eye to the time needed to develop experience, to develop character; to develop a life. Oh getting old hey, some tell me. No, I say, actually I am just still a puppy. My age only represents the number of years I have been on this earth. I have many years still ahead of me and many journeys still to be walked.

But, for some reason, tonight, my life window grew a little shorter. A candle flame somewhere inside snuffed out, never to be lit again. He's gone. So, I will do my best to honour him with the time in this life that I have left. I will do my best to honour the only father I have ever known. I miss him. I will never have another father like him in my life ever again.

I think of Bill and of his last words to me over eight years ago. They were not of the kind, fatherly type. He suffered a major stroke a few months ago and does not even remember my name anymore. In his mind, I have never even existed. I could really care less. I don't know the man, never have, and really do not even care to know him. Sad.

My mom tells me she is so proud of the man I have become. I tell her that I have no idea what being a man really means. I never had a true example other than Jim. I have basically been building my image of a man the only way I know how: in my own image. Learning from my mistakes, avoiding those same mistakes in the future, and directing my life to a higher purpose.

I will continue to push on, Jim, and one day may we meet again to sit and talk. You may have used simple words to make your point, but you were never a simple man in my eyes. Thank you for all the times you pulled me aside and told me what it meant to have a son like me. Thanks for being the father I always wanted to have.

Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"Now how I can survive without my friend of mine? My view is not perfect...yet somehow perfect. What I am to do? I've lost that part of me...will I be alright? Yeah will I make it?"
- Daniel Greaves of The Watchmen

Juggling Act

2007-10-23T19:07:00.000-03:00

I watch the pins cascade and tumble in the air. I deftly catch and switch each one from right to left, and keep my eye on the movement. Every once in a while, one drops mid-spin and lands softly upright on my head.

I ponder it and never stop juggling. Is it worth it? Will it sing? Does it have reason? Does it have zing? Will it last? Will it survive? When will it start? When will it thrive?

Out of my peripheral, I spy another pin about to tumble into the game. It seems brighter than the other pins. An aura surrounds it. Quick. Decision time. Quick, quick...hurry, hurry. It must be a smooth transition. It must be now. It has to be quick and easy.

But what stays? What has hope? What has matured? What retires young?

I grab the pin just as it joins the maddening rise and fall of the others. I grasp it in my palm for a split second. Flames lick up and scorch my mind. Uh oh. This one's on fire.

The ins and out of my life. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Ideas are just that: ideas. But apply some critical analysis and an idea becomes a plan. Mix the plan with some thought and then the plan becomes a goal. But there is still a missing element. What will be the catalyst?

For that matter...what is a catalyst?

It is movement. It is decision. It is responsibility. It is action. It is result. It is measurement. It is success even if you fail.

Vision is key. It is important to look around your environment. Maybe even more important to take the time, be patient, and absorb. Then push, push...push. Quick, quick...quick. Hurry, hurry...hurry.

Then stop. Take a breath. Take another one. In deep and out deep. Think of what you want. Imagine the tangibles that make up the warmth and beauty of life. See it. Find it. Build it. Become it. Live it.

My manuscript is under review. I pitched it to a famous Maritime writer. He asked for some sample chapters. It shocked me at first to be honest. To be face-to-face with a stage in life and recognize it for what it is.

I sent him some chapters. He wrote back literally minutes after what it would have taken him to read the samples. He asked for the manuscript. Great voice he said. Strong stuff. I want to see if it sustains its punch and spirit. I like it he said.

The pins spin faster and faster. Each seems heavier and heavier. Each seems more real. Each is an idea that grows in merit. Each is an idea that burns with potential.

The ideas flash through my mind as I grasp each pin in between the stall from hand to hand. Business plan for the urban music artist. Promotion for the book. Brand designs for clothing and shoes. Standing in front of a growing audience and mentally preparing a speech.

Still they come.

The pin slips from my head and joins the madness. It passes through the rotation and I feel its heat. It sears my soul and then I feel the branded mark it left behind as it passes from hand to the next.

Then I realize. It is the one that has been burning all along. It is the one that is now breathing in the opportunity to become more than an idea. It burns for the chance to become real. It burns to move from dream to waking life. Soon. Oh so very soon. Just be patient. Soon my story will be laid out for the world to read. Some might judge. Some might critique. Let them. At least they will have to read it to do so. I only hope that it falls into the hands of the hopeful. The dreamer. The romantic. I only hope you will all relate to a life lived above ground with dreams of living in the clouds.

Until we meet again, my friends. Until we meet again.

"It's bitter baby and its very sweet. I'm on a roller-coaster but I'm on my feet. Take me to your river let me on your shore. I'll be coming back baby...I'll be coming back for more." - Anthony Keidis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers

A Breath in Transition

2007-06-27T16:05:00.000-03:00

I took a break from work today and walked down to the harbourfront. I sat on some wooden stairs, stared out at the Atlantic Ocean, and thought about my life. I thought back to the days when part of my work involved cleaning up a beach. I sat on a driftwood log back then and contemplated my life while I looked out at the Pacific Ocean. Two different coasts. Two different occupations. Two different stages in life. Yet I still wonder about the same thing: where is my life headed?

Sometimes, we all need to put our life into perspective. I did today. I only know one thing for sure: I keep coming back to the same thing time and time again. Here you go and may you enjoy.

What does it mean to live? It was not that many years ago that I thought it meant drugs and booze and partying. Back then I wanted to do nothing more than obliterate the night and sleep in until way past morning. Then one morning after a crazy night of excessive drugs and booze and partying, I woke up in a hospital bed. Things changed. I scrapped everything and started over in another country. Travel was the goal. I headed off to my next stage in life.

Some years after that stage, I thought living involved travel, challenges, excitement, daring acts of rebellion, and more drugs and booze and parties. I spent my days on a chairlift with a snowboard strapped to my feet for almost half a decade. I dropped perfectly good cliffs for fun. Life was full of debauchery and hazy memories. I lost a friend. Things changed again. I decided an education was necessary in order to progress. I scrapped everything and started over on the opposite side of the country. University was the goal. I headed off to my next stage in life.

I traveled across the country and settled down on the Canadian east coast. Books, papers, team meetings, and exams were my existence. I traveled some more. I still partied some more. There were still hazy nights and foggy memories. I lost a friend again. I traveled some more again. I saw New York, Newfoundland, Vancouver, all of the Maritimes, and stood in front of the Canadian Rockies again. I even floated in the warm waters of the Caribbean while holding a beer in my hand.

Now, I am only a mere nine courses away from the completion of my degree. I was recruited for a great job while still in school. I have an amazing and most incredible woman in my life. I am blessed with the most astounding people that I proudly call my friends. Yet…am I living?

I get up in the wee hours of morning. I shower, shave, eat and run for the bus. I work, head to the gym, eat and sleep. Get up, rinse and repeat. My life is not boring. Only boring people get bored. But it is missing that zing…that jazz. The only thing that ignites my passion is this. Writing. So, I ask my self, “Self? Why are you not working harder on publishing your book? Why would you work so hard to write it and then let it gather dust?”

I do not have that answer. It is not that I am afraid of rejection or criticism. Bah, I say to that, bah. Still my book gathers dust.

So, once again, what does it mean to live? I always ask this question when I am in transition between this life stage and the upcoming life stage. I yearn to break out of my environment and at the same time I know that it is not possible. I must wait. I must be patient. Yet I must still continue to grow. I must still continue to develop. I must still continue to live.

So now I must wait patiently for my next stage in life. Soon I will have a degree in hand and that degree will offer so many possibilities and opportunities. The options are endless: teach in Japan, work on a cruise ship, stay in Nova Scotia, head back to the west coast; the list could go on. But, yet, wait; hold on just one cotton-picking minute, just whoa daddie whoa. Stop.

Living to me is writing. Writing is my life. Yet there was no mention of being a writer in that endless list of opportunities. Have I forgotten that along my quest? Have I forgotten that my pen and thoughts have brought me to this stage in life? That indeed, my writing has brought me through all stages in life – have I forgotten that? Maybe it is because I have not placed pen to paper or fingers to keyboard in quite some time. Maybe. Maybe it is time to do so again. Maybe it is time to not only chase down that dream but also to wrangle it to the ground, truss it up and show it that I mean business. Maybe.

So, I sat on the stairs, took in the sun and all its glory, and thought about all of this. I know that time waits for no man…but would it wait for me to go after my true and only dream? Just until I graduate. Just until then. Then the world is mine to do whatever I feel to do. But I still need to live and breathe in this transition stage.

Until we meet again my friends. Until we meet again.

“If I lay here…if I just lay here. Would you lie with me and just forget the world? Forget what we’re told…before we get too old.” – Snow Patrol

Old City Memories

2007-04-02T15:52:00.000-03:00

I was raised in a ghetto in the oldest city of North America.

I grew up in a small complex of Lego-constructed homes connected together in myriad groups and units of three-sometimes-four-or-five rows. It was a small and private community kept under watchful eye by its residents. We knew our own kind. It was not a place to be at any time of the day, evening or night, unless you were with someone who lived there. Unannounced strangers quickly regretted entering our comfort space.

Up the hill from that ghetto was an orphanage. I say was because it is now torn down and only an empty field remains where it once stood. This orphanage was infamous in the memory of my homeland. Evil once dwelled within its walls and preyed upon the young and innocent under the deceitful veil of the name of the Lord. This notorious orphanage even had a movie produced about it called The Boys of St. Vincent. I ran away from home one rainy night when I was eight years old and made it as far as that building: it loomed in the chill misty night air and served a haunting vision to me. The thought of living there scared me straight. Unfortunately, many decades ago, before I was even born, that dreadful abomination was reality for my uncles. They lost childhood in darkened corners and unspeakable nightmares that remain silent to this day.

Down the hill from the ghetto and the empty field is a pond that annually hosts North America's oldest sporting event. I almost drowned in that pond during that same tender age of eight years old. I can still feel the icy grasp of water dragging me out to darker depths of inevitable death. I fought against the current that day and won…unlike a childhood friend who fell in that same pond only years before I had. He had been in a wheelchair. He never had a chance to fight the current. I think what saddens me more than both these memories is the fact that my best friend actually did die on the small narrow road that borders Quidi Vidi pond. She was sitting in the backseat of a vehicle that lost control and collided with an unmoving telephone pole. That is all I will say about her for now. It would be impossible to capture her spirit in a random collection of sentences. You will know who she is when my book is published.

Behind this pond sits an age-old fishing village affectionately called the Gut by locals. It houses the oldest cottage in North America called the Mallard Cottage. This area is full of history and the smell of fish which I was never really fond of. As children we walked along the shores of Quidi Vidi and fed mallard ducks pieces of stale bread. It was a very surreal experience growing up in that element of history.

If you followed the bay surrounding the gut up, down, and around the corner, you would find the historical monument Cabot Tower situated on the historical Signal Hill. You may recall an earlier attention to the history of this area from Salt of the Earth. At the base of Signal Hill is a small pond that city resident’s refer to as Dead Man’s Pond. Rumour has it that during the days of war, dead soldiers were stuffed in barrels and thrown off the side of Signal Hill. The barrels and the bodies inside bounced and careened down the hill and landed with a splash into the pond. Apparently, the pond is bottomless, and so the barrels eventually found a way out to the harbour surrounding St. John’s. Scary to think of all the souls locked in barrels. Makes you wonder what would have happened if a soldier was only wounded and unconscious instead of actually dead. I shudder to think. Cabot Tower and Signal Hill are iconic in St. John’s because both are lit up at night and can be seen from so many directions. It is such a beautiful sight but then again, I may be a tad bit biased.

Follow the waterfront down from Signal Hill until you go far, up, and beyond a long winding hill that swoops past a small anachronous town known as Shea Heights. Shea Heights is a smattering of small houses with junked cars and old kitchen sinks littering the front yard. But, whatever you do, just don’t stop to take pictures. As tough as my ghetto was, anyone from Shea Heights was always tougher. They don’t make people of that mentality anymore. Tough, rugged, ocean people. My kind of people.

Up the road from Shea Heights is the area known as Cape Spear and the most North Easterly point in North America. It is the spot where this continent first sees the sunset rise over the Atlantic Ocean and such a beautiful scene it is. It is littered with old army bunkers and remnants from the war years gone past.

I returned home to St. John’s two summers ago for the first time in over 12 years. I stood on a cliff bluff in Cape Spear as the rain pounded down all around me. It was surreal. The day was chill and foggy as most days can be in Newfoundland. But I didn’t care. I was home again. I could breathe the fresh air with certainty that it flew on the wings of the salt of the earth. But I also knew something else with certainty: I had outgrown my homeland. I was a stranger in the town I was born and raised. I may never be able to live there again…and that saddens me more than anything else in this world. To be from a place that is so welcoming but yet I don’t feel welcomed. I sit back and think about it now, and I wonder if St. John’s had outgrown me; or if I had outgrown St. John’s.

St. John’s is full of nooks and crannies and ghosts that walk the city streets. It is full of culture to tantalize the eye and a community of old generous souls. For those who are from Newfoundland, I say it will always be there waiting for your return. For those who have visited it will always be a drunken memory and an unforgettable hangover. For those who have never been…well, what the heck are you waiting for? Get out there m’ son and see the oldest rock in North America. Meet strangers that become best friends. Drink, eat, and be merry. Then drink again. Enjoy the fruit of my people as they enjoy your company. When you get there…tell them you were sent by one of their own.

Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

“You’ll have to excuse me...I’m not at my best;
I’ve been gone for a month...I’ve been drunk since I left;
And these so-called vacations will soon be my death;
I’m so sick from the drink...I need home for a rest;
Take me home” – Spirit of the West

Personal Survival Guide

2006-10-10T16:14:00.000-03:00

What makes a happy life? Is it friends and family, money and esteem, or is it excitement and travel? Is it love? What is the missing ingredient to making a day worth exploring and a life worth living?

In my opinion, a happy life is linear with an understanding of self. It is linear with questioning personal standards and coding life actions by upholding those standards. Do you take the time to reflect on your words before a thought becomes an action? Do you take the time to reflect on your direction and exemplify your goals toward the higher purpose of being a more caring and compassionate person? Would you not agree that our eventual and higher purpose is to be happy: to live a good and just life?

The following are my thoughts on what it means to be happy and to live a virtuous life. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Day in and night out, I consistently state an internal motto to cope with situations in order to bypass unexpected scenarios. When frustration rears its ugly head and nips at my mental, it can be so easy to nip back and loose a verbal assault of anger and incipient insults. This internal reaction occurs for a second or two when I am confronted by ugly frustrations - in the past, I would automatically sputter a regrettable reply. Nowadays, I choose to breathe deep internally and release an external reflection opposed to a reactive action.

I have a secret to share with everyone but I will only promise to tell it if you promise not to keep it a secret. Most people are afraid to tell secrets because secrets can be a formula for success over an obstacle to personal development and knowledge. But withholding valuable and simplistic wisdom does not enable anyone to succeed in this life. However, before I devolve my secret it is important to understand what I hold priceless in life.

Ethics: yes, ethics. Ethics are the code of non-contradictory moral principles that I use to judge my decisions and actions. For example, I believe dishonesty is wrong and therefore will not lie even if it means saving my own ass. To progress that thought a little further: I have refined my virtues as a step above my ethical principles because virtues are moral practices that must be reflected upon daily. Virtues are the credo in life that enable me to make ethical decisions because my virtues have trained my mental capacities to already know what to do before I have to do. It essentially comes down to who judges me after this life has expired and not who judges me during my time on this mortal plane.

So, with that thought in mind, here's my secret: I have come to see over the past six years of my life that it is critical to apply patience in your life. The only end result anger has ever supplied is to hurt another human either physically or mentally - and that is not the end result to which we need aspire. Human beings have an unlimited capacity for compassion and love for other fellow human beings - we all know what it means to feel pure joy and love flood our souls. We also know what it means to feel pain or suffering - we know it is unnecessary as well. Yet why does it come down to us having to choose between pain and love? Why is it that we incessantly choose to pile the former upon others instead of the latter? Why is pain so readily available in our lives when happiness is so hard to come upon?

I encourage you to reflect on your thoughts before those thoughts become an action. I encourage you to value patience as a virtue because it will allow you to bypass previously coded reactions. Patience enables us to recognize the triggers that transform an individual from a sane person into a sputtering-frothy-spittle-producing-ball-of-rage. Patience offers the ability to not only recognize the triggers that set us off but specifically recognize who we are after the frustration has passed - to see that we held our mental stability while everyone else lost theirs. Patience offers us the opportunity to gain composure not to lose composure.

Patience is not easy to come by. It takes practice and training of your mental to achieve a moment of clarity in the heat of battle. Patience means biting your tongue instead of lashing out. Patience means loving your enemy and finding their good points versus their bad. Tough, I know, and it is one aspect of patience that I am learning every single day. It can be so easy to forget who you are and what you want; and it can be so hard to hold your voice and listen to reason. It is not simple; in no way, shape, or form is it simple. It is not meant to be. But you must at least attempt before you even give up on an idea.

Virtues such as patience help us grow and develop into a higher form of being - a form of being higher than surface level frustrations; higher than surface level insignificances. Personally, through the practice of patience on a consistent day in and night out basis, I have come to see that my character has evolved oh so quickly. Patience allows me to see my past grievances for what they are: simple mistakes that I made before and now I do my best to clear my thoughts before those mistakes happen again.

We learn from mistakes. We learn from our indiscretions. We learn from other people. Through it all we learn how to segue knowledge into wisdom. It is through wisdom that we evolve. Think about it. That is all I can ask. Tell me if you agree. Tell me if you disagree. Tell me a time when patience saved you from making a horrible mistake or loosing an unnecessary scathing response. Even better: tell me sometime down the road that frustration was nipping at you and instead of nipping back, well; tell me you remembered my words. Tell me that those words made a world of distance and in that one second of reflection - tell me you felt an evolution taking place. Tell me in that one second that you felt happiness enter your soul. Tell me it made you smile. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"The strongest of all warriors are these two - Time and Patience." - Leo Tolstoy

Thankful Thoughts

2006-09-22T17:29:00.000-03:00

I walked home in a wet and rainy Alberta autumn last night and thought about my life. I revisited the times when a seemingly impenetrable wall was broken down only to be replaced by an even bigger obstacle. I reflected on days when I only ate Boost and Jell-o in order to keep my body alive and fed with basic nutrients. The rains fell harder and the winds intensified.

Then I smiled.

You see, nothing can dampen my spirit: not the elements, no matter how torturous they may seem nor the haunted memories of what was seemingly eons ago. I have seen the darkest of eves, I have faced the darkest of demons, and I have journeyed into the darkest canyons of soul.
It comes down to my love of life. It comes down to gathering minutes and seconds from my days and weeks. It comes down to filtering through those times and finding small trinkets of happiness and gratitude. It comes down to thankful thoughts that I am here to experience everyday like it is my first footstep on earth.

Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I give thanks for the woman I call Mother. She holds me when my head is heavy and my neck is oh so tired from carrying the weight on my shoulders. She faces her fears and believes it is all for a reason – that this too will eventually pass. She is my strength. She is a reason for becoming something more than I ever thought possible. For her I am thankful.

I give thanks for the innocence of children. How they can find the purity in a soft breeze or the mischief in a falling leaf. They giggle and dance amongst the seconds of youth. They remind me there is no need to hurry because there will always be enough time. For them I am thankful.

I give thanks for my friends that call and write to say they love me or to harass because of my occasional lapses in conversation. They bring me so much strength and power with their words and yet some tell me they need to hear my thoughts of peace, passion, and progress. They say how my words permit them to fade away into personal reflection on individuality and life direction. For them I am thankful.

I give thanks for my travels to mountains of grandeur with peaks of untouchable heights. I marvel at the clouds that dip in homage to the earthly magnificence of beauty and grace. I leave my footprint on the world in places I have seen before and envision leaving more footprints on white sandy beaches with crystal blue waves. For this I am thankful.

I give thanks for nights spent before a roaring bonfire with companions who share stories of similar mirth and wonder. I remember chords of music drifting softly into the nighttime air and mingling with a collection of frozen breath and warm dreams. For this I am thankful.

I give thanks for her. I never knew what love was meant to feel like or how it would taste on my lips. I never knew it would come when least expected or from an island so far away yet oh so close. She brings such happiness and she brings such tidings of faith that we will make it the life we always desired. Her smile illuminates the lonely corners of a remembered nightmare and touches the young boy who was left behind in the dark. Together our laughter becomes music and I believe even the angels stop to listen to our harmony and bask in our light. For her I am thankful.

I give thanks for life. For basic simplicities such as falling asleep and greeting my dreams in the night. Or waking in the morning and giving thanks for another day and another chance. For breathing in one more day and for the opportunity to breath in so many more. For this I am thankful.

How have you given thanks today? For the stranger who held the door with a strong hand and a kind smile? For the loved one who held you close and kissed you goodbye? Have you given thanks for life? Please take some time, no matter where you are no matter what you may be doing, just take a few seconds to collect a short list of thanks. Take the time to be the reason why someone else gives thanks one day. I give thanks for you all. Continue on and follow the road to happiness. In the end it will all lead to salvation. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

“If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies in yourself.” – Minquass Indian Proverb

Take Your Hands Off Me

2006-06-23T12:58:00.000-03:00

"This is private property", said the man and added, "You have no right to be here".

I nodded my head, walked away, and wondered why someone would want to have that much solitude: away from the world and away from prying eyes. I thought about the heartache he must have endured during his years that caused him to isolate him self apart from others.

The tide started to come in and the onrushing ocean crashed over my toes. I stood on a waterlogged beach in front of a tiny island on the most northern tip of Canada. Across the water lay the Pacific Rim, and many, many miles after that: Japan. Sitting of top of this island was a house miles away from the nearby forest, much less any nearby humans. I remember thinking that day about our privacy and the people we allow in on that privacy...and the reasons we keep others away.

Here you go, and may you enjoy.

When I stand alone from you, it only means I am standing apart. I am only seen as someone on the outside of your world. It is up to the individual to decide if a person is allowed entry into their thoughts. Until that moment occurs, well; we stand apart from others that are not like our selves.

Not like our selves to the naked eye that is.

Because when I am alone with you, it is easy to see that I actually love the art of conversation: you talk, I talk, we share, we laugh. It is in my nature to laugh and when I am not able, it seems like I am on the outside looking in. Looking in on a world I do not feel apart of. I step away and wonder if it will really be true one day. If it really is possible to have a friendship of significant proportions...one that will pass through a lifetime.

Or if it is true that all friendships are just to pass the time with.

For, you see, it is necessary to devolve who we are in order to create a bond. It is basic requirement for future interactions that you tell me your dreams and your aspirations. It is so asked because I would love to be there when your life unfolds: when it all comes rushing at you as if you were standing underneath a cascading waterfall...on a hot tropical beach in the middle of anywhere you want to be.

This is friendship to me: it truly is. To trust another so much that you not only tell them your dreams, but that you see them being an important aspect of those same dreams. Alone I have the same dreams and apart I still keep them true. I will tell you all that I long to travel, that I long to smell new fragances rising on the summer wind, and I long to feel the same hand in mine as we both experience the same rush.

I long for a life less ordinary. I know it exists because I have tasted it: I have felt it brush across my face enticing me to journey. The North wind it blows and calls for me to come run once more and take a tumble or two and rise again. It is how we learn and understand that we must trust. If you trust in that the Universe will take care of you, well; then you can trust in the process of life to lead you in the right direction. Together is the key, and not alone or apart; together we can do anything...yet alone with you I can do so much more.

Alone I am strong.

Apart I am mystery.

Alone I am who I want to be.

Apart I am someone to observe.

It is the in-between gap that I wonder of at times. How I can bridge the distance to show you intelligence, to show you humour, to show you insight. Insight to my mind, insight to my questions, insight to my soul. For you see: alone with her I am loved. Alone with her I am inspired. Alone with her I see a life so strong and yet it is only in the making. But apart from her I am missed. Apart from her I long to see her smile. Apart from her I can only envision the future we both see happening.

In the end it is all about trust and not about bricking your self up one at a time. Slowly, until the world is sealed away, and you find your self alone and apart. Do not place your self on a island because that is to shut away heart; that is to shut away life. I only ask this because it comes from personal experience of doing the same thing. From a time that it seemed easier to shut down my heart and ignore the pleading of my soul: to give in to the darkness and believe there truly is no light.

But there is. There is light for us one and all. There is a love so pure that we can all taste it and absorb its shared warmth. We all have our trials and tribulations, and Lord knows we all want to just quit at times. It would be easier than facing what we know may never go away. But facing your fears is the only way to accept them. To accept your fears is the only way to acknowledge them. To acknowledge your fears is the only way to admit they are apart of you...that they exist no matter if you are alone or apart.

Life continues on. Won't you continue on with it? It is the only true way to leave a legacy that you really were here. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"I dream of high clouds flushed with light of daybreak...I'm gonna dive into water so cold it makes your bones ache." - David Gray

Stealth Missions

2006-05-19T00:14:00.000-03:00

A strange thought hit me tonight. When these thoughts come into my mind, I have a tendency to reflect on my past. Reflecting on my past usually opens a box of stories and all these memories spill out.

I have lived so many lives. I have seen so many things. I have formed so many memories. The following is one of them. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I dropped into the chute and surveyed my surroundings. The chute was dangerously steep and bordered by high, rocky cliffs. I shifted my weight over my snowboard and descended lower into the valley. The snow underneath me shifted and swayed like a soft summer wave. It was so lush and so soft.

It was so iniquitously deep.

I eased the pressure off my back foot and turned straight for the cliff drop a mere 10 feet from the nose of my board. I had been in this position so many times before, and yet each time I wondered why I kept doing it. I had many concussions, many separated bones, many an oft fractured tailbone...and yet.

It is the freedom of it all. It is the flow of consciousness into a space where all that matters is the rush and the survival.

My speed picked up and I could feel the snow catch my board and throw up little waves of white here; there; and everywhere.

I remember thinking about another time when I was high up on a launching platform of a different sort. I listened to my heavy breathing in my ears, felt my heart thump, thump, thump blood as it raced into my veins and became liquid adrenaline.

Only a few feet now. I smile in anticipation.

Flash goes the photograph in my head as I regress back to that night as my whole world ran before me; all out of control. I taste the fear on my lips from the terror of what I was about to do. I think my heart stopped its mad crazy, thump, thump, thumping.

I feel the rush of insanity flail my bones with glee and vicious laughter.

The chute bottom ends out into a freefall into nothing. I spring off the lip of snow like a cheetah springing off a boulder unto its fresh prey. My breath freezes in my throat and for that brief utter split of time there is nothing but me; my soul; and my freedom.

I flash back in that stolen fraction of time and remember nothing from another moment of flight. I cringe for something I do not recall a memory of. I cringe for the crunch I never actually felt but still hold in the basin of my past.

Then, suddenly, the ground rushed up at me and I explode with a pop of snow and an explosion of a white heaven. I surfed the deep pockets of powder and the memory from that night faded away into a hushed whisper and a promise that it would always return.

I sit here and realize that I am almost done my last round of personal edits. That tomorrow morning I will be printing off my first manuscript and couriering it to my editor. I think of all the stories it contains; all the emotions; all the personal hardships.

I laugh and wonder if it will be read.

It is almost ready now; one more step in so many more to come. I reflect on all the stories that have come; ponder the ones that have yet to make an appearance. But I know there is so much time.

My quest for peace is what pushes me on. To be more; to become more; to see more. To find satisfaction of seeing a beautiful sunset, to see a loved one smiling at me, to hold her hand as she holds mine. Peace, my friends, peace. It was what held my body together not so many years ago; it was what held my life together in the shambles of insanity. It held broken bones together and refused to allow me to break again.

Ever since I have started this website, there have been numerous references to a book, to a fraction of images that have never been truly explained. But it will all be explained in time and my story will be there for all to read. We desire the reality of flesh and blood; we desire it to transport us into our memories and allow permission to live through another's eyes. To dream with another.

Dreams are for the making for us one and all. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"I've had a chance to be insane, asylum from the falling rain...I've had a chance to break."
- Anthony Keidis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers

Nothing Wasted

2006-04-13T11:54:00.000-03:00

I heard the pop of shattering glass seconds before I saw her: an older lady in her motorized wheelchair, sitting in shock in front of a broken pane of glass on an entry door into the mall. I took in the scene while briefly watching all the people walking by making comments and snide remarks.

Yet not one of them stopped to assist her.

I did. Plus one other lady who walked with the aid of a cane. Together as one, we offered our help. The rest is what happened from there. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

We asked her if she was okay: if she was cut or if she had caused any harm to her body. Both of us brushed the glass of her feet and legs and picked out shards from her small little front basket on the chair.

"I was doing so well," she said.

I looked at her, jarred by the sound of her voice, and the depth of emotion it held.

Her hands gripped the handlebars of the steering column and I watched as they shook uncontrollably...and then I realized she did not have complete control of her bodily actions. I realized that she ran into the window because her reaction time was dulled; not by age but by an affliction I may never know.

My heart went out to her and tears welled up in my eyes. The other Good Samaritan asked once more if she was okay and I picked up on her slight yet thick familiar accent. "What part of Newfoundland are you from?" I asked her.

"St. John's", she said.

I laughed. "So am I. It would make sense that the only people who came to her aid would be Newfoundlanders." We both laughed and the lady smiled at us.

As security guards showed up to take care of the broken glass, I walked away and started to think of the irony of it all. There were only three of us and yet all three were, at some point, in the same similar position at one time on their life.

Let me explain. You had the older lady in the motorized wheelchair, the lady with the cane, and me: once upon a time I was encased in a body cast made of fibreglass and plaster. I was defenseless; I had no control; I could only depend on the kindness of strangers; I could only depend on my Mother...at one time in my past I was as helpless as a newborn baby at the tender age of twenty six years old.

Three individuals who were all in three stages at one time in their life. I thought about life and what I was being told; why I had walked by at that exact same instant; what message was being shown that I was not seeing...all of these and more rushed through my head.

I came to the conclusion that I must do something more; that I must not waste any more time on trivial worries and that I must start it now...but start what? Start where? Do I drop out of school and enter a law program in order to fight for the rights of the underprivileged? Do I start up a campaign and raise funds for those who have nothing to eat or no place to sleep or who are unable to pay rising medical bills?

Then, in the midst of all my mental clamour and distress, my Island girl talked to me and pulled my thoughts from my head. She told me that I will do what is needed; that I will make it right one day; but that today was not that day. Write, she said, just write and do what you are meant to do. We both know you were saved from death in order to become something more; we both know you are protected. For that matter, she said, we are all protected but it is only that we all do not realize it.

"Life is happening all around us", she said. "You only hear of a person being kidnapped in Trinidad, but do you hear of the collective Islanders saying prayers for their safe return? Do you hear of the novena's and countless prayers being repeated again and again to ask for God's help?"

"No", she said, "No; because you only hear of the next kidnapping. You only hear of the evil more than the good. It is the evil that sells. But good will always prevail. There is more good than there is evil and the sure numbers of that alone predicate success. Life will prevail."

As we stood on the dock, seagulls fluttered all around us, buffeted by the wind and sailing on the currents of air. I was reminded of another time in life when I had stood on another dock and watched other seagulls fly above my head. I was reminded of the gift that I opened that day and a gift I have always treasured ever since.

The gift of life. It is the gift of our present; the gift of time. We all have as much as we need to go and make a difference. To make a difference in your self; to make a difference in those around you; to inspire others to make a difference in them selves. Help those who are unable to help them selves. Shine bright so that those in the darkness can see that there is light up ahead. I have done everything in my power to ensure that I have made the most of that gift since that day I stood on that same dock, so many years ago; yet as fresh as yesterday. I have made sure that no moments are wasted and that every last iota of life is treasured and valued. Nothing should ever be wasted when it comes to our lives. We may only have this one chance.

I am closer than ever to having my book ready to publish. It is a story about failure; it is a story about triumph; it is a story of one man's journey through life. It is mine for all to read and hopefully learn from; to hopefully analyze; to hopefully show just how strong the human spirit truly is. It will be another year before it is ready, but what is a year but a drop of sand in the hourglass of the Universe? What is a year but another chance at redemption? What is a year but a collection of happy minutes and seconds turning over and over on the hand of time until they become the memories of our lives.

Live it now. Live it for you; live it for her; live it for him; live it for those that are no longer with you. Just please...live it in the best way imaginable. Attain to that higher plateau and see that it is really not that high after all...and when you do, I will be glad to offer my hand in assistance but most importantly: in congratulations. Live. Breathe. Dream. Succeed. Dance. Laugh. Dream some more. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around." - Leo Buscaglia

Salt of the Earth

2006-03-22T11:18:00.000-04:00

"Don't you consider that word derogatory?"

It was years ago when I was asked that question. I sat in an apartment in Lake Louise and was just telling a newfie joke when my Ontario friend asked me about the use of the term itself. I thought about it for a second, looked at him, and said, "No. That is what I am."

I was so wrong. I was so, so wrong. I was guilty of classifying my self and my people into a stereotype.

We are different people, my friends, but we are by no means a stereotype. Let me explain. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I stood in a bar a couple of summers ago, on a humid evening in downtown Halifax, and watched an Irish band sing and dance. The lead singer had a deep resonating voice that carried me away back into childhood days of cutting a jig and rug under my feet. Then it dawned on me.

I knew him.

It had been over a decade ago since we last met, and that had been during our high school days in St. John's. His name was Arthur O'Brien and his band was called The Navigators. After his set was over, I walked up to say hello, and then we stepped out for a drink.

I started talking about home and how I missed it; of how it had been over ten years since I last laid eyes on her rugged and welcoming coast. I mentioned the term "newfie" in passing and Arthur stopped and contemplated my words. Then he spoke and I will never forget what he said.

"We are Newfoundlanders...we are not "newfies". That was a term created in the early seventies when a wave of us emigrated off the rock in search of work; in search of ways in which to feed us; in search of ways to feed our own. For the most part, we landed in Ontario, and if you were to take all the first generation Newfoundlanders out of that province and return them home, well; you would over-populate the island."

"Unfortunately, for some reason, we were looked down upon by everyone outside our island...maybe it was our accent or dialect, maybe it was for our dry humour and ability to take a joke. But, for some reason, that moniker stuck with us and has haunted us ever since. People who have never even placed so much as a toe in Newfoundland feel they have the right to call us by that slanderous name...but they are so wrong in thinking that way."

I have never used that word ever since that day and I have made it a solemn oath to correct anyone who does use it. It is not racist per se but it does hold racist undertones for me. It is an ignorant stereotype used by people who are either too lazy or too daft to properly express their thoughts in words. It is improper to refer to my people in that manner; even though my people occasionally use it to refer to themselves.
Newfoundlanders are the salt of the earth, my friends: we are gregarious, we are gracious, and we are ever so grateful. Did you know that there was a Newfoundlander with Abraham Lincoln at the Gettysburg Address? Did you know that Cabot Tower on Signal Hill in St. John's was the origin of the first transatlantic wireless message? Did you know that a Newfoundlander invented the gasmask? Or that the first successful, non-stop, transatlantic air voyage left from Newfoundland? Or that Newfoundland was the first to respond to the Titanic distress call?
We are known worldwide on the basis of our bravery on one tragic day in July 1st, 1916, during World War I. We are especially known worldwide for our hospitality and welcoming ways, as shown after September 11, 2001, when all planes were grounded and Newfoundlanders opened their doors and offered our homes as places of rest for those without a place to lay their head.

I spent this past summer in Gros Morne National Park, Newfoundland, the origin of the Continental Drift Theory, and stayed in a boarding room with a lovely family. One day, after a long day of writing and prepping for a morning hike, I came home and found my dinner: bologna and potatoes. I laughed. My host looked at me and said, "Well, come on now...we are newfies."
I didn't say anything that day because he was right, but technically wrong in his use of description: yes, we are; but no, we are not because we are Newfoundlanders first and foremost. We are not a label, we are not a stereotype, and we are most definitely not the laughing stock of Canada...although if you listen to its jokes about us you would believe it to be true.

We have an amazing sense of self, my friends, because we are able to laugh at our selves; we have clarity in our words because our words hold truth and value; we have substance because that is what we come from: salt of the earth. We have character that is moulded from our upbringing and our value in morals and ethics.

We welcome all visitors like family. We are Newfoundlanders.

So, go ahead, tell us a joke about Newfoundlanders: I guarantee you we have heard them all. If by chance, we laugh, then go ahead, tell some more. But, please understand, we are a proud people, and pride can only take so much nescience. When this happens to me, I always leave the best joke for last: What is black and blue and floats in the harbour? It is a mainlander after telling too many newfie jokes. Har-dee-har-har-har. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"Humour is an affirmation of God's dignity, a declaration to man's superiority to all that befalls him."- Romain Cary

Peace Be With You

2006-03-10T15:00:00.000-04:00

It was not so many years ago that I stood in a cool Colorado summer breeze, and brushed tears from my eyes. I had just made a pact with God. We agreed that if he brought her home safe, sound, and intact for me, then I promised to find peace in my life. She pulled into the driveway not even a mere thirty minutes later.

She is no longer in my life; no longer are we in contact; our time together, even at that moment, had passed, but yet I have strived to keep up my end of the bargain ever since that night. I have been tested time and time again, but yet every test is no more than a trial and tribulation. Each test is no more than a reason to give thanks for what life offers and attain to that higher plateau of peaceful harmony.

Peace is what has driven me in this life ever since that fateful night, so far away from friends and family, so lonely and desperate for salvation, and in the darkest depths of depression a man can ever experience. In that moment I spoke with God, there was no safe haven for me anymore...except in the safety of his arms. This is not about religion or piety, my friends, it is more so about how I have found peace in the semblance of my life. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I have found peace with who I am. I am confident in my self even when I am surrounded by strangers in a sea of umbrella's on a rainy day in New York City. I have found peace in that.

I have found peace in understanding and recognizing the value of fear. I have respect for it yet know it is needed to relinquish control and cascade off a thirty foot cliff with nothing more than a snowboard strapped to my feet...and soft snow beneath to feather my fall. I have found peace in that.

I have found peace with my friends and family. I love them because they show love for me. They accept me for who I am, who I am becoming, and the man they see growing right before their very eyes. They are my heart and soul. They are my very being. I have found peace in that.

I have found peace with my personal choices and decisions. I am creating a life full of wonder through learning and knowledge; it is one rich with wisdom and belief in character. I allow my self to make mistakes and therefore allow the freedom to make my own decisions and grow from those mistakes. Not to grow up per se, but more so to grow down into my soul; to become one with humanity yet stay distinct in my identity. I have found peace in that.

I have found peace with money. I am a poor student with an eye to the future. I know I will make my own personal fortune one day and that I will design it with my own creativity. It will come when it is ready; when I have put in my complete time and effort; when it is decided I am ready for it. Then and only then. I have found peace in that.

I have found peace in life. I am grateful for all it offers; all it grants. I have found peace in following one day after the next and collecting them each into a memory of my time on this earth. I have found peace in the fact that love is alive. I have found peace that I can smile through all the travesties that have been heaped upon me in my short number of years. I have found peace that I will be able to continue smiling no matter what ever else may come my way.

I have found peace in the fact that I am protected.

So, you may ask, how do I know for sure that I have found peace in life? Well, peace is not something we find and then take complacency in it; no, peace is something we strive for every day of our lives until this life is past and our mortal remains are scattered in the rising winds. I know for sure I have found peace by this simple fact: whistling. I whistle when it rains; I whistle when I am sad; I whistle when I am happy; I whistle when I do not even feel like whistling because the act of it alone makes me smile.

So, just go ahead: whistle your worries away and try to refrain from smiling. Listen as others around you join in and whistle their own personal ditties. Realize that it will all be okay one day; that it will all work out in the end. May we all find it one day. Peace be with you. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"Imagine all the people living in peace. You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope someday you will join us, and the world will live as one." - John Lennon

Necessity of Imagination

2006-02-24T09:03:00.000-04:00

Imagination is so key to our everyday lives. The majority of society use it to run away from our problems, some use it to create another life, and others use it to escape the boredom of the ins and outs of one meaningless day after another meaningless day. But there is a minority who use it for what it is really meant for: the combination of reflected thought and insightful language for the application of influential speech.
Let me explain.
I just recently finished a book by Northrop Frye called the Educated Imagination which is a splendid and thought-provoking read, yet a mere sixty five pages in length. Frye writes a collection of his thoughts on the link between literature and imagination and how they are both valuable in moulding an individual's mind. Image and conceived image that society creates for us are important points in his words. His words inspire and teach the individual that we need to educate our minds and step away from the mass collective of sheep standing in line waiting to be sheared; to be an individual. I read, re-read, read some more, and then re-read after that. I learned some things. Here you go and may you enjoy.
Necessity is the link between what we want and what we need. There are many tangible necessities in life: food, water, and sleep being the main staples. Clothing is deemed necessary by society but there are many cultures that do not believe in that necessity. I personally know of one such culture just below the University of British Columbia campus called Wreck Beach that feels the same way. Clothing is en par with image, and image whether you want to admit it or not, is defined by your peers and that of mass society.

Society is made up of a collective of individual cliques that strives to define and maintain who we are, what we are, and what we eventually become through our chosen image. It defines what a freak is and who the freaks are through their choice of dress and mannerisms; it defines what high class is and who is considered to be upper echelon through their dress and mannerisms; and it defines what cool is by well-placed styled and choice of language and actions.
However, the irony is that although mass society defines image, it is the individual who defines style for the masses. That is, personal style is key in maintaining image but a person with style dresses not for others but more to influence the thoughts of others. In other words, I dress to impress your image of me but your image of me has nothing to do with my identity. If you stripped me down to bare skin it would not strip my identity because my identity is formed through personal reflection of who I am. No one can take that away from me; no one should be able to take that away from you. The clothing you wear is not necessarily who you are but more so a reflection of the fact you are comfortable in your identity of being an individual.

Your imagination is an expression of that individuality.
Individual imagination is the link between creativity and personal growth: see your self as being a certain person, make it a wish in life, apply that wish to your will, and decide it is what you need to be truly happy in life. This does not mean money or possessions, it is not about the wants in life, it is more about the needs in life. It is needed to reflect on what is truly important to us and what we have always felt was missing in our existence.

Therefore, it is necessary to understand the role of imagination and, specifically, the necessity of an educated imagination. We educate our selves through the act of discipline and breaking our thoughts down into a pseudo-funnel of speech. By funneling that speech through logic and applied reasoning, we are able to speak in words designed to not only influence, but to apply scenarios and analogies to life. Imagination is not only important for internal thought but for an external expression of language. If the spoken word is nothing more than a thought expressed into language, then would it not make sense to understand how an educated imagination aids us in developing our thoughts into a more coherent level of understanding for everyone?

We all have a vivid imagination but do we all apply it to our everyday lives? We all have dreams but do we all believe so strongly in those dreams that we can imagine them happening? We all have goals and objectives but do we all place the educated discipline into achieving them? It is not that hard, my friends, it only takes a creative imagination, an education of your mind, discipline in following your dreams, and application of wish and will.

No, it may not happen over night, and yes, there is a chance of failure in your journey. But, without actually taking that first step, you will never really know what true success tastes like. Dreams are not there for the taking for everyone but they are there for those who believe anything is possible. They are there for those who see life as more than a day in-day out shuffle through time and space.

So, go on, be an individual: think a little harder; imagine you are teaching in front of a class; walking on foreign sands; or making music for the masses to sing and dance to. Don't let society define you but instead define your own identity and educate the masses on the importance of style; the importance of reflected thought and applicated imagination. Live for you not for others. Be a minority: I dare you.

Can you see it? Can you feel it? But, most of all...can you live it? Reach for the stars and you will find they are closer than you imagined. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"In these days, we are in a hare-and-tortoise race between mob rule and education: to avoid collapsing into mob rule we have to try to educate a minority that'll stand out against it."

- Northrop Frye

Beating of the Forgotten Heart

2006-02-14T12:26:00.000-04:00

Lo and behold...it beats again.

I lay awake at nights now and listen to my heart beat ever so fast. I think of her smile and it beats faster. I hear her laughter and it beats faster still. I remember her touch and it beats through the surface of my skin.

Is this what it is truly meant to be like? Is this what it feels like to have another recognize your worth...to recognize your soul? Are our jaws meant to hurt this much because we are always smiling in pure happiness? Only time will tell but so far it has told me oh so much. The following is a story about the beginnings of a friendship and a true romance. Here you go and may you enjoy.

I have never been one to shy away from emotion - not mine, not yours, and not anyone else's for that matter. Emotion is what makes us human; it is what makes us raw; it is what makes our senses come alive with expression. Anger helps us realize anger is unnecessary; sadness allows us to taste ever-so-sweet pain; and happiness permits us to fly with angels.

Emotions are real. They remind us all that life is real.

But love as an emotion has never really lasted as a tangible for me...love for me has always been a handful of sand slipping through the tiny cracks in my tightly clenched fist. I have stood on a beach full of crystal but yet always ended up with the same result...lost through my fingers and lost in my life. I would stay the same while the other person would change. Or maybe we were always two completely different people not fated to be in this world.

Time always told the tale. My heart always paid the price. Still I soldiered on.

It was only a month ago that I had admitted the fact I was done with it for a while: done with the casual hello and the painful goodbye, done with the changing of self for the sake of another, and done with sleepless nights worrying how another may think. I told my self it was not worth it to put a soul through that anymore. I decided the next time would be with someone who recognized my worth. That it would be someone who took me for who I am.

I told my self that it was time to give up the search. I had searched high and low, through separate countries, and through Mountains and over seas. It was just a silly dream I told my self. Yes, sure, it brought me to so many places, and so many interesting, exciting memories were made, but in the end, was all the pain and loss worth it? Would it not be worth more to let it go and leave it behind so I could progress forward instead of staying in the same spot?

So I decided it was time to walk alone and if that meant walking alone for a lifetime then so be it. I placed my trust in the Universe and kept moving forward...one foot in front of the other. Smiling at life. Always smiling at what it brings me no matter what else comes my way. I would never give up on love because deep down inside I knew it would never give up on me.

I knew that if she was really out there waiting for me then it would have to be her that came to find me this time. If she was out there then she would make her self known.

Then it happened: a chance meeting on a cold winter evening. Lingering moments spent in a mirrored reflection of two familiar souls passing in the night. I listened in awe as she told me her want for someone to recognize her for true worth...her want for someone to take her as she is. I felt my breath catch in my throat as her words rang clear to the depths of my being. As she spoke, I felt my heart speed up ever so slightly.

It has not stopped its mad frantic race ever since.

Her eyes tell a different story from any other I have ever heard. They dance with mischief; they blaze with passion; and they hold mine in a deep embrace. Her eyes tell me she recognizes my worth and her words echo my unspoken thoughts. Her fingers brush against everything I have ever held true in my beliefs about what love was...and then it holds that belief ever so gently in the palm of her hand.

She is present in her emotion - she does not shy away from it nor does she hide it away from others. She is real. I have no idea what time holds for us. I only know what I have seen in this lifetime...I only know we are one in the same.

We fit.

I think of a life with her by my side. Not in front of me or behind me but right alongside of me. Walking and talking; laughing and smiling. There are not enough toes in the world to count off the ways she makes me happy...there are not enough hours in the day to spend with her in my presence. For every hard goodbye and parting of ways comes a smiling hello and hours full of special seconds. We make it all count. We leave nothing to chance. We talk. We listen. We grow.

And my heart beats faster and faster...faster and faster still.

I am still the same person. I still lift my legs when I drive over railyway tracks. I still hold the door open for people. I still wake in the morning and give thanks for life and all it offers. But she inspires an already inspired man to reach more; to achieve more; to accomplish his dreams. She is still the same person. She smiles at everyone she sees. She believes that love is not meant to be buried but appreciated and nurtured so it can grow for all to see. Together we become something more...something special.

Believe that love exists and show your friends and family that you care for them. Hug and laugh with them. Don't change who you are for someone else and remember to breathe in life. It will show you the way to your dreams. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"Do you remember when we first met...I sure do. It was some time in early September. Well you were lazy about it you made me wait around...I was so crazy about you I didn't mind."

- Jack Johnson

Nurture the Child

2006-01-08T18:29:00.000-04:00

Bang.

We all have an inner child within that holds the answers to hidden questions; that holds the key to locked doors from our past. This little child sits on a doorstep on a hot summer day, swinging their legs back and forth, wanting to play, yet not understanding why people are so mean; why their friends insist on picking on them. The child only understands simplicity; innocence; it only understands the freedom of laughter.

Yet as we grow older, the idea of innocence becomes lost amongst the trials and tribulations of life: simplicity becomes a tormented past; a tormented past becomes a childhood lost; a childhood lost becomes the result of an unhappy adult.

Picture your self as a child again: What would you look like? What was important to you? I see a young boy with unruly curly locks; a demeanour of stubbornness and a look of determination on my face with arms crossed; and a strapping of six shooters around my waist, ready to draw and shoot if the camera does not click fast and the flash goes off. A moment captured in the archives of time. Can you see me? It is from this image that I will tell a story. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Bang.

No matter where you read this or what background you may be from, it will be the same for us one and all: once upon a time we were all children. Everything was new; everything was an adventure; and our Mothers were always seemingly telling us what to do: Come to dinner, wash your face, close the door because we are not paying to heat up the neighbourhood, and so on and so on. Yet she was the one we always ran to after falling and scraping our knees; the only one who knew how to heal all travesties with the magic of a simple kiss; the one who tucked us in at night and made our dreams sweet with a story or a whispered "I love you."

What happens to us as we grow older? What do we lose in the swirling sands of time? Why must we always be so serious now when it is so much easier to laugh and smile instead?

Why indeed.

A wise woman once told me it is important to talk to that child from within; that it is necessary for personal growth; that it enables us to release torment from our past; that it allows us to heal, nay, it allows us to be free once more. She told me to lay in bed, to close my eyes, and to drop into my inner conscious and find that young child once again.

She asked me to not only find him, but to have a conversation with him; to take his hand and walk a while with him by my side; to listen to his words of unfathomable wisdom; to realize this very same child would one day become, well; would one day become me.

I know it sounds crazy, believe me I do. But I closed off the world for an hour or so before sleep last night; I ignored the worries of adulthood; and went in search of childhood. I found a young boy all by him self, running around with no one to play, and yet still smiling and still laughing. I took him by the hand and asked him how he was; took him by the hand and asked him if he was okay. In his eyes I saw the innocence of youth. In his smile I saw the memory of summer past. In his stature I saw the determination of an unforseeable future.

Bang.

We talked. I listened. We laughed. I healed. Not too much later he asked if it was okay for him to go and find his friends so he could play.

"Will you come back again?" He asked. "I would like it very much if you would come back again so we could talk some more."

Yes, I said, yes. I would like that very much.

"Promise?" He asked once more.

Yes, I said, I promise.

Then he smiled at me and walked away. As I watched him go, the child suddenly turned around with guns drawn and said "Bang." He ran away giggling into the hot summer sun and trailing peals of childish joy behind him. He ran away leaving a man in awe of life.

Find your child within. Find the time to take them by the hand and walk along the dusty roads of forgotten paths. Find the time to talk. Find the time to listen. Find the time to laugh like a child again. But, above all, find the time to heal. Find the time to remember who we were eventually becomes what we are.

Dream. Search. Question. Live. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"Beauty is being in harmony with what you are." - Peter Nivio Zarlenga

Rainbows and Butterflies

2006-01-01T14:55:00.000-04:00

It is not fun to wake up with a headache; to sleep with a headache; to breathe with a headache; or to even study with a headache. It is not fun to live with a daily reminder of a whacked out night lost in the shifting sands of time. But, although I am used to living life with these headaches, I made a vow years ago to never let them dictate my life.

Now in my present days, I feel that vow bending at times as the pain becomes constant and oh so overbearing. When the thud just thumps and the lights become bright; when the interesting conversation is unfortunately lost to the stimulation of a racing heart beat.

But we are only truly responsible for one thing in this life: to adapt; to overcome; and to evolve. We can either shoulder the responsibility of working harder when the level of responsibility increases or we can throw our cards in and call it a game. It is up to us; up to you; up to me. How we walk with our heads high is determined by the individual. This is how I do it. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

When even the slightest touch from a loved one brings with it a grasp of pain; when even the lightest kiss brings with it a wary cringe of the eyebrow. These are the days when only darkness brings with it relief. A want to shut away from the world and sleep the madness away into the depths of time. But no. That would be giving up.

So yesterday I stayed awake and fought through the heavy press of eyelids, stayed awake through the insistent nag of a digging blade behind my eyes, and I stayed awake to read and edit an old life. I did what I always do: write, write, and write some more.

It is the sweetest love in my life. To take thoughts and place them in print, to read a life that seems so alien to me yet I recognize it as my own. It is when I forget the pain, it is when I forget the loss of love, and it is when I remember that it feels so good to be alive.

It will not end me. I will not allow it. It is not in the act of refusal that I take strength but in the intention of being something more. They can poke and prod me to find empty answers to questions I have asked many many times. They can even call me a medical mystery. I already know I am a walking miracle. Nothing will ever stop me from reaching my goals.

Not even the constant thump, thump, thumping of blinding white lights ripping and surging through my memories. No. Never. I am too strong for it. For all my human frailties and limitations I refuse to let anything but my goals shine the way for me. Even as the candle burns brightly in front of me I will ignore the dripping hot wax coating my hand.

I will do my best to ignore the pain.

A quick look into self to recognize strength is all we need in the end. To recognize the shift in our direction, to adapt to that shift, to overcome and evolve. In front of us lies the road to all of our questions; the road to all of our dreams. If we let it wear us down, if we let it stop us when life is at its hardest and the storm rages on and on, if we let it beat us, well; then we have truly lost. Find your own strength, my friends, find it when the day is long, and find it when the night is black and dark.

Find it in your self. Fight. Never give in. Fight damn it. Fight. In the end, it is life that we fight to live; it is life that we fight to understand. Never stop questioning and never stop dreaming. When it is all said and done, pain is only weakness leaving your body. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"Well I woke up this morning, rainbows filled the sky. Yes I woke up this morning and rainbows filled the sky. And there was God telling me "everything's going to be alright." - Jack Johnson

Frozen Memories

2005-12-14T01:37:00.000-04:00

My breath was a puff of frozen air and my feet made small crunching sounds in the new snow. The cacophony of the busy highway crackled all around me as my mind drifted back in time…to a different life and a different setting.

I walked through the soft falling flakes of powder today and remembered mornings when I dressed in layers of thermal clothing: first layer to wick the sweat, second layer to trap the heat, a third layer for insulation, and then the socks. Sliding into baggy snowboard pants, tightening the belt but keeping slack for room to spin my body, and pulling my jacket over my shoulders; vents closed and pockets zipped tight.

Next came the boots, laces drawn snug, and then a run for the door. Here is a story of why I love winter and the feeling of soft snow falling all around me. The memory of the search of fresh powder to ride; the search of hidden bowls and tree runs. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Picture your self on a chairlift, your feet swaying lazily beneath you in the open air, the wind cold and brisk on your face, and flecks of falling snow on your tongue. You look at your friends and smile at their grins of mischief; grin at your own thoughts of pure abandonment. Imagine the whisk of the seat as you slide off of it and feel the snow as you glide over its surface.

Hike high on a mountain face as your boots sink into a deep hole of yielding velvet and listen to your heart pound blood in your ears. Stand on top of the world and survey your domain of valleys made of rock and stone. Hear laughter all around you and glimpse fragments of childhood memories of days spent with no worry; days of no care.

Click in and enjoy the ride.

Drift along currents of white, run your hand behind you and trail your fingers in the quiet wake. Spy a forest in the distance, over the hills and far away. Glide into its sanctity of hush and stillness; notice that even the wind falls silent in respect. It is in the shelter of trees that snow becomes a kaleidoscope of champagne dust sprinkled from the heavens.

Give thanks for the softness of life; give thanks for the softness of Nature. Sit. Listen. Breathe. Remember. Forgive.

Stand. Charge.

Ride through trees of green and white, snap off bows laden with snowflakes as you brush by them, and feed off the adrenaline now in control of your actions. Feel the branches crack across your forearms and rampage through life with a grunt and a yell. Lean back on your rear foot and surf across the waves of powder, drop your knee and dig deep to send a rooster of white up and over your shoulder.

Wipe snow off your goggles and slide your fingers over your mouth; taste the excitement wet and delicious on your pallet. Suck in your breath as the ground falls steep, follow the rush, and drift off a lip of snow…and fly with the birds in a frozen moment in time; a frozen stall of thought.

Land with an explosion of earth as it shatters and buries you in its grasp, and then lets you go with a whisper of luck. Ride. Ride. Ride.

I return to my present in a fracture of thought and memory. Images flutter away yet leave a blanket of fleece and warmth. The mountains will always be there, I know, but I miss them so, especially when the winds howl and the snow falls. Oh how they pushed me to be better; to be more. But I can always return once again. Not so long away and yet so far to go.

My love. My passion. My soul. These are the inspirational push from behind now; the push to be more; the push to learn; the push to progress. When once I only believed in self and questioning of self, I now believe in us all; believe that we must always question, search, question and ask, then search some more. The more you search the more you find. The more you find the more you learn. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"It's the experience that counts rather than the percieved happiness." - Craig Kelly

Origin of Rational Thought

2005-12-08T17:29:00.000-04:00

Virtuous adjective Having or showing virtue, especially moral excellence.

Character noun Moral or ethical strength.

Ethics are made of non-contradictory principles, and therefore, are an essential formula for life. There are various factions of ethics, for example, Deontological ethics which are based on the practice of intrinsically right or wrong duties and rules; or Teleological ethics, which are based on the emphasis of cause and effect decisions and what they achieve.

Then there are Virtue ethics. This is the practice of ethical decision based upon individual character traits. That is, if you perceive honesty as a personal trait, then you will always be honest no matter the circumstance. You live your life by this personal code and you base all actions on a particular choice of character traits. Virtue is a sign of knowledge: knowledge of self, knowledge of decisions, and knowledge of a sound formula for just action.

Therefore, if knowledge of virtue requires practice and exercise of said principles, then it can be stated that knowledge and virtue are indeed interchangeable; it can be stated that knowledge and virtue form our character.

At the end of the day these ideas make the difference in breaking through the clutter of crumbling walls; it is what we take from our precious seconds of organized time of reflection. Here are some of my reflections on what knowledge and virtue mean to me. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Virtuous beliefs are formed through virtuous thought. They come from personal reflection: reflection of our life and times, reflection of past mistakes, and reflection on acknowledgement of these mistakes. If you truly believe that mistakes are made in order to learn, then you will see the value in no longer making them. You will learn the lesson. In fact, you will come to see repetitious mistakes as what they truly are: an effective barrier placed over your inevitable growth of soul.

Rational thought is our own to form and apply as we may. I can explain rational thought to you as I view it, but what is rational thought as you see it? My explanation of rational thought makes sense to me; however, it might not necessarily make sense to you. I could use rhetoric to influence your rationale in an effective matter but that would mean I have not achieved my end goal…and my end goal is for us all to think for ourselves, not as another may tell you to think; or what to think; or how to think.

So, once again, I return to virtue as being equal to knowledge and vice versa. I will state the intercessory to bridge the gap between these two interchangeable ideas and the purpose of rational thought. It is the taking of these three elements, applying each to our lives, and realizing what is needed to evolve; to survive; to progress.

The missing link is wisdom.

Wisdom is the taking of practical reasoning, applying past experience, and using rational action in life decisions. For example, if you believe in the virtue of patience and see that everything has a time and place, and therefore, need not be rushed, well; you now have a formula to use when faced with a dilemma. You use the virtue of patience to reflect on a possible consequence instead of rushing to a hasty decision. Through practice of virtue you gain knowledge of how to act in tight situations, when before you would have grabbed on to something; anything in order to ground your self in life.

Now picture that the same situation arises again and again. What do you do?

Well, through proper reflection, you recognize that it is not a situation per se, but in fact it is the same mistake arising again and again. Once you recognize the mistake, you can now acknowledge that its lesson has been learned. You have now applied practical reasoning to past experience, and applied rational thought to effective action.

You now have wisdom.

So many of us feel that it is much better to ground ourselves in past mistakes; maybe because we feel we owe something, anything, to our past. Our souls travel along broken roads, scuffing our dirty feet in the lost remnants of our lives. It need not be that way.

Let me explain.

I have learned so much about character in my university years: societal character and individual character of past and present. I have come to see that my whispered thoughts actually hold valid truth when I once felt they were only random words. I become lost in these thoughts at times. When that happens, I can freely admit that it is needed to ground my self in something; in anything. I choose to ground my self in faith. Faith in me. Faith in you. Faith in us all. I prefer to ground my self in this glorious creation we call life.

That is virtue of character, my friends. When the road seems long and oh so dark, you must believe that much harder in your self. You must not only believe, but you must also learn to trust that your path is just; that your path is true. Understand that your character is forming it self into your personal reflection and what you feel on the inside will show true on the outside.

One more morning is one more reason to shine. One more day is one step closer. One more night is another glimpse of time to reflect on who we are and who we will become. Be resilient. Be strong. Know that it is okay. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is a habit." - Socrates

Coming of Winter

2005-11-13T01:42:00.000-04:00

Swirling leaves blew up all around me. Rain pounded on my windshield. My thoughts ran back in time to only a week ago; a time when my whole world turned black for three days. A slight thud pounded above my eyes. I squinted through the sheets and did my best to ignore. I remembered what I am not allowed to forget.

The colours of autumn passed in front of my eyes and the wind whistled through a crack in the window. I lost my self in its current and faded back to only days ago.

Drugs. Pain. Loss of sleep. Stress. Compassion. Blackness. All of it in only seventy two hours of my life. The story of how I lost most of them in the hazy shadows of a bad bad headache. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

My headaches have always been the bane of my existence since childhood. Migraines they are called. I only wish I was so lucky to have one of these migraines because mine are much, much...much worse. Yet it is always the same diagnosis and the same prescription of ineffective drugs. Yet always the same end result.

They had been absent as of late and I began to hope they were on extended leave. I sat in my class last week when it hit me. An insane line of splintered pain ran across the back of my head to the front of my skull. It slashed a razor arc between my eyes and then just sat there. It pulsated slightly but not so slightly that I did not feel its insistent message: I am here it said. And I am here to stay for a while this time.

I sat numbed in my class, aware of the voices in the room, assaulted by the bright white lights, and acknowledged there would soon be a full systems shut-down. I stumbled to the campus doctor, grabbed some minor drugs, went home for more, and called my best friend the Paramedic. He shuttled me to the hospital for nine hours of wait, wait and wait some more. Throw in some more drugs, this time of the heavier kind, and top it off with a catscan whirring over my head.

Drowsy and drugged, I fell into a coma for a couple of hours. I woke in a hospital bed with synthetic heroin in my bloodstream and away we go. The next morning I headed to school, and walked like the living dead have arisen. Pain now a common presence as I shuffled slowly and my personal Paramedic kept a tight vigil at my side. I go to the campus doctor once again for more tests, more of the same drugs, and then suddenly found myself washing dishes in the dark.

Blessed darkness. Windows shut tight, blinds pulled close, and a pillow over my head to block any remaining light. Then black...nothing but a sweet starless sky. My roomates told me they rock papered scissored to go in my room and see if I was alive. Yet I only knew eighteen hours of exquisite blackness. I was out cold.

It has been over a week now since then.

I wish I could tell you pain has left but I would be a liar. I wish I could tell you it lingers ever so lightly but it has me tight in its jaws. Every now and then it gives me a good shake to remind me to continue on no matter the cost. Don't give in to anything it says because I never will.

I will find a way to one day ease the mandibles of pressure and when I do the whole world will know. But for now I breathe a little harder, think a little deeper, and smile through it all. I won't let it be my maker. Only I can be that.

Be strong. Work harder and work another way. Be resilient. Be a foundation for others to build upon. Be yourself. Fight damn it; fight through it until the wall is crumbling all around you. Then build anew. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"Man never made any material as resilient as the human spirit." - Bernard Williams

Life of Semantics

2005-10-12T20:39:00.000-03:00

University is a brilliant way to further one's education. That said, it is in intimate interactions that the true education occurs. That may necessarily include conversations with your professor or instructor, but depending on the forum, it may not. For me, it comes down to the front lines: Students.

We are the ones who stay up burning away the midnight oil and we are the ones who are your future. Can you handle that? Here is a small insight into the mind of a university student. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Identifying a university student is not as simple as one might think. We are chameleon's at times, one day wearing ripped jeans and a wrinkled shirt, another day we may be perfectly styled in today's "acceptable" image, and at others we may be in business attire.

But, if we have anything in common, and in this thought I attribute only to the studious person, it is in the fact that we look hurried. Our eyes are absorbing everyday scenario's and applying classroom lectures to mainstream situations. We move with a crisp saunter, habitually check our celluar phones for calls to arrange group meetings, and are seemingly forever behind in our course work no matter how diligent we may be.

School. Work. Study. Books. Papers. Assignments. Analysis. Application. Social life. Booze. Parties. Sometimes sleep. And not necessarily always in that order.

To be honest, I love the life of a university student; I truly, truly love it. Creation of theories, application of ideas, and moral development of well-tested phenomena. It is in that gap between theory, definition, and explanation that magic occurs.

Learning, my friends, learning is what it all comes down to. Stretching intellectual thought past boundaries of impassable depth; destroy, create, and rebuild that ideology of old and surpass the new.

Marxism. Republic of Plato. Fundamental Questions of Philosophy. Virtue Ethics. Media influence on public opinion...and the list could continue on into the wee hours of the morning. Ironically, it is in the wee hours of the morning that students are awake and hurrying to meet deadline.

Which brings me to the topic of next week's posting: The Art of Procrastination.

But, for now, if you have the time and if you are not happy with your direction in life, then why not look into a higher education? Why not learn new ideas, why not learn new theories of the past, present, and future? You will never be bored, and yes, you may pull your hair out at times, but the opportunities to grow as a person are endless.

Go on. Take a walk to your local University and pick up an academic calendar. See the wide array of choices and see that maybe, just maybe, you find your eyes widening at what life has to offer.

Learn Spanish, learn French, learn German. Taste the exquisite beauty of coming to terms with time constraints and seeing you can do whatever the hell it is you want to do. See that we all have a limitless capacity for knowledge and that one step in the right direction can be a simple step in bridging the gap between knowledge and wisdom.

And we all know that wisdom is the ability to see knowledge as experiences that open up in an entirely new light. Go ahead. Take the plunge. You might just find you are falling into some of the best years of your life. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"The principle goal of education in the schools should be creating men and women who are capable of doing new things, not simply repeating what other generations have done; men and women who are creative, inventive and discoverers, who can be critical and verify, and not accept everything they are offered." - Jean Piaget

Thought Process

2005-10-01T02:20:00.000-03:00

Maybe I could do it.

Maybe I could try.

Maybe I could stop saying maybe.

Maybe I could do that.

Creation begins with the simplest of steps. A creative thought becomes a creative idea, and a creative idea becomes a creative plan. It is the transition from that last stage to the application of action that fear resides. Fear of failure, fear of looking the fool, and fear of being stranded on a wayward limb of a random branch on the tree of life. Maybe I can try and see what happens, maybe I can take a chance, and maybe I can do it.

If you take away all those may be's you will find that you are left with I can try and see what happens, I can take a chance, and I can do it.

It is as simple as that.

You see, it was only years ago that I saw a future looming in the distance, and that it was actually more tangible than I thought. From a single thought came an attainable goal, and from a single idea came a plan to make my passion a reality. A book. I could do that. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Life. It surrounds us in our waking days and in it influences us in our sleeping hours. What we do with this life is entirely up to us and us only. If you want to see the world, then take that thought and make it a goal to live for. If you want to be a teacher, then take that idea and study, study, and study some more until you are the one writing the study manuals. If you want to be a snowboard bum, then act on that desire, and become the best snowboard bum known to man or woman.

Ambition. Restraints are unnecessary in striving to touch your dreams. Barriers are easily removed and reconstructed until they are sturdy walls of confidence and strength. It is the will to live that drives us but it is the will to become something great that need urge you on. Do what you want with life, but in the end, it is doing what you will with it that makes it glorious. No longer shall you sit by as the river of opportunity rushes by and leaves you sitting by the fall line pondering if you should or should not.

You will never know the temperature of the water unless you stick your toe in.

Create. I read, write, and edit, read, write, and edit, and then read, write, and edit some more. Time builds up and time disappears, but still I sit and read, write, and edit some more. We all have a job to do, but if you love what you do then it is not considered work. For me personally, it is what I have always done, and what I will always do. To create, to express, and to one day leave a legacy for those brave enough to follow. For the ones who paved the way and for the ones who will prepare the groundwork. If creativity is the key then just show me the lock.

Plan. Even though I am the writer of my own script, it is still exciting to see what will happen. It is an anticipation of an event I knew would one day arrive. It looms in the distance, lingers around the edges of reality, waiting; just waiting. Can you feel the excitement in the air? Can you taste the success of following a dream and then one day seeing it is now real? This is life, my friends, this is why it is special.

Adversity. There is no need to watch life pass by while you are standing in the pouring rain waiting for a bus that will never come. There is no time like the present to relinquish the past, and there is no need to fear the unknown. It is in our acceptance of courage that we face our demons and see they are merely apparitions. It is in our ability to continue moving forward that we see the light of day and forget we were ever terrified of the dark.

Progress. Go on, do it, I triple-dog-double-dare-you. Be a shining star for others to hang the moon upon. Be an inspiration for your own life. Yes, I know, we must learn to crawl before we walk, but who is to say we cannot run as soon as our feet touch the ground. One step forward is one step closer to home. Forward progression is the only link to survival. Be the reason for survival; be the reason for progression.

Think. Think big. Think bigger. Think it is possible. And then one day, that thought becomes an idea, that idea becomes a plan, and that plan becomes a call to action. Listen to the words of logical advice, heed the wisdom of personal stories, and understand we all have everything needed to succeed. Know that it is in you. Know that it waits for you. But do it now while you still have the time. Do it now while you still breathe. Recognize the fear, profess the courage, and walk to where your steps fall. One foot in front of the other. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"And did you lose yourself somewhere out there? Did you get to be a star? Don't it make you sad to know that life is more than who we are?" - Goo Goo Dolls in our hands, my friends, it is

Last Days of Summer

2005-09-25T18:25:00.000-03:00

It has passed by like the lingering scent of roses growing by the roadside; one minute, a light fragrance of Nature on a breeze, and then the next minute, gone in the finality of a season. There were many ups and downs on my road over this past summer, days spent hunched over many details, small and large; nights spent sitting in front of my computer tap tap tapping away.

And now, here I am, once again back in school, and in the last fruitful days of a late summer. The sun is setting outside and I am in full swing of another year in University, but yet so far behind I am already scrambling to catch up.

So many memories from the past five months, too many to catalogue here and now, but as always, I will give it the old collegiate effort, and at least pull one from my bag of imagery. One defining moment from a season full of them, and I can only hope you live yours as I live mine. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

There was a light mist in the air, gathering on the element of wind, and swirling all around my existence. I was on a remote island just outside the inlet of St. Paul's, on the western coast of the Island of Newfoundland, and my group and I were in the final stages of an artic tern survey. We had spent the last number of hours traipsing amuck patches of sand and rock, counting tiny eggs to check population cycles of the bird with the longest migratory route of any known creature in the free world. It had been an amazing day and it would only prove to get better.

There we were, a group of park wardens, biologists, and a writer, walking across a narrow stretch of soggy land, reciting numbers of bird eggs and hatchling creations of God. Above our heads flew hundreds of ringwells, also commonly known as seagulls, screaming at us in anger and indignation for ruining their fun and their mealtime. They are on the lower spectrum of the food chain, and scrounge for whatever will fill their bellies, and this time they were after the artic tern.

I was garbed from head to toe in rain gear, from the waterproof hiking boots on my feet to the waterproof hood pulled snugly over my head, and yet my senses were still alive with the anarchy of my environment. Birds were flying helter skelter all about me, swooping through the air and diving into the ocean to rest before taking flight once again. Yet, for some odd reason, my group was cool, calm, and collected, and focused on our assignment with calculating precision.

That, in a nutshell, my friends, was my summer. At times during the last five months, I was surrounded by distractions of destruction and pain, sunshine and rain, and fleeting episodes of a random collection of stolen moments. I would go on surveys of the abstract kind, of counting birds here, there, and everywhere, or going on exotic adventures to magical places I have never seen before. But throughout it all, I stayed true to my course, dropped seconds and minutes until they were days spent behind a keyboard and mouse, tap tap tapping away until my goal was complete.

In the midst of chaos, I was my own personal guide of safe passage into the eye of the storm; returning from the calamity of personal history, more alive and confident then when I first entered the maelstrom. The product of this journey is now waiting patiently as I edit, edit, and edit some more. But, for the most part, the second draft of my book is complete; I have no more chapters to write, and only a couple more to revise.

I am almost home. And to think that to get there, I first had to make it back to the soil I was born on. That I had to travel all the way home to truly start my journey from the beginning.

Clarity waits for us all, my friends, it waits for us all to sort through the clutter and rubbish of negative thoughts; it waits for us to deconstruct our questions until they become answers, and it waits for us to see the truth in it all. If you are working hard and the answers seem to only be farther away, then breathe deep, step back and away, and come at it from another angle. Don't give in to the naysayers who rant and rave that it cannot be done, don't give in to your fear and let doubt be the overlord of your domain, and for the love of all that is sacred and just, don't give up on your dreams.

The road may look worn, tarnished, and dull from afar, but apply a little elbow grease and some hard work, and suddenly you may realize that it is actually paved in gold. Work a little harder, work another way, but keep working on that internal drive that says I can become more, I will become more, and then, one day not so far in the future, you will see that you are more. Until we meet again, my friends, until we meet again.

"You need chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star." - Nietzsche

Comfort Levels

2005-08-11T12:02:00.000-03:00

Physical adj. Of or relating to the body as distinguished from the mind or spirit

Spiritual adj. Of, concerned with, or affecting the soul

In this life there are many levels of comfort. We have levels of friendship in regards to close knit crews as opposed to acquaintances. We have varying degrees of tolerance before we react, we have limits of privacy versus intimacy...and the list could continue on for centuries.

The most essential, for me anyway, is that of physical comfort and spiritual comfort, and how they relate in so many ways. Physical is sometimes mental, for example, how lack of money in my life upsets me to the point of laying awake at night...fretting over details outside of my control. That negative effect on comfort levels sometimes leave me gasping for room to breathe.

But, spiritual comfort is my balance. The introspection of self, faith in gift, belief in vision, and the search for my soul...and, once again, the list could continue on for centuries. Hold on for some deepness of thought. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Money has always been the bane of my existence. I am the youngest of four boys raised by a single Mother in a low-income, subsidized community of row houses; in essence a ghetto. I walked amongst that old haunt during my recent visit to St. John's and saw how it is now dilapidated, worn, and devoid of warmth. I knew not the faces anymore, except a random few still living in the dredges, and the weight of despair thickened the humid summer air.

The status of poverty can become a burden for people, a routine that they are unable to break, and in effect, an open fissure of chaos designed for failure. I am lucky, indeed, truly blessed, to come from a woman strong enough to rise above the ascription of her birth. My Mother instilled in me a sense of soul, to look past the personal limitations of a young boy, and taught me the value of belief in strength. With that lesson learned at an early age, I am now able to walk with my head held high as an adult, and therefore see that chasm on the road ahead.

And with one deft movement of step, I easily walk around it. Money is not the end all be all for me...personal comfort is.

Personal comfort means being comfortable in my own skin, patiently comfortable in keeping my goal in sight; comfortable in fulfilling self-prophecy. I will make something of myself, you will know that when it happens, and please, for the love of all that is sacred and good, please hold me to those words. I walk hand-in-hand with fate and each step brings me closer and closer to the true beginning moments of my life. My passion is the flint, my obsession the spark, and my destiny the fire that keeps me warm.

I am writing a book...a fictional memoir where the only fictional aspect is that all the character's names have been changed. I set a personal goal of finishing it this summer and in the last eight months wrote over thirty chapters; twenty in the last three months alone. As summer draws to a slow close, my goal becomes tangible and now only three more remain.

Accomplishing that objective involves so many variables of nights in solitude, pressing friends to read chapters for feedback, promoting the fact that I am writing a book in the first place, and ignoring the fact I am an impoverished student. Ignoring ideas of finance and principal; capital and debt needed to start an aspiring publishing career. These thoughts play with my physical comfort and I toss and turn; then toss and turn some more. Sometimes it is almost impossible to close my eyes and attempt to shut down my mind during those empty hours of darkness.

But, there are the nights when I lay awake and listen to the quiet tapping of rain falling softly against my window. It is in those moments that I am held in the arms of spirit and it is the only comfort I will ever need. I know everything will be okay, and in time, everything will work out. I only need see what is written in the stars for one is written for us all.

So, when you feel tightness in your chest because you want more than your bank account can supply, or if what you want costs more than what you have, realize it is only one scale working to balance the other. It is only a reaction, nothing more, nothing less, only a reaction of your spirit calming your physical with a light hush and whisper. Listen to what it is saying, take comfort in words of solace, and know that you are being lead in the right direction.

The rest will only follow. Head up, shoulders straight...now march. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." - Psalms (ch. xxiii, v. 4)

What If?

2005-08-03T21:53:00.000-03:00

"What the...Oh my God! Oh My God!"

It was as if the voices in the back of the truck were coming from another place. My mind was unable to conceive the reality of what was happening. I was strangely calm, was reminded of the hard rain pounding with a frenzy on the windshield, of the wipers moving in slow motion across the window, and that up ahead was certain death.

In the opposite lane was a large-size passenger bus, coming up along the bend in the highway. Steaming around it, heading our way while driving in our lane, was a transport truck only metres away from colliding head-on into our vehicle. My hands were still, my mind was working over possible escape routes, and I did not even think of panicking and driving off into the neighbouring ditch. Instead, I slowly applied my brakes so as not to hydroplane in the wet road, slightly tugged the wheel in the opposite direction, and breathed a sigh of relief as the big wheeler screamed by us, its heavy load of lumber sitting snuggly behind on its track.

What if things had been different? What if the bus driver had jerked in fear and cut off any escape route? What if the transport truck wheels slipped in the slick conditions, flipped over and crashed straight into us? What if I had lost control and our truck jumped the ditch and rolled end over end...what if? What if my life ended today? Gone in the intake of breath and never again to be returned to my body?

I went for a walk tonight, so many hours after that near death incident today, and thought about occurences in our lives. How they may change in the blink of an eye, of how roads become altered through fear or indecision, and how our future is so fragile yet so strong in the same breath. I can only hope you see what I see. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

The sun was setting in the late evening night, splintering through a layer of clouds, and forcibly sending rays of light over the Atlantic Ocean. The light travelled across the water, and the water calmly and gently lapped at my toes as I stood on the sandy shore. What if I had not left Newfoundland as a young boy in the midst of growing? Would my life have been the same? Would I have still gone to school, or for that matter, would I have ever left the Island of Newfoundland?

What if I had never had a dream about a girl that would send me on a wild goose chase through different countries, along both the western and eastern coast of Canada, and years in the mountains? What if instead, my life was boring and dull, without the pain of loss, and the trials and tribulations of taking chances to only watch as they become failures? Would I be happy with a life of ordinary measures? Would I have settled for someone just so I did not have to spend my life alone? What if I believed that regret could fix the wrongs in my life and make it all new again?

What if we never took a chance on our dreams? What if we believed all the naysayers who tell us that dreams are for fools, that they only consist of heartache and rough roads? What if you let all your misery build upon your shoulders and never allowed yourself the right to control your own life?

What if?

But, what if you reached deep inside and found a well of hope? That this well of hope gave strength you never knew existed, and that this new strength gave you reason to want the rough roads? What if you now saw a new day rising on the wind, and that this new day was yours to run with...to run screaming and laughing into the future, scissors in one hand, and desire in the other? What if you knew all this and more was at your fingertips and all you need to do is reach out and softly brush your palm against your dreams? What if, suddenly, they became tangible and oh so real?

Would you be afraid? Would you feel the fear and yet still carry forth? Would you freeze up and run back the way you came? Or would you smile and give thanks? Would you see the possibilty in fighting for the right of your life, and make your dreams a reality in your waking days? Would you push a little harder when days seem heavy, would you smile a little easier when a smile is hard to come by, and would you run when walking is just too damn slow?

It awaits us all, people, it awaits us all. Right in front of your eyes, even if you cannot see it just quite yet, is an outstretched palm. Inside is hope, inside is strength, and inside is everything you have ever wanted and more. In the end, it comes down to how much you truly want it...it comes down to how much you truly want to live. Grab it, people, grab it and find yourself one day walking in foreign lands, holding your soulmate close in your arms, or playing a musical symphony for all the world to hear...feel love in your heart and wisdom in your soul.

What if indeed. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things that we did not do that is inconsolable."
- Sydney J. Harris

The Passing of Days

2005-07-20T09:15:00.000-03:00

Summer is blowing by me with a light breeze. The mornings come too early, the nights fall too fast, and the months drop off week by week, and day by day. In little less than eight sleeps I will say hello to the oldest city in North America, my birthplace, and a legend that I have not seen in over twelve years.

In less than thirty days, I leave the Island of Newfoundland behind, and head back to Halifax, friends, and with my finished manuscript in hand. I sit and think of all the memories created this summer, of all the adventures I have had, and the glorious stories I have yet to tell. Yet, there are so many images flashing through my mind, and it is not possible to place them all in print...the wonders of the eye for a world to see.

But, I will give it a go as they say. Imagine if you will, finding yourself under an onslaught of memories and delights that you pick and pull from the air. Then asking if you may please have some more. The following is a small glimpse into what a summer in Gros Morne holds for the lucky few that venture out to the Island of Newfoundland. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I watched as waves evaporated over a pebbled beach, listened as they faded back into the ocean, a foamy wake clattering over wet rocks. Time has plainly left its presence here as layers of white and silver streak through solid stones; trees bent backwards by the force of strong winds, yet they grow so proud and oh they are so resilient. My Island.

Rains fall and the fog sweeps in like a fisherman throwing his net out into the calm sea; the sun rising high in the sky, splintering rays of light and serendipity for all to see. Grass so soft that it begs to be felt by bare of foot; waters so deep with whispers of old wrecks and lost ghosts that sleep underneath. My Island.

Cliffs of wonder and crags of awe, a dory softly slapping against a wooden wharf, while a sun sets over a cove and a lighthouse grants entry for the weary soul. A safe passage into a land of strength and might, permission to come for a day but allowance to rest for many a night. My Island.

The moon it rises, the sun it sets, and outside the world continues its hurried pace; lost amongst the trials of war and control, a tiny island stands alone in the calamity of the sea. It is not forgotten and I pray it never will be. Rocky shores turn to mountains of wisdom, while a mist gathers off the salt water draft, and the birds buffet on a current like sails on the wind. My Island.

The days draw short and the nights grow dim. I stand on a perch and watch ships sail in. Inside I can hear the audible click of a tick and a tock, as time tells me there is still some left but yet it is passing oh so quickly. My Island.

Soon, not so far away, I will be walking on streets that need no name, just memories of a different age and a different way. I long to see my home, I long to see old faces, and I long to see narrows coves and wooden benches. My blood it tingles, my heart it races, and my mind it asks for patience...not so long now, young one, and not so far to go. My Island.

I know it is not long before I will say goodbye to it again. And so I breathe in and I breathe out. I take my memories and truss them into my bag of stories and know one day they will be out to play again.

Walk barefoot in the grass, taste the wind on your tongue, and travel to the lands where you are known and where you are from. Climb higher and higher still, catch the uncatchable dream, and may your days be only a reminder that the best is yet to come. Follow your path. Build your road. Let your soul run free. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"You know I'm a dreamer but my heart's of gold; I had to run away high so I wouldn't come home low." - Vince Neil of Motley Crue

Love of the Game

2005-07-06T11:42:00.000-03:00

Whap. Whap. Whap.

If you control it the right way, a basketball can do so many things under your hands. You can spin it away from you, you can cup it just slightly enough on your dribble to confuse a defender, and if you have the patience, it can become a lifetime of enjoyment.

Whap. Whap. Whap.

For me, basketball has always been a love; love to play, love the challenge, and love of the sport. I find the sound of the ball hypnotic as it bounces hurriedly on a hardwood floor, or its solid constant thump on a concrete court, or even a hardpacked dirt driveway...just give me the ball and I will take care of the rest. The following is what the game of basketball means to me over the years of my life. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Whap. Whap. Whap. Twish.

As sweat dribbled into my eyes yesterday, I stood out on the dirt road, flipping a ball to myself, then catching and shooting...catching and shooting. I thought of all the different places I have played basketball over the years, of the person I have come to be, of the changes I have seen in myself, yet how my love of the game has always stayed true. For so many years, it was my only release other than writing, and at other times, a basketball was my only companion.

I have incurred many injuries from the game, countless twisted ankles, ruptured my kneecap during an outdoor pickup game, and even a fat lip from an errant elbow thrown by ex-professional Canadian Football player, Tracy Ham. I have played until there was no one left to play with and then I have stayed around to shoot on my own. I have played when no one else wanted to play, when the court was empty and devoid of life, flipping the ball to myself then catching and shooting...catching and shooting.

Whap. Whap. Whap. Twish.

I have played basketball all over Canada and even parts of the States: In the Rockies, both North and South, in the coastal mountains of Whistler, the farthest western regions of Vancouver Island, Halifax on the East Coast, and in a national park on the Island of Newfoundland. Flipping a ball to myself then catching and shooting...catching and shooting.

Whap. Whap. Whap. Twish.

There are so many things I love about the game. The no-look-pass that sets up a teammate for a rim-rattling dunk, the-length-of-the-court-mad-dash to lay the ball softly in the net, and the defensive steal that leads to a fastbreak and score on the other end. The aggressive play under the hoop, arms-all- entangled, battles of strength and brawn, and the resounding slap of my hand on the balls surface after winning the hard-won rebound. All these and more.

But, what I love most about the game comes from childhood memories that I have taken into my latter years. Times when I had no one but myself to share company, times when I knew not a soul, and times when there was only a hoop and a ball. It is during those times when my love for the sport shines. There is no one around to see me score, to hit seven or eight consecutive shots, or to see the smile on my sweat-drenched face.

Whap. Whap. Whap. Twish.

And nor do I care if they do. I only care for the flip of a ball that bounces back to my hands, the caress of leather as it spins in my palms, the quick juke to free up space from an imaginary defender, and the step back to jump and release the ball from over my head. Watch it float through the air to snap the mesh from the bottom up, and the sureness that I only need to grab the ball again to play some more. Just flipping the ball to myself then catching and shooting...catching and shooting.

Whap. Whap. Whap. Twish.

Behind me, the sun sets over an ocean inlet, a lighthouse from the turn of the century lights the way for wayward sailing vessels, and a young boy from Newfoundland does what he has done for as long as he can remember. He flips the ball to himself then catches and shoots...catches and shoots. In his mind the clock ticks away, the score is tied, and the ball is headed his way. He catches the pass, shakes his defender with a quick movement, then steps back, and lets loose from about fifteen feet out. The crowd is screaming in his ears, his heart is pounding like a jackhammer in his chest, and his chance at immortality is floating through the air on the way to certain victory.

Whap. Whap. Whap. Clang.

Damn...missed. Oh well, I guess I will just have to keep shooting until I hit.

Whap. Whap. Whap. Twish. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Even when I'm old and gray, I won't be able to play it, but I'll still love the game."

- Michael Jordan

Time to Spare

2005-06-24T12:21:00.000-03:00

Clock ticking,
Seconds burning.
Mind clicking,
Soul yearning.

Beautiful sights,
Ocean Walks.
Gorgeous nights,
Empty talks.

Days of old,
Times of new.
Wet and cold,
Summer and dew.

Winds of change,
Clouds and rain.
Mountains that range,
Devoid of pain.

Slip away,
Another day.
Trees that sway,
Smile you may.

Somewhere Between North and South

2005-06-14T21:14:00.000-03:00

Picture this if you would: to my right, mountains as old the Earth itself, capped with snowy remains from what was a long, arduous winter, and stretching out as far as the eye can see. To my left, the Atlantic Ocean, and its white-capped waves lapping against a sandy, rocky beach. I would tear my eyes from one scenic glory to only gaze in wonder upon the other.

And somewhere in between I would remember to focus on the sometimes windy highway.
Driving along the west coast on the Island of Newfoundland, on a day's journey in Gros Morne National Park, I watched seagulls float on ocean wind currents, and thought about life. How surreal it can be, how it forces me to pay attention, and what I take from it. These are some of the sights I saw during a trip between northern and southern Newfoundland...remember, this is all in one day. Here you go, and may you enjoy.
Gros Morne, the mountain before time, stood off to my peripheral, its top shrouded in cloud, and below it, a layered forest of dark green, dusty white, light yellow, and pale orange trees begged my eye to notice. To my right, the road faded into a cliff, and hundreds of feet below that, a sea inlet rose and fell between fjords of majestic ranges.
I blinked, and suddenly was deep into the interior of Canada's National Park. Towering crags gave way to large ponds, large ponds gave way to smaller ponds, and even a bull moose stood proud on the side of the road.
And I laughed. And I gave thanks for what is afforded to me.
I followed the road as it curved up and over a high rising bluff, and underneath a town nestled into a bank of trees and an ocean floor exposed in a low tide. Green hills filled my rearview mirror, and blue waters marked the passge of time.
Then, the rocky, shamble of a road, led through mountains of orange soil, and to the right a garden of rocks that, once upon a time, was the ocean floor so many eons ago. I drove into the town that time forgot, dropped off my message, and made my way out the same way I came in.
A rolling hill bottomed out to a view of flowing water passing through a channel of shaved rock, sandy stone, and a melange of coloured trees.
Oh God what a beautiful place my Island is, people, it truly is a sight to behold.
Life is short. Did you know that? Did you know that every passing second is an opportunity to stretch past trivial worries and momentary fears about the future? We, as the ruling race on this planet, need to see that we are not the supreme beings here. We need to see that we are all just a small, tiny piece of a much larger puzzle. This world was around so much longer than us...and unless we realize that, it might not last much longer.
You must grab life, you must accept it as the offering of hope and faith that it is meant to be. Understand the value of the air you breathe, feel it enter and leave your lungs, and maybe, someday, you will see the beauty like I did today...and then maybe you might just hold that breath in just a little bit longer.

Absorb life my friends, absorb it until it becomes what you want it to be. Make the choice to be happy, make the choice to be free, but please, make the choice to live this life the best way you could ever imagine...I mean, what if you knew this life was the only one you had? Would you do anything different? Would you wake the same way every morning knowing that time is slipping away like summer pollen on the rising wind?

Or would you realize that we have as much time as we need, it is only asked that we make the best of it in how it is used...so use it wisely and be free; be strong in the face of your struggles. Remember, they too will soon pass. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it."
- W. M. Lewis

A Time of Reflection

2005-06-11T20:27:00.000-03:00

It is just sitting there...waiting for me to sit down and type. The screen is ready for my words, the drive is ready to save my memories, but why do I seem unready to do any of that? Oh yeah, I am writing about her, and a time of when I was madly in love, of a time when everything made perfect perfect sense, even if the whole world seemed facked.

Is that what it is? Is that the reason why it has been hard to write? I know there are only so many chapters left to finish, only so many more years to write after I have written so many in the last years...yet this last part is what drains me more than any other. It is the act of going back in time and saying hello, to only say goodbye again.

So, I need to put it out there. I need to get it off my chest so I can continue on, and finish what needs to be finished. Bear with me, people, bear with me. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

To all the women I know, I say I am sorry. To all the women I have wronged some how, some way, some time or another, whether it be friend or lover, no matter I just need to move on. I need to know that it is okay to say that I am worth your tears, that I am worth your thoughts, and that in the end, I always knew I was worth your time.

But now? Here in this present day and time? I am making my own plans for my own goddamn life...I am heading to that setting sun on the horizon to make my own future as bright as that which I travel towards. If she is out there, and I hope to God she is, then I can only hope and pray you are headed in the same direction.

I can only hope you recognize my soul when you walk into my life.

Until then, no mas, just no mas. This man has had it up to the scar between his eyes in lost nights wondering about lost words. I have had enough sadness to last a lifetime for every single one of your trivial reasons as to why it had to end. I respect your decisions, one and all, but no longer will I listen because no longer will I be around to hear them. So, for now, let me pull you all close, let me whisper the things I was never allowed to say, and let me tell you I will never forget...while I say goodbye.

For every plan I made, for every time I lost myself in the softness of skin, the lovely smell of pefume on a hot summer's eve, for every time I gave into the tender taste of lips on mine...for every day that falls behind me, I have decided to take the time to only look forward. After all this is said and done, I have decided I need a break from the lust and want for love, that I need a break from all the silly fairy tales and forever love.

Even when I do not want to let the fairy tale go. But, for my own piece of mind I know I must.

It weighs on me like the anvil weighed on the coyote, like the cat felt chasing after the tweety bird, and it follows me like the moon follows the sun. I need to cast away from it, to set my mind straight and prepare for the glorious life I know is not far off. I need to prepare, mentally, physically, and wholly, for travels on soft sands, for new continents, and for new memories in faraway places.

And, now, I need to write. I feel slightly better, but how can one truly feel better when he knows he has more worth than he is shown? That he is being passed by when all he offers is the world in satori? As always, screw it...I will be my own damn saviour. When I give myself again, it will be for the one who appreciates true spirit, true grit, and who also searches for a true soul. I did not come back from the dead to let life wear me down. Not when, in the end of it all, it is life that shows me the way to true happiness.

Not that far away now, people, and I will be done. Not that far away now, and my story will be out for all to see and read, and I hope to God it shows you a sense of hope and realization that we only have this one life. It is too short to lose ourselves in trivial hurts and misrepresentations of who we think others are. In the end, be yourself, and the rest will follow.

Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Well, I've dropped out, I've burned out, I've fought my way back from the dead...I've tuned in, turned on, remembered the thing that you said. And I'll be your crying shoulder, I'll be your love suicide, I'll be better when I am older...I'll be the greatest fan of your life." - Edwin McCain

Sharing the Circle of Life

2005-06-08T10:33:00.000-03:00

Maritime adj. Of, relating to, or adjacent to the sea

Archaic adj. Ancient time period

Racing out to the car, I could feel my heart pounding in anticpation of what was happening...and more so, where it was happening. I was in Port au Choix, a Parks Canada National Historic Site, and there to cover a meeting between children of two local communities on the Island of Newfoundland. I was about to come face to face with the history of my homeland, and see some small examples of cultures from the past 5,000 years.

The amazing thing is that although I was there to write about the experience for the children, in the end their youthful energy brought peace to my heart. This is the story of today's generation embracing yesterday's past. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Port au Choix is a modern day example of changing climate, changing people, and the sense that community is alive and well. It has a long history of change and consistency over the last five millennia, and each occupation of it has lasted for centuries. The Groswater Palaeoeskimos, The Dorest Palaeoeskimos, and Europeans, just to name a few, are all generations that adapted to harsh environments and flourished by living off the sea's resources.

Walking along the coast of Newfoundland, in one of its richest archaeological burial grounds in our Maritime Archaic Indian history, I was struck with the timelessness of the place. As we all gathered around a depression of worn grass and old rocks, the interpreter wove a story of how it was once a house, and how it had over 800 years of habitation in that one place.

Imagining it, as it must have once looked, I could picture smoke rising from the dwelling, could hear seals splashing in the nearby ocean, and could almost hear the laughter of children as they ran sledrunners made of bone over rich, black soil.

Not so many hours later, children of Aboriginal heritage, dressed in ceremonial clothing, beat on ceremonial hand-woven drums, and sang songs in an ancient language that told stories from our past. I watched as everyone present, young and old, joined hands to form a circle of dance and celebration. It all comes down to the teaching and education of our youth, people, for it is they who light the way for our future.

It was the sense of time and place I took with me on the way back home. For me, it was not only uncovering layers from our past, but learning about cultures that have withstood the trials and tribulations in the history of our Earth. The same winds that blew around me today were the same winds that buffeted birds in the sky for thousands of years. No, we may not be here for an eternity, but yes, we can leave our mark, and yes, we can show the young that there is a future to look forward to...that there is future to build and leave behind for their youth.

So, take the time to learn a little more, take the time to take a child in your arms and laugh with them, and take the time to teach them the path of truth. After all, in the end, we have nothing but time anyway. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"What guides us is children's responses, their joy in learning to dance, to sing, to live together. It should be a guide for the whole world." - Yehudi Menuhin

Box in a Cage

2005-06-04T20:31:00.000-03:00

I am alone out here. Not lonely per se, but I have not been able to place my soul on display, other than my writings that is. When that happens, and it does happen occasionally, I go for walks to ease myself into a state of just being. Usually when I take those ambles, my mind starts to race, and tonight would be a classic example of that.

It is in those times, that I liken my thoughts to a Hot Wheels race track. The kind where the little toy cars zoom down a plastic raceway, flying through loop-de-loops and propelled by the remote control in a child's hand. Sometimes, I get lucky and instead of the repetition of circles in my contemplation, I feel the wheels dislodge from its grooved roadway as a finger slips on a trigger. I fly through the air, end over end, spinning into a freefall, and it is there that my dreams overtake my waking minutes.

I am not sure about you, but to me, dreams are stages in life, tiny flashes of random moments that happen in random settings. It is like I am living a simple second in life, when I realize wow, I have seen that before, or wow, I have been here before. I think I see my waking days while I sleep, but stranger than that is the conclusion I came to while walking tonight as my mind raced.

I started to think about the potential we all have, the potential you have, and the potential I have. The following would be some of my conclusions. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

We are all given an opportunity of time, to learn the potential of a skill, a talent, or even better, a gift. We are given the chance to develop that potential so that it becomes more than just a hobby; more than just a love. You start to see personal potential when that love becomes a passion.

But it is after the passion that the obsession has been known to follow. It scares us so much that we step back, maybe even step away, and ponder our next step. I feel like I have been doing that in the last week, feeling like writing has been a chore, and when that happens...I get scared. But, I refuse to accept anything but the best from myself anymore, so those around me receive nothing but the same.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I am getting closer and closer to some of the remaining chapters in my book. I threw down some words the other night, and felt my soul exult in remembrance; felt it recognize what it has always wanted. Yet, as the words appeared in print, I relive another life, another time when I had to pick up and move on again. To be honest, it can be draining at times returning to days when I thought I was so close to love, so close to something...to only remember that it was not to be.

I guess what I am getting at is that, now in my present day, I am seeing how much I have grown as a person since those days, and becoming the person I was diligently building oh so many years ago. I see that I am tapping into that well of opportunity, that source of potential to make myself the best I know I can be.

It is truly amazing to see this, people, it is truly amazing. As I walked, the sun shone down so bright from its perch in a cloudless sky, the water was so calm and glowing in the silver light, and the mountains were a painting in the background. I raised my chin higher, and saw that although I may be in a box inside of a cage, at least now I can realize that. Soon, nothing will hold me back from being what I know I will be, and nothing will place borders around my soul.

So I face the fear, I pull my shoulders back, and I hold my head proud...and I walk. Forward progression is, and always will be, the only link to survival. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"I've got another confession my friend...I'm no fool. I'm getting tired of starting again...somewhere new. Were you born to resist or be abused? I swore I'd never give in...I refuse." - Dave Grohl of Foo Fighters

Strength in Numbers

2005-05-27T18:17:00.000-03:00

Newfoundland is a place reknowned the world over for its culture, sense of humour, and love of a good stiff drink...or maybe more than just one.

It is an island full of fable, myth, and legend. Everywhere you go, someone will offer up a story, a memory of a time when, or even just brighten your day with a hearty smile and laugh.

But, what do you know about our character? Our strength of mind, body, and soul? How we continuously thrive through the dead cold of winter, the dreary thaw of spring, and enjoy every second we have on our rock amongst the outside turmoil of the world...what have you heard about that? The following is an example of the strength of one man, his family, and how I came to see that community support is so vital to this rapidly depleting island I call home. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

It was the blood that caught my attention first; not the amount of it, and believe me there was a lot of that, but more so the way it was falling to the floor. It dropped in small rivlets of crimson red, and I watched as his hands desperately tried to keep the flow in his body. His eyes were so crystal blue in something akin to fear, but his voice was strong as he told me to drive him to the hospital...as his tongue licked over the missing gaps where his top and bottom front teeth used to be.

I drove as fast as the van could manage, the whole time making sure he was okay, watching out for other cars as I roared past them, and paying close attention to any moose that might venture onto the road. They are plentiful this time of season, and are extremely stupid animals with no hesitations of suicide versus feeding their bellies. I looked over at him holding a towel dripping in blood, and was amazed that he did not even so much utter a groan or a whimper.

I marvelled at his strength, wondering how he was keeping his composure, then paid close attention to the road, while ignoring the increasing speed of the van. Finally, I raced into the entrance of the hospital, slowed down for him to jump out, and then parked the vehicle. Another car pulled up with his partner inside, her face a mask of fear and worry that it had been one of her sons in the car with me...yet it did not change from concern when she found out it was her companion.

A few hours later, with the room full of relatives and friends, I donned a pair of rubber gloves, grabbed some hot cloths, and washed away the blood off his hands. I tried not to stare at the gauze covering his lower chin that was becoming darker and darker as the seconds passed, and silently gave thanks for small favours that he only lost some teeth and skin...and not his life. Turns out he had been using a table saw to cut some wood for some cupboards, when the wood caught and kicked back into his face.

I was the one who saw the aftermath not even ten seconds later. Thank God I was home when it all went down.

But, it was the people at his side that refused to let him go through it alone; the family and friends who made small jokes to make him laugh, and offered support in time of need. I watched them as a silent observer, an outsider looking in, yet still feeling like a part of the family. Everyone waited until the ambulance whisked him away to the closest dental surgeon, and I gave thanks that he would be okay.

The image still stays with me though...missing enamel, blood, and the surprise in his voice that it had actually happened to him. But, he never made a complaint, never cursed or swore, and only accepted that which can be unacceptable to most. My people, I tell you, we have the strongest skin imaginable, the most beautiful hearts I have ever seen, and we laugh in the face of struggle while looking to the sky for guidance.

I am home again, back in the land of the unforgotten, and back in the arms of God. Life only gets better from here on in, my friends. I guess you will have to wait until next time to hear the story of my hike up into no man's land, the mountain known as Gros Morne. How was I to know that both incidents would happen in the same day?

Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy." - Martin Luther King, Jr.

Strong Winds of Spring

2005-05-20T22:50:00.000-03:00

It all started yesterday with another glorious sunset. I grabbed my camera and snapped off some shots as it fell into the harbour. It was an image that I have collected in my mind's eyes, but had yet to capture it in real time. I smiled as it dropped from my sight, then climbed on the back of an ATV vehicle, and wound through an interwoven collection of trails complete with roots on the path. I was bounced around this way and that, loving the speed and the brisk Newfoundland wind in my face. The driver, a young sixteen year-old Newfoundland kid, born and being raised.

Feeling the temperature falling lower and lower, I remembered there was a toasty woodstove warming up at the house I was staying in. After clambering off the four-wheeler and walking the short distance back to the house, I decided to do some writing on my book.

And thus began the beginning of the night I was to lose six years of my life. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I walked into my room, and placed my laptop on the small sidestand next to the bed. It seemed a mite rickety, but all in all, I figured it would hold. I booted up the power, and cleaned up the room until it was ready for me to write some more words.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught the table shudder under the weight, and turned to watch as the laptop slipped off...and fell to the ground with a crash. My first thought as I watched it slide off was if my removable hard drive disk was tucked away in its box for safekeeping...or still in its port on the back panel.

With a small shock of dismay, I remembered it was indeed still plugged into the back of my now upturned portable computer just as it made contact with a sickening crunch. Then it sunk in that I had no other recent backups of what I have been writing for the last six years. I went over, picked it up, and observed the disk. It was bent at an obscene angle, but yet was still in place.

It was when I pulled it out that I saw the motherboard was pushed up out of its shell, and two hairline fractures ran down the side of its plastic casing.

Gone. 100, 000 words, 108 computer pages, 22 chapters, and six years of my blood sweat and tears. Six years of writing all gone. I racked my brain as I catalogued disks I may have saved a hard copy on, or maybe I could salvage what I had on hard drive at school. Either way, I knew I had at least lost the last 14 chapters I had written in the last six months alone.

I am in a place on the west coast of Newfoundland, and it is a hell of a distance away from any source of city or anywhere I could take to have it looked at. Instead of a really nice laptop, I figured I may now have a really expensive piece of useless plastic.

Gone.

I fell asleep around 3 in the morning, after spending most of the time before tossing and turning. Working things out in my head as to what I must do next, and when I would at least start to pick up the longhand version where I left off. Ironically enough, it was at the end of the most recent chapter I was working on. It was a start. More so, a little voice told me that I was not allowed to be upset or distraught...I could always start again.

Today, the woman I am boarding off of, recommended a friend of hers who knew about computers, and after work I went to see him; removable hard disk in one hand, and the laptop in the other. What was there to lose, right? The strange thing was that I was surprisingly calm because I see these accessories for what they are: possessions. I might have a long road ahead of me with all the backtracking and such, but in the end I still had my memory, and well, it is my life I am writing about so I think I remember how the story goes.

Then sat in amazment as he plugged in the disk into his laptop, and it brought up all the history I thought I had lost. And then we took out the battery, put it back in, and I watched as my laptop came to life. Turns out those little drives are tough little suckers, and it cushioned the impact of the fall and saved the day in the end. I am now saving to a rewritable CD and will make sure to make backup copies in triplicate.

The little disk that could. Just like the story it is holding in its palm. And back to the craft I go. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"A good artist should be isolated. If he isn't isolated, something is wrong." - Orson Welles

Where the World Once Joined

2005-05-16T23:06:00.000-03:00

Cascades of orange and red floating over an ocean of calm. Window panes turned golden in reflection upon their mirrored surface. A sky turned into pink clouds of fluff that make your soul ache to lay your head upon them and just rest for a century or two. Mountains as old as time that beg you to remember the past while knowing they have never understood the true meaning of the present. Graveyards that ask you not to forget and to always remember.

An anchor sunken deep into the grassy lawn of a front yard. Lobster traps no longer sitting on the ocean floor, instead now laying on solid ground waiting patiently to one day be full again. Kids jumping and playing on a trampoline, their laughter filling the air with innocence and pure abandonment of worry. An inlet of water seperating where the world's crust once upon a time split apart and sailed away, seeking its own fortune in other lands. Feeling the warming roast of a woodstove burning silently into the night.

Even a moose outside my office window to greet me in the early morning.

All of this and more; the sights and sounds that fall before my eyes and ears in my first week back in my homeland again. What I have learned in that short amount of time is another story altogether. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I am starting to feel the energy source here. It is like a light touch of fingers that forces my chin up from the ground in front of me, and beckons me to take in what surrounds my waking moments...what has forever been here and will be for an eternity after. I look around and see so many images that I can actually feel them burn into my memory, like the footprints I leave upon soft clay as I walk up a short trail, and then come upon the most peaceful sight I have ever laid my eyes on. I look back and see where I came from is only where my path now leads...forward, onward, and upward.

I am learning patience here, more so than I have ever learned in one sitting before. Time does not exist in this land of history, and if I squint real hard, I could imagine ancient tribes of natives gliding upon the ocean surface in their whaling boats of yore. If I stretch my imagination to heights of grandeur, I can almost see Vikings sailing the coast just off from where I sat today; can almost hear their songs of voyage and safe journey.

It is the sense of history that grabs me; the idea that these rocks and stones have been here for millions of years and yet are in no hurry to leave just quite yet. The repetition of integrity that is up to only us to ensure that we manage their land...that we manage not to let it slip away on the curtails of immediate gratification and selfish greed. As the ocean sifts and the soil sighs, we are reminded that we are but tiny remnants of sand in the large hourglass of time.

But it is what we do with that time that matters most. Do not let it slip away from you like sand falling through a clenched fist. Use your moments as they are meant to be used...time to make your image the lasting legacy you will one day leave behind.

I see it in the smiles of people I pass on the rustic side roads. I see it in their eyes and knowing nods of hospitality and offered friendship. I am home again, people, and in the end of it all, that is what really matters to me. That I came to see one of the ninth wonders of the world, and that it existed in a plane of time and space I could not even have imagined...and to think it was always here. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"That man is the richest whose pleasures are the cheapest." - Henry David Thoreau

The Prodigal Son Returns

2005-05-06T12:57:00.000-03:00

What would it be like if it took ten years to lay eyes on your homeland again? What thoughts would go through your head as you came closer and closer? That only hours away, and you would walk upon the soil you were born on...and returning to the oldest rock in the world.

I know what it means to walk along the sands of the most western part of Canada, just off the Pacific Rim, where our world ends...and the ocean continues on. In less than 12 hours, I will be boarding a ferry to return home again, and in less than 24 hours, I will be back where it all started for me. I will be back in Newfoundland, and I could not think of a better scenario to finish a book on my life history, in a land older than time.

So now, as the afternoon sun rises in the sky above, I finish what little packing remains, sit back, and prepare to leave. Here are my thoughts on the upcoming summer, where I hope it will lead, and what I know I will finish. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

To taste the salt of the air again...that is what I want. To feel the rain off the coast of Newfoundland landing on my face, soaking my skin, and cleansing my soul. To climb heights of grandeur, and spend nights in adventure and candle light vigils. To know I am home again, and know that it is due time.

To learn the history of my homeland, and where we all really came from; if not those answers, well at least some sort of beginning. To touch the oldest rock in the world, and to know my core is solid because what I am made of is where I am from. To see sights the world holds and protects, and to get paid to write while I write and write...and write.

To spend days in solitude and once again, learn who I am while strengthening who I will become...to know thyself is the ambition; to love thyself the key. I only wish I could take you all with me, take you by the hand as I see the glory I know I will see. I only wish for this and more, yet I know more is to come my way not so very far away.

The rest there is to say, there is not the time to write. I'm leaving to greet the twilight in the dawn, sailing over the seas, and watching the world awake. When we next meet again, you will see what I have learned and what you will see as truth...it is in us all but now we have to fight for what we want. Take what is yours but leave what you do not need, for then there is plenty for us all. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"History has to move in a certain direction, even if it has to be pushed that way by neurotics."

- Orson Welles

Blue skies breaking through the cloud of Winter.

2005-04-19T00:49:00.000-03:00

I am on the eve of my last exam for the semester, and coming to the end of my second year in university. Tomorrow does not loom large for me in the sense of scrambling to study because you either know it or you don't...hold on, let me check my papers to see if that is correct. Dang. Dang dang dang. Exams. Dang.

To tell the truth, I am not sure what I feel more: Pure unfettered joy that the madness has ended, or sadness because I have to wait another four months to pay for a return ticket for the madness all over again.

I love being a university student, I love all the challenges, and I love hanging around with smart people. I really love being around people with something to say because my mouth slowly closes, my ears perk up in attention, and I will go silent. It is then that you know I am listening and absorbing my surroundings. It is all in the learning people, it is all in the learning. The following would be what I have learned since I came to university. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I learned that sometimes it is okay to wish for the fairy tale ending, but don't necessarily expect it to be an ending you always imagined. I came to see that sometimes friendship can seem as solid as wrought iron when instead it turns out to be soft pliable putty. I learned to brush off the dust, hold my head high, and eventually started to smile again...and we made our last acquaintance.

I learned that there is a Southern Sky to our Northern Sky, and that Brasil left Canada leaving an imprint on the boy from Newfoundland. I learned that it is not okay to wear my heart on my sleeve, but it is okay to have another watch over it until it is ready to feel again. I dug a little deeper when it was needed, and hovered below the surface on so many levels.

I learned that friends can be taken away in the blink of an eye, or in the squeeze of a trigger. I learned what it felt like again to be outside a church on the East Coast while funeral service was said for a brother. I tasted the salt of the rain, and gave thanks for the salt I was able to release in memory. I saw that it is not only possible to continue on, but that now we must push a little harder, laugh a little louder, and smile like your days will ever end.

I greeted the summer with an old friend by my side, and met another that means the world to me. I kept contact with another friend who was away from me, but is still one of my dearest allies. I learned that bonds are strong in the beginning yet so fragile in the end. I kissed french lips, danced a latin salsa, and learned a little history. I learned that music and dance is a surreal way to depart the summer, and even better when it is a three day celebration of debauchery and memories.

I made my way through fall, and learned that New York City was real, and not just an image on a television screen. I learned that drugs, alcohol, and a large back piece tattooed in ink do not necessarily make a good mix...but well worth the homage in the end. As fall fell out, I said goodbye to one who gave me back what she held watch over...my heart, now back in my pocket instead of on my sleeve. Winter came and went with walks on a beach with a new friend, and another from my past who came after the waves hit the beaches and destroyed a country.

I am learning that signs slowly desolve from sight and messages spring forth, as if sent in a coded envelope. I see that I am falling into an easy rhythm of placing fingers upon keys and depressing those keys to form my own form of music; my own form of style. I see them placing words on a screen, and that screen becoming the last words in my book of life; in my book of sight. I see it all because I have been walking for so long, and although I know there is so much further to go, that now the road is becoming smoother. It is becoming my path, and we all know your path is as warm as your Mother's kisses on a cold snowy day.

The sun is coming out to play early this year, and I can feel it to my core that I am that much closer to where I want to be. I know that it is still in the distance but also that the distance is not that far to go. I am learning to be patient, I am learning to pay attention, and I accept my mistakes by not making them again. Days pass on and nights roll in, each a new chance, to begin anew...to begin again.

If you can see truth in the fallacy, if all you want is to be free, then smile a little more, and love like you never knew it before. Chances are a revolving carousel of hope, and hope is what keeps our faith alive. Grab the ring as you pass by, and if you should miss, know that at least now you know it is there. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling. To be natural is to be obvious, and to be obvious is to be inartistic." - Oscar Wilde

Myth of the Day

2005-04-09T00:08:00.000-03:00

Winter is in its early haul of heading out for another season, and I can feel the thaw of spring in its raw beginnings. My second year of university is coming to a slow close, and I am amazed of what I have already seen in those years; my days blurring into one another and my seconds flying by like the flutter of a birds wings on the wind.

I sat down and looked out my living room window, and out of that picture frame sat a room with a view. I could glimpse lights dancing across water and I breathed deep, grabbed my warm fleece jacket, and headed outside for some fresh air. The rest is just details. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I stood on my balcony and stared across the water. In my gaze I could see the lights of the city as they glittered on the glassy ocean surface. I leaned on the wood, propping myself up in order to get comfortable, and let the games begin.

There is a legend of the Phoenix, of a bird that is burned alive and dies, only to become reborn again from the ashes of its former self. It becomes stronger, it becomes another life, and life is once again new and alive. It personifies the second chance we all ask for, the second opportunity that we long to give to another who may have passed on, and the second temptation we desire for that which has come and gone.

It was everywhere tonight...in my thoughts as I pondered my life where has been, where it is going, and where it is. What I have seen, what I have done, and what I have yet to see; all these whispered through my thoughts. I thought of that bird of flame and what it means to me. I thought of how my own legend is in its making, yet I also wondered if there will be any who heed my message. But, in the end, I thought of what I have learned as the seasons come in and the seasons fall out.

I watched as my soft frozen breath floated away in front of my eyes, and I gave thanks for the chance to see it and know it is my own. That once before my flames rose so high in front of me that I was unable to breathe...unable to think. I thought back to the days when my heart seemed to shatter and break, and knowing now that though it may crack it will be forever unbreakable; even though it may seem made of glass. Where once it was on my sleeve it is now in a place of safekeeping.

I need to get in touch with it again, I need to know it still feels the need to beat strong against another, I need to know that it still wants it all the same. I reached in my pocket and felt its rounded edges, fingering the smooth design, and held it tight in my hand. I see it for what it is, as I see myself for who I am. I see outside the picture frame and climb the road for the better vantage point. I walk my path and feel it as shifts and turns under my feet, and I raise my head so I do not miss anything that comes my way. I smile as life holds me close and grants me choice, as it grants me liberty. I see that there is no need for struggle in the end, and in the end we have our friends.

Breathe in and breathe in deep. Step out from what you once knew to be you, step out and become who you know you can be. Shine in the face of all the hardships when the days are long and full of darkness. Know we have to slacken, let loose the reins, and go for a ride. Let your soul carry you up and away, and allow your heart to trust again. Know that we are all here to take what we can, that we are all here to connect on all levels of time and space. Together we all can shine the way for the lost souls looking for the way home...and rise from your ashes to burn again. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Outside water like it was gray, I didn't what I had that day...walk a little farther to another plan; you said you did but you didn't understand. I know that starting over is not what life is about but my thoughts were so loud I couldn't hear my mouth." - Isaac Brock of Modest Mouse

Good Old Foggy Haze

2005-03-26T00:23:00.000-04:00

I do not mean to be mired in past images and memories, but I am writing about living during a period of time when I was walking around in a complete daze of impactful thoughts. They would tattoo me out of nowhere back then, and as opposed to now where I know their meaning, back then they were all so overwhelming. Those days become real again, and I write words that place me in that skin again. I listen as words vibrate through my mind like a conversation I always knew was coming.

I am wont to be grabbed by a mischievious smile, a slight look that lasts longer than the average second, and the thought of what a life together could be like. But, I also know what a rough road feels like underfoot, and have tasted the bite of bad choices made versus better decisions to make. As hard as it can be and it may possibly get, it was once as hard as I have ever known...and that I survived with my head held high. No one will ever take that away from me, and you may be surprised to know that is not my inspiration. It is my will to survive that pushes me, the telling of a story that subsides within me, and the search for my soul that holds me.

It is in between the mad scratches of black onto white and the telling of my days, that I come across other times and other insights. A song can reach in and select its choice of dancing partners, and in the background the camera whirls silently on. This would be one of those times. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I walked to school last year, a light fall rain falling over me, and to my right lay the Bedford Basin. Guitar strings played in my ears, and my eyes captured water joining with water, lightly skipping over the surface, and becoming one as it is meant to be. Ahead of me lay my future haunt for the next four years of my life, and I was to soon continue the writing of my book. My first draft lay finished less than three or four months earlier, and I was nescient to the fact that the second one was to soon be transcribed.

But, on that day, all that mattered to me was the sprinkle of life across my face. Images of days spent in front of assorted harbours, in awe of the ocean and its seemingly depthless power, and this time was no different. I was waging control over my decisions, and making them in favour of self as opposed to destruction of self. I smiled because I knew that decision was leading me in the right direction.

And I smiled a little harder as that realization settled in.

I knew then, as I know now, that it is all up to us. It is all up to us to decide how our lives turn out, but we must heed messages over signs, and see that our life is expanding as our roads are broadening. Our choices come to us as we make them, and what we make from them is left in our hands. To this day, I have always enjoyed the ride even when I could barely cover the price of admission. Hedge your bets but always cover your ass.

One foot in front of the other, another one forward, and another step closer. Every song must have an end, as every journey must have a destination, and every blue sky must give away to the starlit heavens. I licked the salt on my lips, and wondered what was next. If I had known then what I know now...would there still be a chance of carrying on? Of course, for we all know time waits for no man. I would not have changed a thing and will feel the same in the end.

Amazing what thoughts can come from a walk in the rain on the East Coast of Canada, on a day in the life of me. I am unable to let troublesome days bring an end to me, and I refuse to let them defeat me, even as I question the ambiguity. I only know to hold my head high, throw my shoulders straight, and just keep walking. As many times I may write it, I see myself doing it. Do not let the atrocities of this world effect your outlook on the best gift you could ever ask for. Your right here and now present of life. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Hark now hear the sailors cry, smell the sea, and feel the sky. Let your soul and sprirt fly into the mystic. When that fog horn blows you know I will be coming home. Yeah, when that fog horn whistle blows I want to hear it I don't have to fear it." - Van Morrison

Forgotten Promises

2005-03-24T23:04:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, just sometimes, I lie awake at night, and think about her. Not her as the woman that I wanted to spend my ending days with, but her that I always thought would be in my life until my days ended. I think of the person I knew for half my life, and I think of the person she came to be, all of it in less than eight months...and then we were no longer.

I can handle the no longer, people, but, sometimes, just sometimes, my defences lower and my watchtower sentries flirt between the conscious and the unconscious. It is then that I have a hard time handling the no longer even friends part. It is then that I pick up my pen and just write. I scribble away the memories and forge on to where I know my road is heading; somewhere she is not, and to become someone I know I can be. The following would be some of my thoughts on those sleepless nights. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

It is the age-old game of the Universe versus humanity; one has been known to mock and the other has been known to betray. For me, it can sometimes come down to belief versus trust, and I wonder which one will win in the end? Or is it possible for a win-win situation where they both mould into one? Imagine that, people, imagine that it is all possible and you are one step closer to all your dreams.

My life dreams can occasionally throw unseen knuckle balls at me, and I stumble, slip, and fall. Yet my future is as clear as the proverbial carrot leading the donkey, and yes, every now and then, I have been known to make an ass out of myself. We all have our days, and for me, it is all a part of what makes us human, is it not? It is in the ability to laugh at yourself that we need to take pride in. But, as always, no matter what the costs, forward progression is the main link to survival. Sometimes though, just sometimes, it is okay to glance over your shoulder and see how far you have really come.

Is it wrong to miss old friends? The people who once were but now are not? I miss their presence, their smile, their arms around mine, and their acceptance of who I am. When my head becomes oh so heavy like it has been known to do, my survival in these moments hinges on memories; pushing forward on personal goals that become unspoken promises. I promise myself to continue on, and I promise to just place one foot in front of the other. The rest is just details lost on the rising wind.

Late one night, I was unable to sleep, and so spent a few quality hours pasting and arranging photographs into a pattern on my walls. Each and every frozen moment is a different theme, a different life, and another time. The Universe tests my will of progression by forcing me into situations where I am devoid of money, and then will step back; observing how I handle my odds. Belief in self is strength on its own for me, and I now find myself trusting in it more than I trust anything else. I want to be more, I want to see more, and if I believe that enough, then I trust that it will happen. Really, it as simple as that. Only time fills us in on the trivial details.

I see faces from my past that will always have a place in my present...even if they do not seem to care anymore. I will care enough for the both of us because even as I learn to forget, I see that I am learning to forgive. Through it all, I listen to my words, I trust in myself, and I believe in myself. Now, I just wait to see what the Universe asks for in return.

Love eludes my grasp, but I feel it rush back as a loved one takes me in their arms and holds me close. I feel it whisper in the air as I see a couple hold hands, I feel it brush my fingertips like the foamy ocean touches a soft beach, and I know it is not far until it comes to stay with me again. I will never give up, I will never falter in my steps, and I will never keep anything but the horizon as my life compass.

Each day leads to another morning, every second to another minute, and though the sun may set it will rise again. Sometimes, I wonder if she ever thinks of me, and if she ever wishes on the same star I used to wish on for us. But now, I just feel sad that there are two rocking chairs sitting and gathering dust. Maybe one day someone will walk by, and sit down for a short rest, and never ever leave. It waits for us all, people, it waits for us to make the journey of a lifetime because all we have in this life is time. Never forget who you are, and never forget we only have this one chance to become something even better. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Standing at the point, road across your doubts. What is at your back? Which way do you turn? Who will come and find you first? Your devils or your Gods? All you people think you run my life, say I should be willing to compromise...I say all you demons go back to hell. Save my soul; save myself." - Tracy Chapman

When the Past and Present Collide

2005-02-28T18:07:00.000-04:00

It seems like we are given a chance at times - either money or your sanity. I am not a huge fan of dinero, and believe it to be an evil we are not allowed to do without. For me, I despise the fact that it is usually what interfers with my freedom, and hinders some event I may have planned. Lately, it has been a bane of mine, and making it difficult to breathe, and brings upon a not so easy feeling for me.

I know where I will be in a short span of time, that I am on the cupse of pseudo-financial stability; or at the very least, some form of something along that same line. In a way, it is my cash flow, or lack of, that is forcing me to view where I am (Halifax), what I am (broke student), and what I wish for my life (that everything keeps going the way it is going). Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I am writing out words that place me back in my past; I feel it again, I live it again, and I know what it is like to taste that pain again. I am in the same filthy lucre spot back then as I am now, strapped for legal tender but knowing I am going to be okay. Right now, it is like I am following familiar footprints on a familiar beach, when I look down and see they are my imprints. I find myself travelling backwards in time to secure where I am travelling forwards; walking through my-soon-to-be future by following my gift through all the madness.

Sometimes though, I come screaming out of my past into my present, and feel the wind knocked out of my lungs. It can leave me grasping at air for some sort of balance as I grab at thin air for something...anything resembling support. Then I right myself and realize I am that support, that I am my own goddamned saviour. It is usually that my friends are the balance.

Assignments and days of limbo are what my future prescribes. Busy times and many many...many words to type. Mundane days are broken by laughter shared with friends, an infancy of beginning plans in the works, and finishing the first writing of legacy. Seemingly a summer brimming with potential and good times to be experienced.

By walking through old forests of memories past, I am able to see who I am becoming from the person who tasted his own mortality...yet would not even let that stop him. I know more and more that I am one day closer to what I have always seen happening - from my first scribbles so many years ago to the story that is unfolding. I soon know my worries about petty cash and all the worries in tow will not be so worriesome anymore.

It all comes down to alignment, people, it all comes down to alignment. Open yourself to the universe, find that which makes your soul sigh with passionate tones, and dance with the winds. See past the intangible impossibility and grasp the reality of what can be will be. How much do you want it? Can you taste it on the tip of of your tongue like the flowers taste the morning dew? I can, people, I can taste the best years of my life coming forth from the darkness of yesteryear, and I can see its light shining bright for all to see. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"When worlds collide things change on the inside and time just slips away. When worlds collide the universe is shaken in so many different ways and you feel like you can fly. You think you know the reasons why everything is as it is and you have never been more alive. You have been walking on for too long a time and you have finally arrived." - The Jimmy Swift Band

Elements of Nature

2005-02-25T03:01:00.000-04:00

I sit here and type words and scrawl across a page of white. Not so many moments ago, I lay in my bed, staring up at my ceiling in silence, pondering the anomaly that is my life. How it closes one door with a clang, and opens another with a breadth of quiet. I learn so much every single damn day, and every single damn day I find another reason to smile more than the day before. I am in a state of limbo for the next few months while I wait to hear where I will be working this summer, and then it will only be another few months after that when I will be narrowing the window on finishing my book. Life, oh glorious life.

I have not had time lately to post new entries since I have been busy with assignments and the hardships that come along with being a student...okay, no, there are no real hardships being a student per se, and actually I love being one. But with studying and learning new knowledge, and writing my life story, well, I have not had much time for anything else. I know there are some who read my words more than others, and so for those who do, it is not my goal to disappoint. The following is a writing from back in the wee beginnings of this new year. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Sometimes, strength comes in all shapes and sizes, and other times, it can come from impossible angles. On some occasions, it comes in the form of a light touch on your shoulder, a strong hand holding yours in a tight grasp, or even something as simple as kind words delivered at the opportune moment.

Patience comes from strength, and to bank our strength, we must first understand the art of patience. To see that although we might want things right now, like yesterday now, that they might not necessarily be meant for right now. Does that mean we must putter and kick our feet during this period of wait? By all means no...I personally use it to learn some more, to garner more knowledge so when it grows into wisdom I will be ready.

Outside, the snow is falling down, and winter is in its full element. Oh the days when I would flex my body into twisting circles of spinning speed and velocity; days when snow was my life, nay, my existence. And now? Now, I sit back, laugh at my life, and accept what I must accept. Strength of character is sometimes aligned with diversability, and is always a reason to better myself that much more.

So, I lean back against the sturdiness of an old, strong oak tree, and I feel it support my weight like the embrace of an old lover. Up ahead, I can hear the vociferous clatter of the north wind howling my name, and even from my vantage point, I can feel its light touch from so far away. But, for now, that distance is kept, and a voluntary tacit agreement is made between two parties...that I will follow after I am done my short stint here. That I will follow my road, follow my soul, and continue on to create my life in the best image I know...to shape it as my own.

Travels, friends, lovers, all of this and more awaits. But, for now, right at this very moment? Well, patience and strength hold me tight, and ask me to just breathe. Not so far to sit and wait, young one, not so far at all. Do you hear it people? Do you hear the call of life as it whispers your name on the wind? Will you heed its rustling of your heart and soul, and will you follow your road to the very end? It is, as always, only up to you to decide what is true versus what is a fallacy.

So, I bury my body deep under layers of wool, cotton, and a mass of stitched warmth. I flick out my light, and lie in the dark breathing...in and then out. I give thanks for the allowance to even breathe at all, and see that I am that one step closer to reaching my dream. Every word I type, every page I fill with scrawl, is one more reason to greet the coming day with a smile. I am curious, people, as to what makes you rise from your warm bed on a cold and crisp morning? Do you have someone next to you who may bring a smile to your lips? Or is it the thought of another that spurs you on? For whatever reason, make this day better than the last, and make this life the best you have ever tasted. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"We can let circumstance rule us, or we can take charge and rule our lives from within."
- Earl Nightingale

Covering Any Incidentals

2005-02-19T01:40:00.000-04:00

Character n. A description of a person's attributes, traits, or abilities.

Test n. A series of questions, problems, or physical responses designed to determine knowledge, intelligence, or ability

I walked out into a light winter mist of rain just a few days ago, and it brought me back to another night and another time in Whistler. My mind raced through memories and days from so long ago, and I thought of how the mist looked like patience floating away from me. I could see how it was just out of my reach, but is seemingly always close by when I am in need of its virtues.

For the first time in oh so long, I have solid ground underneath my feet, and I peruse my landscape that changes ever so slightly...yet always stays the same. I have been taking the minutes lately to look forward to my future roads, and understanding how walking along my current one aids me in realizing the aspect of patience in the first place. To me, it is all about the continuing on of our roads, no matter how they dip or how they will fall. Patience does nothing more than offer clarity as we brush off dust and continue on. Now what I have learned from patience is another entirely different story. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Patience is a virtue that has maladjusted, maladapted, and malaligned itself in so many scenarios that make up my crazy life. How many times have I moved forward with small little glances over my shoulders? How many times have I remembered where I was so many years ago, and how those years taught me to see the validity of patience? I wonder how many times indeed, as I write my story, and see where my whole life uprooted itself from my core. I feel my soul reacting to what needs to be done, and also feel its incessant pushing from inside me telling me to write and write...and then write some more while editing on the run and then write some more.

Why the obsession you may ask? It is so I can truly start my life and begin the workings of my next chapter in my chronological timeline. Right now, in my present, I am overwhelmed with my memories and I see that I must be patient...and take the time to write some more.

I find myself awake in the late nights, thinking about those days when, and I see these words become a black imprint on solid sheets of white paper. I see the days happen as I renew my footsteps, and I see the steps from so long ago that now seem even farther behind. I see my days grow even better as I write them, and I feel them even more as I live them. I scribble a sentence here and there, spice some language with the truth while scrambling to learn anew, and it all allows for my character to be made. I see that I am placing my own personal touch on the person I am becoming, and that I am the genuine article versus the paper mache side of it all.

I sit here and write, and know some will be seeing what they think is my soul laid out to bare. Truthfully, my real soul is being typed out letter by letter, word by word, memory by memory, and it is really laid out for me every day I wake up and look in the mirror. I know who it is I see in the reflection, and I feel a little more pride with every one of those passing days. As I have said so many times before, it is forward progression that is the only link to survival. Survive I did, survive I am...and survive to dominate is where I am headed.

Falling leaves that mark the days of cold, or winter rains that bring cold white snow. Running through the spring air as the trees grow again, and summer days that we never want to end. For each and everyone of them are a season in and a season out; patience that it will all follow its due course and trust that the path is just. Smile a little more, breathe a little deep from within, and always make sure to keep your eyes peeled on the horizon. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Through the water, through the rain...through the soul of everything. Throw my memories to the wind and I am almost gone." - David Gray

Forthcoming Dreams

2005-02-12T17:56:00.000-04:00

Reincarnated v. To cause to appear in a new form; refurbish or revitalize

Fantasy n. Imagery that is more or less coherent, as in dreams and daydreams, yet unrestricted by reality.

Simple words, simple text, and a simple message all intertwined from a simple thought. I spent the afternoon today watching the movie "What Dreams May Come", and it shuttled me back to another time...another place. I remember reading the book of the same title so many years ago, and once again, found myself in another day when I was not so sound of mind, body, and soul. The following may be long, it may be short, but only time will tell. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

A smile that flutters behind my eyelids, and I realize that there will be more than enough time for my future dreams. But my past dreams? Once upon a time, I had a best friend to share my laughter with, and for a brief glimpse into the future...one to grow old with. But now? She is gone like the dust on the rising north wind. She is no longer someone I know, and so, really, has no relevance in my life anymore. Sad, isn't it? But, it is not she that I speak of next.

In my present day, would I run to her side if I could? Nay...I would sprint. I feel the cold thaw of winter bring the warming of my heart. I wonder if I am chasing a dream or does it really exist? Does she really exist? I can hear whispers through my mind tell me that I must finish writing my story...and then will I not only find her; but she will find me.

Time slows for no man. We walk, we talk, and we sleep. When we wake, what is it that we forgot from our dreams? What is real and what is fiction to us? Beauty surrounds us in our waking moments...the quiet hush of falling snow flakes, coloured leaves dropping softly to a canvas of red, yellow, and green; the blossoming of flowers on a dewy summer morning.

In my passing days, I recognize snatches of my dreams, and in them I see the hard shell that I rely upon to protect my heart...I see it as a wall of transparency for my heart needs not protection anymore. It only wants to roam untethered, breathe in the richness of life, and find the one it was always mated for. It will, and always has, refused to give up, and so I trudge on.

Distance means nary a thing to me. It is the journey through my days, my sojourns on sandy beaches...it is the remains of my imprints on the soft sand that I leave behind. Once again, how could I give up? If you have met me, you would know what it means to me to be a survivor...if you have never met me, you can only imagine what you would see in my eyes.

Picture a grove of tall, thick tree trunks, their tops swaying and brushing the heavens. Can you hear the laughter of children and see their shadows dance across the ground? Life need not be all fire and brimstone, people, it need not always be a hell on earth. I have walked through the darkest part of my life, and returned to the daylight intact...my eyes smiling, my soul stronger than ever, and my heart now in my pocket for safekeeping.

So, skip instead of walk, bounce lightly versus heavy steps, and believe in your dreams. Have faith that what is written in the stars for one can be written for us all. When you want to scream, when you want to yell, and when you want to hear the words that you are not wrong; that everything will truly be okay. But why scream and why yell? You already know it to be true. Never give up...never. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Sing me the truth sweet bird of youth...I got some trouble trying to understand. Beneath the veils of mystery, are these the the movements of some unseen hand?"

- David Gray

The Fallacy of Superman

2005-01-31T02:34:00.000-04:00

Concrete adj. Existing in reality or in real experience; perceptible by the senses; real

Honesty n. Truthfulness; sincerity; integrity

I am not an advocate for the use of lies, fallacies of composition, or the fabrication of stories. To me, they have no place or context in my life as I feel they are a source of discomfort, and something that more and more people choose to sweep under the rug...but just because it is out of sight does not mean it is out of mind, people. The constant movement of thought that erodes our days into flitting images and yet we never seem to have enough time for anything anymore...and for me not even enough time for sleep. Sleep is a novel idea lately, and truth is, I can never seem to get enough of it.

The truth is never hard to find, but yet it can be so easy to hide. It is like a communication code that only some seem to possess the answer to because we realize the key points to this code is practicing. You have to practice the art of honesty and learn why it is so important, to see the semantics behind the art, and allow it to become second nature. Why else would so many people lie instead of expressing how they truly feel? Is it because it is easier to do so? Learn a new way to see life, learn a new way to contemplate your existence, and overall, listen to your words and see if they hold water to others. Here is a glimpse into what I have learned about truth...other than the fact that it will set you free. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Chances at a new day do not come around all that often...second chances in general are even less rare. To obtain the full reach of a day in your life, to stretch your thoughts a little further, and to express your ideas with clarity is the goal, people. To go against the grain and accept what is mine to accept is all apart of life's little secret...the hidden jewel of thought that tells me life only gets better. I have lived my life by a certain code in the last five years that is new to me, but it has been lying around the recesses of my soul for much longer than that. It was an incarnation, that although dormant, only waited patiently in the wings for its cue of a proper entrance.

To me, truth lies in the eyes of the people I meet, see, and observe. To me, the eyes are the human portals that guard entrance into the soul. They hold the keys to endless locks and hidden latches that will only open if you have the right combination...the right codes to unlock my past, my present, and where my future is headed. So speak your words with careful thought and purpose, preach the message of your story, and show the world that it holds merit. Run with goddamn scissors, run barefoot in soft summer grass...feel light rain fall across your face like the reality of life. Release all the burdens of deceit and lies from your past until your step is lighter and your eyes tell a different story. I look forward to what they will say to me when we see each other anew.

Tell me honestly what you mean and I will listen with an honest ear. Show me not a smirk nor proclaim conceit in your tone, for then I will bite my lip and see through your thin facade. Honesty is not about one-upping each other, people, it is more than that. I have one who is, and always has been, nothing more than consistently honest with me. I can tell by her bated breath, how she will pause after she tells me her truth, to see how I will react to it. Yet she still delivers her message with nothing but caring and hope that I will understand. She is honest to me because she recognizes the impact of truth, but still worries about how the truth will fall on others ears.

Do not worry about me, people, for I will always listen to the truth versus the fallacy. I believe that we all need to live with that virtue to realize it will eventually be joined by more virtues. You learn the virtue of strength, and patience develops alongside of it. Look to increase your knowledge, and wisdom shall follow suit not so far behind. Stretch and breathe, then stretch and breathe some more. Inhale your life and exhale your future...all of it one breath at a time. Keep reaching for that level of life where it all makes a little more sense, where it all fits just a little more tight, and where the truth awaits us all. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"I'm only a man in a funny red sheet; I'm only a man looking for a dream...I'm only a man in a funny red sheet and it's not easy...it's not easy to be me." - John Ondrasik of Five for Fighting

Creation from the Destruction

2005-01-25T20:04:00.000-04:00

Soft adj. Easily moulded, cut or worked.

Membrane n. A thin pliable sheet of material.

A blanket of snow falls over the East Coast of Canada, and the majority of its residents are lounging in their homes; feet up over the chair, feet at the bottom of the couch, and a friend somewhere near by. The other crazies are the ones valiantly out shoveling, plowing, or salting our overwhelmed roads. The snow just seems to keep coming at us, as we become hit with one big dump of snow after another big dump of snow...and there is another supposedly on its way.

How ironic is it that I am getting dumped on in Halifax, when there are rumours of landslides in Whistler? I am talking mudslides here, people, and not avalanches as there just seems to be rain falling in them there mountains. And me, unable to truly enjoy this snow as it is meant to be enjoyed: Screaming and whooping and freaking the juice out of your sytem until your generator purrs in contentment. Imagine what this unexpected time must do to my mind, and to the ideas that never slow their frantic pace. Now imagine what comes next...yes, you guessed it. A story. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I am a proponent of using certain words in their sometimes individual spaces, other times throwing them around-all-willy-nilly, and and oh my God, sometimes even dropping them helter skelter. But, if I am able to place them in context, then all the better. It is all about the act of pushing out your comfort zones and stretching your boundaries...just to see if they exist. I have always been fond of my own personal saying, and it is an idea that aids me when times seem at a low spot. When these days hit me, I see them as opportunities to test my limits of scooching my soul that much further, and then I see myself testing my limits until I see that I have none. Try it...I dare you to try it just once. Think a little something different, a little something you have never looked at before. If you have so many times before, and the days seem long...well, just try again because you never know what might happen.

So, okay, people, you may say it is not that easy; that it is not so much said, and then done. To this I reply: Why not? To say that is putting a limit on yourself, beginning with an impassable gatekeeper, and setting an unreachable goal. Take the time to destroy old self concepts of old memories and of old status. Deconstruct your outside world and then reconstruct a new one. Smell the air of freshness surround you, and inhale it deep into your lungs. Then when that same breath seems a little stale...then deconstruct reconstruct and follow until you see fit; or until comfort is attained, which ever comes first. For you can always regain your breath back in the dust of rubble and debris of old thoughts that no longer fit into the equation, and so no longer bring nothing but positive energy instead.

It is then, that you will look up and take in your three-hundred-and-sixty-degree-view of the world around you...and know that you are more comfortable with what your life consists of. But, more importantly, you are so comfortable in your own skin. You realize that it involved the shedding of old ideologies enforced upon us, usually by our own making at times, and that you have expanded old zones and old ranges. You suddenly want more, you suddenly see yourself becoming more, and then one day you are suddenly walking on a new road.

To me, it is all about following my dreams down my own road to the point of no return. I mean, really, people, why would I ever want to return from the road of my dreams? No, I choose to forge on and endure what some may call the long arduous trek, but towards what I prefer to call the solid call of life. I only ask that we may all do it with our heads up; always forward and awaiting what comes next. Walk the road to see what it really feels like underfoot, and not just as the road that you see in the distance. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Where do you want to go? Who do you want to be? What you want to do just come with me?"
- Anthony Kiedis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers

Perception versus Invention

2005-01-13T15:55:00.000-04:00

The winter season is rolling into its full swing of control over the lives of all Canadians - throughout the country we all find ourselves huddled inside our abodes, waiting until the snow stops falling, the wind stops howling, and the cold goes away again. I while away this time working on my book, making full use of my classes, and using the moments to think. Big surprise, huh? Me thinking...will wonders ever cease. It all comes down to choices, people, it all comes down to choices. In that vein of thought, here is my thought on an important subject of personal validation. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I sat in a class while around me a debate started to pick up minute steam...minus the students who are seemingly afraid of their own voices, and thus, never seem to place forth their thoughts for a mass forum. But me? Huh...I have never seemed to have a problem in exercising my mind and using it as it was designed - for learning, sorting, and assimilating as much information as I can possibly absorb. Just call me the Human Sponge. Anyway, I digress, and return to our topic of debate.

We were discussing the concept of how we perceive people's influence in our lives. Whether it be how they may look at us, how they may judge us, but more importantly, the persuasive tactics of significant others in our lives. The thing is people, I really do not care too much if someone does not like how I dressed myself this morning, or if I did not shave, or even if they find I talk too much. I do not live my life based on other biases and opinions nor do I feel anyone else should. If you have confidence in yourself, believe in yourself, and trust in yourself...well, the rest will follow.

An important point in the discussion was that as we grow older, our significant others become less influential to us. To me, significant others may mean my family, a mate or partner, but more specifically, it means my friends. On that note, I disagree with the idea of my friends becoming less of an imprint on my life as I grow in senescence. To me, my friends are a large piece of my personal puzzle, and they have helped me place abstract corners into slots where they never seemed to fit before. They are my confidants, they are my savior's at times, they are the ones who believe in me, and they are the ones who listen to my thoughts and concerns.

Is that to say that I place all my trust on them or want them to live my life for me? Hell no, but I do want them to see what I am accomplishing so they can revel in my glory with me. Does that mean I only run to them when I am in distress or in need of a shoulder to rest upon? Once again, hell no, because I make a point and effort to always inform my friends of their worth to me, of what they mean to me, and to the ones that have seen me through my many trials and tribulations over the years...well, you are the ones that I love to the very marrow of my bone.

So, if a significant other comments on your clothes, then smile and say thank you. If they ask how you are doing - and they are the ones whose opinion you value - then let them in to your mind and confide in your fears and desires. These are the ones who aid in shaping our lives because they are the ones who see you as the sculptor...they are the ones who will sometimes wipe the sweat of your brow when you become too intertwined in your art that you forget everything else surrounding you. I know from personal experience, people, and I know that my friends understand my love and appreciation for their contribution to my life.

So, take the time to let your real friends know that you love them. Take the time to pull them close into your arms, tell them their personal worth to you...and above all, tell them thank you. I say thank you for those who mean the most to me, the ones who have held my head up when it seemed oh so heavy, and to the ones who let me do the same for them. Pull your shoulders straight with pride, run not walk down the road of your dreams, and make sure you know it is okay to sometimes slip and fall...for there will always be someone to give you a hand in standing tall. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend."
-Albert Camus

Below the level...dig deep.

2004-12-15T18:57:00.000-04:00

I spent some time flipping through different sites today...I am finally done exams - for now - and so have time to kill before I go see the family for the holidays. Anyway, I digress, and return to my line of thought. While browsing people's blogs and thoughts, I came to see that most of them are just superficial, and most of them do not even amount to that. Yes, I know blogs are for rambles, for thoughts of tortured times...but damn, people, use the space to say what you really want to say. Have the fortitude to speak your mind and stretch the line past your usual blah-freaking-blah. Then there are those that I came across, and I felt my breath catch. I felt the power of words, of images, of creativity shatter the status quo...and made me smile with pride. They made me think and that usually means I go deep. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

There were so many images on the screen...photos of groomed trails and people getting their shred on. Old architect of expansive spines and peaks of history all caught and confined in the border of a photograph. But, it was the sunsets that really caught my eye. They stretched over the span of the horizon and refused to let you breathe again...countries and beaches I have never heard of before but that I now aspire to lay upon. To watch the sun spiral down below the ocean to find its own brief rest. Inspire me with your life, inspire me with what your eyes have seen, and just inspire me with the road you have chosen to walk with mucho gusto.

Then, another's words spread down the page in collected lines, allowing my mind to soar to another time, another place...another soul. Desire to collect lost moments, to refuse what seems to be, to shuffle feet so time slows for us all. To know that life is nothing but an hourglass that we can all easily flip right-side-up, and start the process of life anew. It is as easy as that, people, it really is.

To all who read this, I ask you to do something for me. Imagine in your mind that there is a closet. Open the door to this imagined place, not too quick nor too hasty, for who knows what may be inside. When the coast is clear and the dust settles, look inside and see what lays propped up in the corner. Do you see it? Do you see the shovel against the back wall? It is there, without rust, without wear...begging to be used for the first time; aspiring to be used for its one and only purpose.

Take the handles in your grasp and heft its weight to see that it is sound. See that it fits your hand like it was meant to be, and that it has a handgrip seemingly custom made for you and you alone. Note that it is featherlight and that it is of perfect balance. Now comes the real test.

If you squint in the dusty dark, you will see the back of the closet has a small hole...just perfect enough to fit your body into. Crawl in and start digging the rest of the way. Strike the shovel tip against soft soil and delve deep into your mind, your body, but most important of all...your soul. See the trail of bread crumbs leading back out and know you will never become lost as long as you have a well-planned exit.

This is the rabbit hole I have been down so many times, so many spirals of deep travels below surface thought, so many travels into the depths of my soul. It seems that everytime I come out, I have learned something new, I have some new insight, and that I only have to brush off loose dirt to be clean again. So, if you have the time, open the door to a new you, open the portal to a new destiny...just open your life to the universe that surrounds us all. You might just be surprised at what you find. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."
- Confuscious

Policy of Economics

2004-12-09T11:32:00.000-04:00

There is a time of year that University students feel a bite...some might say it is the cold of winter setting in, others may say it is the pinch of Christmas spending on the wallet, but all will agree with this: It is exam time, people, and dammit, if it does not seem I am losing my memory.

Everything I learned in the beginning of the year I am relearning...more study time on top of old study time that equals an additional portion of personal time multiplied by lost sleep subtract profits from quitting my job to have more study time and and and...fack. Right now, if you cannot tell, I am studying for my final exam in Economics, and yet what I most think about is my upcoming trip to see my Mom for Christmas. The following are some of my random thoughts during the snatches of time I steal away from my books. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

School seems to be absorbing all my time right now. If it is not Public Relations, it is a paper that was due for it. If it is not my writing and media class, it is the media kit that was due for it. If it is not Spanish then it was the Spanish oral and soon to be final exam...then there is Economics.

Economics economics economics economics...did I mention economics? Man, if I never have to do Economics again, it will be fine with me. Oh snap...I still have to do Macroeconomics before I get my degree. After that, I strive to make enough money so I can hire an accountant who likes crunching numbers, looking at my books, and seeing what I have made versus what I should invest. But for now, no mas, people...no mas.

But, other than that, I love being a student. The grind of it all can be tedious, but in the long run, it is that same grind that adds spice to my life. I feel my mind stretch past capacity, and then I feel it come to a halt. I take a break, and keep adding volume once again. It is so inspiring to keep adding and adding...and adding more on top of that.

It can come down to so many things for this cat, so many things that snap my head back to the future: seeing family during the Holidays, seeing a friend in Vancouver, having a good chance to arrange my future, and in general, chasing after my dream. I get a little closer and closer everyday, and everyday I learn a little something new about my life. Then I wonder...can it really get any better than this? Yes, says a tiny voice not so diminutive in volume, yes it can...and yes, it will.

To travel and see the sights I have seen make me only want to travel more. New York was awesome, as those who have been reading my posts could see, but my soul yearns for so much more than a passing visit to another city in another country. My feet desire to walk different soils, to run along foreign sands, to splash water in southern oceans...in essence, to live the life most are afraid to live.

Does that mean I am talking about you when I say that? I guess that would depend on the observer, no? If you feel I may be slighting you and checking your wants versus your needs, well...you would be right, people. Do you not know that to have something you really need, you must first fight hard to achieve your goal? That you must believe in yourself so strongly that even when times get tough, when the chips are stacked against you, that no matter what the odds, you will always carry on.

Forward progression is the main link to survival is it not? It has to be the main idea that propels us all in the direction of our dreams, down the road we are meant to walk...toward the land of enchantment where our waking days become more than what they are today. To the time when we place our footsteps in a stone cast designed for us, with us in mind, and for us and us alone.

Take your love of life and toss it into the rising wind; watch it rise and watch it fall but know it flows with the path of right. Know that where you are is where you were always meant to be...and where you are heading is only up to you. Always has been and always will be. If it was up to me I would walk the road for you, but where would be the fun in that for you, hmmm? Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world. - Oscar Wilde

A Crack in the Concrete Jungle

2004-12-01T18:24:00.000-04:00

Day 5 Sauntering through the City

"Dude, that is not that big." I woke up as soon as I heard Eric enter our hotel room, and then felt his hands pat the upper portion of my back...a-not-so-light-tapping on my freshly scarred skin. I called him a bastard and we all laughed together; then him and Chris inspected my new tattoo together. Eric commented that it was not that big, while Chris looked at him and gave a contrasted opinion. I took it all in and knew the truth...while it was not as big as I first intended, I am still glad I did not go any bigger. In the end, I was the one who was under the needle for three hours.

I washed my back, threw on some neo-sporin, and gingerly pulled a t-shirt over my head. We smoked some cigarettes, smoked a little something-something, and rapped about the years that have passed since we last saw Eric. Time passed slowly, time crawled by, and time lazily reminded us how important friends are: That when you are amongst them, you must see that you have all the time you need.

We ambled through various portions of New York City, and finally decided to eat at a Vietnamese restaurant in China Town. We filled our stomachs and headed to the Financial District to take a peep at what most people unfortunately consider a tourist attraction now: The remains of the World Trade Towers.

We walked for another half-hour, smoking cigarettes like a newborn sucks on a pacifier, and finally reached our destination. Man, it was an amazing sight...all around you in New York there are constant reminders of concrete, mirrored glass, tall billboards, and everything is in a competition to be higher than everything else. Then, boom, all of a sudden, you are standing in front of a monument of what were once the tallest buildings in the world...and now there are only the carcass of a concrete slab.

I think what hit me the most was not the destruction of neighbouring buildings, nor photographs of what the towers most resembled. No, to me, the image that to this day still sticks in my memory, was the framework of a steel girder that remained from the implosion...and I think of all the people who lost their lives, who lost their loved ones. My heart slowed its beating so as not to disturb their rest, we paid our respects, and then we were off again. We spent some more time with Eric at his apartment, hung out and smoked some more cigarettes, and then followed his directions to the subway and our way home.

Not too long after that, Chris and I decided to head our separate ways for the evening: Him to a jazz bar and me to locate a 24-hour Kinkos so I could send a paper back to Halifax via email. I looked at the address in a phone book, stuffed my books into my backpack, threw on some warm clothes, and headed out into the New York night...and promptly got lost in a New York minute.

It felt like I was wandering around the same block, but it was only a different portion of a grid...sound confusing? You would have to be in my shoes to truly understand I guess. Everytime I thought I was on the right street, I would be wrong, and every set of directions seemed to get me closer and closer...but never close enough. Finally, I strolled into a StarBucks, and ordered a rice-krispy square and a tall coffee. The clerks told me that since it was the last square that I could have it for free, and heck, gave me the coffee for free as well. I gave my thanks, laughed at my luck, and headed outside with a renewed need to find the Kinkos.

For the next hour, I walked around and around what seem to be the same block, but oh, the sights I saw: Madison Square Garden, The Empire State Building, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, and my favourite: The New York Public Library. It spanned an entire city block on its own, and as I walked around it, I knew of a person who would enjoy the view with me. Someone who had just entered my life, and someone who will know who they are as they read this. She was in my thoughts as I sipped my coffee, and she was on my mind as I thought of how we could wile away many an hour reading there together...giggling as we became lost together.

Finally, I found the Kinkos, and spent the next hour and a half typing out my paper. I saved it, hit send, and made my way out into the darkened night. My mission was accomplished, my goal achieved, and now all that remained was to find my way home again.

My heart bounced around my soul, free of constraints, and knowing my path was well-lit...and I laughed. Life, man, I tell you, life and what it does to me. It is so truly amazing to me people, it takes my breath away and offers me a better one in return. Do you see what I see? Do you know that for every struggle, no matter how hard it may be, that there will always be a better way? Deep dig and find that well of knowledge within; delve deeper, and turn it into the wisdom you have always carried with you...walk tall, walk proud, but most importantly, keep walking forward. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Been dying since the day I was born
Cause there is no road that ain't a hard road to travel on."
- Sam Roberts

Quien es tu madre?

2004-11-09T10:13:00.000-04:00

Day 4 GOSSET on the Back

"Tell Todd to come over and I'll hook him up." Chris looked at me, and hung up his phone. What I had really wanted was now finally about to happen. My chance to forever honour my Mother, and have her name on my skin...her maiden name with my first initial.

The only problem was that I was very drunk, and that did not bode well for the pain or the fact that my blood would be very thin, and therefore, very messy. But, hey man, I really did not care about that because one of the my biggest goals on this trip was coming to fruition. It was time for some good hurt; time for my tattoo to finally be placed on my back. I took a last swig from my Guinness, said late to the remaining crew, and hit the door running.

A few minutes later, I stumbled into a Howard Johnson's, and made my way to Gabor's room. Gabor was a California boy through and through, and made of the salt I usually only saw in Newfoundlanders. Who better to inflict pain on me right? We smoked a little something-something and went over the details of how the design would look. While he drew it up, I rushed out to a 24-hour pharmacy and dropped some questions on the clerk.

"Hey, dude? Do you guys have any Saran wrap? Some neo-sporin? How about some vaseline and some medical tape"? He looked at me like I was the strangest cat he had ever seen, and then pointed me in the right direction. I grabbed the supplies, threw in some chocolate, and cashed a traveller's cheque. Word to the wise here people: Do not bother with traveller's cheques while staying in New York because they are nothing but a hassle. But, if you do decide to use them anyway, any 24-hour pharmacy will cash them for you.

I stood stock-still while the carbon paper was placed over my upper back, from one armpit to the other. The whole design curved up from there to just below my shirtline, and just underneath the bottom of my neck. Finally, a few minutes later, it was set, and we were ready to go...my skin just itching to be splayed open for all to see.

With the first rips of the needle, I felt my mouth go dry, and my stomach start to heave. I made Gabor stop, telling him I was going to puke. He looked at the shallow pale of my face, and showed me the bathroom. I sat on the toilet for a few minutes, feeling the alcohol course through my body, seeing sweat run off my skin in driblets, and was completely aware of the first beginnings of raw ink. I sucked up my breath in a fell swoop, added brass to my balls, and went out to finish the outline. I lit up another cigarette, listened to the whine of the needle, and then felt the hotness of its tip dig into my skin once more.

For the next three hours, I sat with my back to Gabor, and my arms over the chair in front of me...and watched a football game. I switched positions to spots where the pain might go away, but it never seemed to acquiesce to my wants. I tried putting my head in the crook of my right elbow, my left elbow, tried my chin on my forearms, my forehead on my forearms, twisting to the right and left...it didn't matter. My lifeblood ran down my back, soaked my skin and mingled in with the black ink. Throughout it all, I kept one thing in mind: I was the one who asked for the pain, and so I had to be the one to forget it existed. But, damn, he knew how to grind, and damn, he knew what spots were more sensitive than others.

It was in the last five minutes of it all, when he was putting finishing touches and fill-ins, that the needle hit my spinal chord or touched on a nerve ending. Listen, people, I have broken my lower back before, and so know what shock feels like to your system...but fuck. My whole body recoiled from the shivers of agony that raced up my spine, and my mind screamed out to all that is holy and just. Then, a few minutes later, it was complete. I slapped some hands into mine, laid some money on the television, and made my way out into the early morning.

Outside, I finally released all the discomfort in little grunts, and felt my upper back throb with the new ink displayed upon its surface. I hailed a cab, made my way back to the hotel, bought some pop from the vending machine, and washed the hurt down with Jim Beam, while smoking yet another cigarette. It was done. My back was finally done.

As it is, I carry my Mom in my thoughts wherever I go, and now, I carry her on my skin as well. She is my angel, my reason for being, and the strongest person I know, bar none. My skin came from her, my blood once her own, and now both carry her with me until my end of days.

I fell asleep with Saran wrapping on my upper back, and face-down so my new creation could breathe. The next day was to be spent with Eric and Chris, in a city-walk to match all city-walks. But, that is for my next entry, and all I could think of at that moment, was sleep and some healing hands. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Beauty is skin deep. A tattoo goes all the way to the bone."
- Author Unknown

Monogamy in New York

2004-10-26T22:34:00.000-03:00

Day 3 Wedding in the Park

"Todd, dude, wake up. They have closed off an entire street for like 10 blocks. You should come check this out."

Once again, Chris was up before me, but to be fair, I was up longer than him the night before. Good old Jim is definitely Jack's illegitimate cousin, but oh so smooth. It seems there is a market of some sorts down the street from our hotel doors. Eric was not getting married until three p.m., and so we had more than enough time to kill. I looked at Chris with one eye, nodded my head, and began the process of waking up.

Ten minutes later, I found myself in a luke-warm shower, then smoking while I got dressed, and waiting the distance to hit the elevator to head to the market...and then smoking again. It was all we did there, and it was continuous. So why stop now, right?

We lost the next couple of hours walking up and down the street, marveling at all the assorted little booths, and breathed the surprising crispness of an autumn day inNew York. The cross streets of the market were patrolled and bordered by the City's finest, and we were able to freely check out our surroundings. There were trinkets, food booths, t-shirts on plastic display cases, bed sheets for sale right next to another who was selling black dress socks; all of this and so much more.

The funny thing is the fact that they just shut down a street almost half a kilometer long, and yet it was only one tiny fraction to the rest of Manhattan; much less New York City itself. I would keep forgetting small little facts like that, then look up and be reminded of where I really was.

Then, I swear to God, I blinked, and I was standing in a small portion of Central Park watching my two old friends say their vows to each other. The party was a collection of Rural Canada, Canadian Rockies, Southern and Northern California, and then there was the Halifax chapter of me and Chris. All of us, in the world's largest city, and having the time of our lives. Well, at the very least, I knew I was loving my time there, and could vouch the same for Chris.

The reception passed quickly with a light dusting of dry jokes, remembering the past, and honouring the future; while outside, the city continued its eternal battle with insomnia. We drank, laughed, and smoked the rest of the time away. Plans were made to go to a pub, we said our congratulations to the bride and groom, and made more plans with Eric the next day. Then, bam, we were gone again.

We found a pub close to the crew's hotel, joined some more from the wedding party, and I listened with joy to the calls of $5 for pints Guinness. Turns out my tattoo was not to be, and so I drowned my sorrows in a glass...okay it was a few more than that. I was no longer worried about how it would thin out blood that would no longer be even drawn from my skin. Not tonight, anyway, and I swallowed my frustration in a gulp of stout, and let it out with an exhale of smoke. Then watched it, like my chances of getting my tattoo, float away into the cool night air, and join the rest of the lost and forgotten stories of New York City.

I sat and drank with Chris, some of the crew, and we laughed and made new bonds. With or without my ink, it was already one of my best trips in a while, and only seemed to get better and better as the minuted ticked by. How was I going to know that it was only going to get better? Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"New York's such a wonderful city. Although I was at the library today, and the guys there are very rude. I said, I'd like a card." He says, "You have to prove you are a citizen of New York." So I stabbed him." - Emo Philips

Rain Falls in the Concrete Jungle

2004-10-22T01:32:00.000-03:00

Day 2 Dropping the bling-bling

"Dude, get up so we can go check out the city."

I woke up and realized I was still in New York, and it was now raining outside. Chris was already up and showered, awaiting my slow ass, and I pulled myself up from under the covers. What with getting my school work done and passing it in before deadline, so I could go to the States in the first place, I had only survived on limited sleep in the last few weeks. I stood in the shower, woke myself up in its luke-warm spray, and then dryed off and dressed.

We headed out under a light mist and took a good look at the city in the early daylight. It seemed much bigger now, and there seemed to be so many Starbucks around, tempting me to drop in and buy a coffee. We wandered around the streets, smoked, wandered some more, and kept our hands busy with lighting and replacing.

The rains fell in an even soft pace, and we dropped into various shops to get an idea of what it is to shop in New York. As much as I wanted to peruse, my real purchase was my tattoo, the homage to my Mother...the woman who has the highest regard in my heart, and so deserves to have her name in permanent ink.

By this point, we were not sure if we even going to get the tattoos, and it seemed more doubtful as the hours passed; already, even without that, the trip was worth every penny I had spent. With or without the ink...but I so hoped it would be with. We took a short break from smoking and went to spy some more stores, and kill some more time.

We found sweet deals on assorted items like belts for two dollars, hats for eight dollars, and shirts for five. We picked up a few things, but for the most point watched our billfolds, and made sure we had more than enough to survive the next four days.

When we next saw the light a half hour later, the skies had turned black, and the streets were now puddles forming on old cracked concrete. All about us there was a ceiling of umbrellas, and the city still kept its hustle and bustle, never slowing down, always moving, no matter what the elements dictated.

I briefly wondered aloud to Chris if it could possibly be acid rain, then shrugged my shoulders, and we lit up another cigarette.

The next few hours found us walking along the clustered streets, exploring side avenues and flourescent lit shops; some long and narrow, others short and squat. Want a watch with a leather band? Or how about one with a faux-studded-wrist band? Interested in some bling-bling necklaces? You know the ones with the diamond-encrusted-name-all-gaudy-and-gangsta-like? For you? Only eight dollars. Come on, how can you pass that up? You have to be mad to walk away from a deal like that.

We fueled up on some Chinese buffet, washed down with a Corona, all of it at reasonable prices, and hit the road again. We walked around for another few hours but knew we would only spend more the longer we stayed out, and it was raining harder. I remember snapping a hopefully cool shot of the Empire State building, with some rain on the lense, and falling down all around us.

We made our way through the crowds, walked through Time Square, and down along Broadway. As we did, I was forcibly reminded that before this day, that those were all names from television, movies, songs even...now I was leaving my imprint on them.

How cool is that to know? That just a boy from Newfoundland would one day walk on the streets of New York? That he would do so a man, one who sees his life in great lights, and has everything at his fingertips...at its very core a brass ring held firmly in his grip.

We dropped by the crew's hotel, to see what was up, and if there was any more news on the tattoos. We all chilled, smoked some cigarettes, and then repeated the same process some more.Then they got ready for a family dinner and we left for our room. Along the way, we grabbed a bottle of whiskey at a cheap cost, headed to the hotel, and grabbed some pop for mix.

I then proceeded to pass out for a couple of hours, then woke up and we grabbed some food while the crew slept off dinner. We ate a donair with the familiar surroundings of Halifax being replaced with Manhattan, and the sights and sounds of Times Square. Huge billboards on the sides of huge buildings, tall ads on the fronts of tall floors of glass and concrete.

I ate my food, and tried not to look like a tourist. But God, the city is freaking huge and I was only in a tiny part of it; and that tiny part of it is bigger than any city I have ever been to in Canada.

Eventually, news came too late, and we missed the crew by minutes. Chris and I headed to our room again, cracked the bottle, and poured its contents out in a toast. Cheers to New York, cheers to friends, cheers to a wedding...and cheers to life in general. A few more cheers later, and I was buzzed enough to sleep, and felt the bourbon dull the excitement of the next upcoming day.

The wedding was due up, the reception after that, and maybe, hopefully, a tattoo for Todd, if time and the universe allowed. Cheers to that. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Start spreading the news, I'm leaving today

I want to be a part of it, New York, New York

These vagabond shoes are longing to stray

Right through the very heart of it, New York, New York"

- Frank Sinatra

Surviving The Big City

2004-10-19T23:32:00.000-03:00

Day 1 Rising at dawn

"Halifax International Airport is closed," said the radio announcer.

Me and Chris exchanged glances, and now knew the reason for our hold up on the way into the airport. It was almost 6 in the am, our flight left at 7 am, and we were now slowly moving down a long line of other terminal bound travellers. It turns out a 747 cargo plane "fell-off" the runway, and crashed to the earth below...taking seven lives with in the process.

At the time, we only knew of the crash, and not of the lives taken. All I was doing was looking at the missed opportunity of not seeing New York, and maybe using the credit for a trip to Vancouver instead. I do not know about you, but I was starting to see it as an omen, the irony of having a plane crash delaying our entry into a city that was once decimated by a plane crash.

The real omen came to the forefront, when we reached the front of the long, slowly being misdirected away from the airport line of cars, and suddenly, we were allowed entry to the airport terminal. We looked at each other, and laughed at our luck. So, the trip began with a green light of stalling time, and a memory was created.

I realized that the trip I had waited so long for, a wedding I was looking forward to, of partying in New York, getting a tattoo, all of these things and more...that they were all in their raw beginnings. The upcoming post is on the first day of our adventure, and where it all started. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Chris and I sat around the airport and waited for the hours to count off. The entire staff of the airport, from Tim Horton's right down to the check-in-clerks, handled their business like any other normal day...except this one was done under dim lights, hordes of people waiting for the runways to open, and praying for power to turn their computers back on.

After four hours of hanging out, we departed to Toronto for a 2 hour tour, and then gave the bride-to-be a quick phone call. Turns out her family is in the same airport, and as she tells Chris this I walked around the waiting room to recognize a face I have only seen in photographs. I pick her sister out, and what turns out to be the entire family, or close to, and introduce myself.

After a few minutes of polite shock, we all boarded the plane to fly to New York. To say I was excited is like saying a New York police officer has a thick city accent...fugghedaboutit.

Strong winds shook the aircraft all about as we dropped in from the clouds above the sprawling mass of skyline that is New York city. We were on the opposite windows, but I could still see the images of concrete and stone, all towering above the each other in an race to be the first to touch the sky.

The plane landed with a hard jolt and a bounce, as everyone exchanged furtive glances, and then a intake of breath as it reduced it speed. Then, suddenly, I swear to God, I blinked, and we were in Spanish Harlem.

All about people sat on their front stoops, as they would back in the movies of lore, and you could actually breathe the history of the land...or maybe that was the steam that shot up from the sewers on street level? It was not until later that I would wander below surface level, and learn that it was from the subways that sped underneath.

We checked in, had a small-freak-out over leaving currency and personal papers in the room, and then decided to hide them under the TV. We hit the road strolling, headed out to see the boys from California, and make our presence known to the world.

The world turned out to be a group of guys that quickly became crew, and we killed some time until the groom got off work. Then we headed to his house to see my friend from years back that I have not seen since last summer: my dog, Eric, the man-of-the-hour, the groom-to-be, and one who is not a big fan of the limelight, but is striving for the image he knows he is creating. A quick hello, a handshake to pay respect, and we were off once again, into the now coming night.

Hours later, we sat down while all around girls danced topless, and left us slowly watching our shrinking bank-rolls. My biggest shock was ordering a Jack and Coke, a Coke, and a bottle of water...then blinking in disbelief as it totals to a $30 bill. Fack.

The motley crew of misfits hit the street running, and hopped into one of the many yellow cabs cruising the core. A little less lighter, not so much drunker, but thoroughly already infatuated with the city of lights and bigger action.

Eventually, the groom wanted to call the night a night, and we all hung at a few more bars before calling it quits for now. A few more remained to observe and interact, while me and Chris walked back to our Hotel. We grabbed a shish-kebob for the road, and lit up another one of our many cigarettes.

I was chain-smoking Marlboro after Marlboro, as they seemed to help ease the shock of where we were, and gave us a reason to pay attention to our hands. That way, we did not have to pretend we could not see buildings disappear into the nether regions of the night, way higher than normal eyes could see. My neck already hurt enough as it was, there were so many times I strained it upwards to see the final floor to an invention that proudly earned its name of scraping the sky.

We arrived back at our hotel, listened as the door closed behind us, pulled the blankets up over our heads, and said our goodnights. Day 1 was over and Day 2 was already in its raw beginnings, a designated time to explore the world outside. To see why they truly call it the Big Apple, and to see if we were truly there...or if it was all a dream. We closed our eyes, and fell asleep to the sounds of the city that is never allowed the same reprieve.

I swear to God, the last sound before my thoughts went dark, was a gun shot in the distance. Or maybe it was just my imagination playing tricks on me, right? Right. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"New York is great though. If you’re here and want a one of a kind souvenir be sure to take home the police sketch of your assailant." -- David Letterman

Pressure Drop

2004-10-03T21:59:00.000-03:00

Fractured n. A break, rupture or crack, especially in bone or cartilage.

Skull n. The bony or cartilaginous framework of the head of vertebrates, made up of the bones of the braincase and face; cranium.

Funny...growing up I always had these pains that the doctors use to classify as a migraine. To me, a little boy, it did not really matter what they were called; I just wanted them to go away, so I could go back to playing with my friends. I do not know, maybe it was just me, but that sure did beat getting examined by men in white labratory coats.

The so-called-migraine followed me through my teenage years, and in through my early to mid twenties..then something happened and everything as I knew it changed. Now the headaches I get I just wish they were a migraine again.

These new aches now seem to wrench my mind away from its state of searching, and focus is shifted to the front of my dome. They are now occurring two to three times everyday, in the last year alone, but at least now they only last for 20 minutes or so each time. They do succeed in making this cat think hard about things though, and that usually calls for a story, right? Right. The following is how they make me feel, what they remind me of, and how I really feel about them. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

When I was little, while my friends were out playing in the summer sun, I would be lying down in the dark with a cold and damp facecloth over my eyes to block out the sunlight. Most of those times, my mother would be lying next to me, cradling my head in her arms, and softly smoothing my hair while telling me to let the pain go.

The headaches were not all the time, maybe one or two a month at the most, but when they came they brought time in a bottle...as in, it seemed to stop all together.

Ever reach a point in your life where the pain becomes almost exquisite to your senses? That it becomes so commonplace that it is almost a dull thud in the front of your mind? It is much better that way because otherwise the monster is released, and my world can subsequently go black. It kind of reminds me of a steel trap that closes with a vociferous clanging of the jaws, and then the pressure releases a tad to allow me room to breathe again.

Sometimes it is easy and other times it is not so easy. They may stab behind the eyes, will wrinkle my brow, and always remind me of the night when they truly came about...of the time when I was just allowed room to breathe at all.

Halloween is coming around the corner and I find myself wondering how I am going to spend it this year. To me, it is not a time of celebration of that night, but more so the morning after.

I am coming up on a five year anniversary where everything as I knew it completely changed, and life began for me in a different light. If the only thing I have left, as a side-affect as of that night, are these headaches, well...I have always been used to them and now they wax poetic for what I was granted in return.

It is when they come as bad as they do sometimes, that I raise my hands to my forehead, and feel the scar beneath my fingertips...and what was once unbearable becomes a challenge. The mark left behind, my reason for being, my reason for striving, and my reason for patience. I see it when I wake up, I feel its fire while sitting in class, and I know what it means. It is to live all days like every one is as new as the memory I am creating.

So, I smile through the times when the monster is off its leash, and I smile at the times when it seems I have forgotten to feed it...and there are the times when it fades my world to black. Then I raise my head and smile some more. The crazy thing is that with every passing day I seem to grow stronger and stronger, knowing full well that they too will pass.

If you can smile with every morning rising then you already have the day beaten, no matter what comes your way. Trust me on this, I know it from experience...the more you smile, the more your eyes reflect your outlook on life, and it seems that my smiles only become more genuine as the day unfolds.

They say that experience is what shines most in someone's eyes, so what do you think mine would tell you if we ever crossed paths? Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"If life's not beautiful without the pain, well I'd just rather never even see beauty again. Well, as life gets longer, awful seems softer. And it feels pretty soft to me."

- Isaac Brock of Modest Mouse

Big Bang Theory

2004-09-29T18:50:00.000-03:00

Gondola n. An enclosed structure suspended from a cable, used for conveying passengers, as in to and from a ski slope. (slang: gondie)

Snowflake n. A single flake or crystal of snow

Well, season in definitely upon the university student, and I am definitely feeling the reality that I will not be riding this year...not as much as I would want to anyway. I do have plans of a Whistler spring-break if funds allow, but I cannot even start to conceive of that until I return from New York. Yep, the boy from Newfoundland is heading to the Big Apple for a few days of reunion, tattooing, debauchery, witnessing some vows being exchanged, and then touring the city with as much stealth as possible...oh my God, the list could go on. The irony is that I am only going for four days. Can I get an Amen for life, people? Always the looking for angles I am, and yes, you may have guessed that there is a story up and coming. For those that are the betting kind, you would be correct, and now go collect your winnings. The following is where I am in school right now, where I need to be, and just a glimpse into where I know I will be. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

"Lots of snow on the mountains", said her MSN message. Damn, is it snowing in Whistler already? I ran to check out www.whistler-blackcomb.com and dropped into their snow report for the month of September...and there it was. A small cropping of snow over the top of the Whistler gondola. I looked at the webcam still-frames, and my mind drifted back to a time when...I dropped in behind the gondola, while ahead of me there was fresh snow without a blemish on it in sight, and I followed the line as far as I could go, before the trail became rock and stone. If it had been mid-season, I would have been able to ride under the Gondie for most of the way, until that is, you came to the steep 30 foot cliff drop with no ridable transition below. Man, those were the days, and I miss them so, but for something to break away, something else must give...that is the compromise of it all.

So, now here I am, back in my present days, and I find myself in a mild freak-out about a mark I got in school. Are you ready for this? Me, the man who spouts such rhetoric about language, and who is proficient in creating images for the minds eye to see...got a C minus on his first writing assignment in Writing and Theory. Fack. Lesson anyone? It is when you think you have an inkling that there are so many ways to express the English Language (and, in a few years, the Spanish language), and then someone hands you your britches saying, "Drop and give me 20." Fack. Okay, okay, so it was my first attempt at writing in a journalistic style, and yes I do have a tendency to ramble at times...okay, all the time. I see that everything has a meaning to it, that people can seem random but they tie it all together with a pretty pink ribbon in the same breath. I know these things like I know what it means to scrawl thoughts unto paper; or, in this case, print on a mass-media broadband. But, I never saw that C minus coming. Bam...up side the head and out of nowhere. But you know what? It just means I have to study that much harder, observe that much more, and maybe jump levels I never even knew existed. It is all in the challenge, people, it is all in the challenge. It is not how you fight the mangy dog biting at your ankles, it is how you feed it the nourishment it needs; the more it bites, the stronger the thirst for new knowledge, and the want for something more. Recognize that when it comes because if you believe strongly enough in it, it comes for us all.

So, alright, if you take the last two paragraphs and add them all up, you can see where I am headed...okay, I know you have no idea, but I am coming to it. I can take a degree like public relations, maybe grab some experience in it in Vancouver, or maybe not, and then head down to South America like I have planned. Travel along the coast until I hit Argentina and its white-peaked ranges, then plunk myself down...and plan people's vacations for them. Calling from Paraguay and need someone who speaks Spanish? Si, Senorita, mi nombre es Todd. Mucho gusto. How about from down in Colorado and you want to see what is like to ride the Andes? Well, call me up partner, and let's set up a meeting. Or, maybe you are in Canada, and you only speak the English language in a broken French accent? Well, by that time, my french will be at least suitable to hold a conversation with you, and arrange for the ski-trip of your life. To those who scoff at what I say, remember this: Whose life do you think I am living this for anyway? Prepare the soil for the seeding, nurture the land, and reap the harvest. It all takes time, it all takes patience, but, oh my God, it all leads to the land of milk and honey. Where your reward awaits depends on the person, and what you really need more than you want. Stay the burn if you have to, feel the turn of the clock as the seconds tick off, but remember this: what is time but a light falling of individual snowflakes on a cool winter day...all of them just doing what they were meant to do. It really is that easy. Man, can you see it? Just me and my dog, heading to where the sun always warms the soul, and where the snow is waiting to be ridden...my best friend with his head out the window, getting high on the coastal air currents. I can taste the cervesa's as we speak. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"And what about your soul? Is it cold? Is it straight from the mould and ready to be sold?"

- Jack Johnson

Timely Advice

2004-09-16T14:04:00.000-03:00

Sunlight strewn across the deck,
Keeping days warm
As the nights turn chill.
I envision my road, see it, feel it,
And make it heed to my will.

A summer of long days gone by,
I cannot understand it;
I won't even try.
The time it passed, the weather it swayed,
Throughout it all, my obsession it stayed.

Days tumble in and nights fade out,
Sessions that stretch the mind,
Making me want to scream and shout.
Then my shadow creeps up from behind,
Letting me know it held my company all the time.

The years they come and the years they pass.
Friends that come and friends that go,
I watch your eyes...and take life to task.
Can I forget? Can I forgive?
What will die so another can live?

Running with Scissors

2004-09-12T21:19:00.000-03:00

There is a fable of a hundred-and-twenty-year-old priest, and how the experts are baffled on how he has grown to such an age. There have been many reporters who have questioned him on how he has lived for so long...then one day, a journalist tracked him down, and sat with him to ask some questions. "How did you live to be the age of a hundred-and-twenty-years?", he asked the priest. The old man replied, "I did not do any drugs, did not imbibe in any alcohol or other aspects that would reduce my life expectancy...I did not chase after women, and religiously kept to myself. It is through these ideologies that has led me to continue living out my years on earth."

The reporter looked at him with incredulity in his eyes. "How have you lived then?", he said. "How can you call that a life when you have never experienced that which makes us human? To know the experience of losing control on a drug, to tasting fermented grapes after picking them from the vine, or more importantly...how can you say you have lived if you have never felt the pleasure of a woman's warm body next to you? How is solitude making your life that much longer and adding that much strength? We are put on this earth to feel these experiences, to know that life is reverberating in our lungs, and that we must understand the fact that we are destined to fail sometimes...it is what makes life worth living. We are all connected somehow, someway, and to deny that energy is to deny life itself."

Then the journalist walked away, much the same as I have countless times before, shaking my head at the ignorant, the uninitiated, and the ones in fear of the greatest gift of all...the gift of life that flows through us all. Here are my thoughts on what makes my life...well, worth living. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I am only being honest, people, when I say that so many individuals out there have placed barriers and fortresses around themselves. We build walls around our emotions, plug up our thoughts with television and the sorrows of the world, and we do our damnedest to forget the outside aspects of our own lives...but what it comes down to is the fact that we only get one opportunity. One chance to make your image in your own making, to run with the bulls in Spain if that is what you want, to travel and see the world, and live your dreams to their fullest before you punch in your ticket and call it a life.

Until then, it is not a wrap, people, it is not cut and dry, but it is waiting to be made into what you want it to be...so, what are you afraid of? What holds you back from the best years of your life? Is it fear that you may fail? Well, until you begin, you will never know what may actually transpire, right? Until you place one foot in front of the other and see what lies in wait for you, you will only sit and wonder, "What if?" Fantastic thing to say when life is young and full of potential, but horrible when you are on your death bed, and those words fall from your lips...do it and do it now.

So, okay, there are some of you that have set your own stage back in the day, but gave up when it collapsed in on itself. All your plans fell apart when they seemed to be written in stone, and you just do not want to harbor another chance at new dreams...fair enough. But it is not fair to give up, lie down, and play dead, people; it is not fair to yourself. It is not fair to those around you who believe in you, and want to see you succeed in following your dreams. So, okay, life is sometimes too heavy for you then? I hear you, I really do...but it does get better, it really does. Use every new day as an excuse to learn something new, to attempt a new trick, and breathe life into your soul.

So, okay, you are shipwrecked in the ocean of love, and your heart is strewn amongst the remaining tatters that surround you, right? Well, you know what? I know this from my own experience and it has told me that time really does heal all. Grab on to something for dear life and float on...help is on the way. Worried that the good times are not going to last? Open your eyes and realize that they get better with every passing day, so hold a friend's hand...and float on. Need to make a choice in your life direction, but are not sure where to turn? Sit alone with your thoughts, abolish outside distractions, find your answer...and float on.

Listen, they say that it is dangerous to run with scissors, right? But who are they to tell what you can and cannot do? Pick up a pair and see what happens...you might just see that they just do not want you to get hurt, and that they only want what is best for you. In that same second, please realize it is all I want for you too. It is just that I am the one who removed your training wheels, slaps you on the ass, and hopes to God that you may take a tumble or two...and I will be the one smiling through my tears as I watch you pick yourself up, brush off the dust, and continue down the road of life.

Through out it all, no matter how many times you tumble and fall, remember that you only get this one shot at making your dreams a reality. If you shall go forth, and they give way to sadness and defeat, well...you are still breathing and you can can try again, again, and again. Please, for all it is worth, know that the only thing we need to know for this life is that it is the only one you get...this time around, anyway. See what it means to grow old and live through the joys of this age. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Alright already, we'll all float on. Don't worry, we'll all float on. Even if things end up a bit too heavy, we'll all float on. Alright already, we'll all float on. Don't you worry, we'll all float on. We'll all float on." - Isaac Brock of Modest Mouse

Summer Harvest

2004-09-03T21:28:00.000-03:00

Jonesin: To yearn for something; a craving (Ex. I am jonesin to go snowboard again.)

Patience: The state or quality of being patient; the power of suffering for fortitude (Ex. I must have patience and just walk my road.)

I sit here, listening to my thoughts as they race back in time to another era, to another day and age, when the Mountains ruled my life. I lived to do not much else but work, ride, eat, sleep, and ride, ride...ride. When I was able, I would add writing to that mix, usually after a day of working, eating, riding, and right before I fell asleep. It was during most of those days that I began to see that I was planning my arrival for another era, on another variation of the road, that at the time, I had no idea where it was going to lead. I am presently all over that aforementioned course like a fat kid on a smartie, but, there were moments in my life, where summer was only time to jones for a winter session. A season is not always a season unless I get to ride, and this will be the second year where I might not get to snowboard again. I remember last year, and how I started having a small anxiety attack towards the beginning of spring. For a brief moment, I was back in the familiar stage of wondering where I was going to ride next...when it hit me. I was going to be staying in one place for the first time in almost six years, and would be spending the next three to fours years of my life there. School was now my main vocation, and I realized that it was filling the void of not being able to surf on snow. It was a compromise I willingly made, not a sacrifice, and one that had waited eagerly in the background...until it was ready to become the new emperor in my life. Over the long haul of the past year, I have come to see that I am experiencing another type of season, one in which I seem to only have time for school, studying, eating, writing, work, and writing, writing...writing. The upcoming is my thoughts on that same year, and where it has lead me. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Have you ever planted a dream, in hopes that it would grow into what you always knew it could be? That it would reach its potential, and reach for that unreachable star? To accomplish a bountiful return on investment, one must take the necessary steps involved in cultivating the soil, and stay the burn of desire versus talent, want versus need. I needed to not run away this time, needed to stick with my path, especially when I knew I would be in for shaky beginnings. I was leaving behind a lifestyle of drugs, partying, snowboarding, and autonomy, and trading it in for another of semantics, structure, scholastics...was I crazy? Everything seemed to be against me, attempting to prevent me from departing the mountains, and I could feel the leaden shackles desperately trying to keep my body cemented into the ground. But, it was my soul that could not be captured, retained, or restricted by earthly binds, and it has always held my best interests at heart. In the end, it all came down to what I needed to have, as opposed to what I wanted to have, and that was the only way of forward progression...I just needed something more. So, I did something different from what I had been doing for the last five years of my life, and instead of travelling from one bubble to the next, I opened the bubble door, and stepped outside to reality...one that had always been waiting patiently for me. With that step, the road ahead was new, open, and oh my god, so begging to be walked upon. I tried not to watch the peaks fade from sight in my rear-view mirror, but could feel their grasp loosen, yet knowing they would never fully release their hold on me.

Everything slowcoasted from there, days of movement and segue, and then all of a sudden, it was a new life... yet always the same person under a new layer of soul. Discoveries of words that made others laugh, think, and, hopefully one day, move forward in their own progression. Fall to winter and a breaking of a bond built fifteen years strong, maybe even beyond repair...but only time will tell. Really, people, holes in a story are necessary at times, to make you return to learn more, and maybe assemble some pieces of my puzzle. Everything that I put here has meaning to me, and if you follow this along, one day it will have meaning to you. This is a man's life as he travels along the crook of his dream, understanding that it is not that far off because for so long, he has been attempting to grasp the brass ring...when he suddenly looked down and realized it had been in his hand for quite some time now. A symbol we resolve to attain, when the only goal that really matters is your own calling, the moments in life that you were doing what you were truly meant to be, and your soul exults in joy. I am so far along my path, and so dedicated to my intent, that life itself now holds the door open for me. How amazing is that to know? To wake up one day, and see that you are held in such a loving embrace that everyday is designed to be better than the last...that is my life. That has been my life for almost five years now, and it only holds even more illustrious upcomings as the days turn into one another; and still they continue on. It is all about how you handle the ups and downs of the rollercoaster along the journey, and while it can sometimes be a battle to hold your cookies in, there are always the times to look forward to the careening fall into the rest of your future.

So, I made my way through this year, and overcame so many obstacles...a loss of my oldest friend who is still alive but yet I feel dead to her, a touch of what is to come from another who would replace the old with the new, and then the forcible removal of one more from my eyes, never to be seen again. I swear to god I blinked, and my first year of school was over, and then summer was upon me faster than the wind catching a kite in its wings. My path becomes as sure as words of solid black, written for all to see, as my own personal disclaimer...what do you want more than anything else in this world? What is it that makes your heart soar into the heavens and your smile shine from end to end? That when you occasionally touch on it, your feet feel like they are not even touching the ground...what is it people? For me, it is this, right now at this very moment. It is using my mind to create, forcing my body to sit still, and regulating my soul to stay true to its desired direction. If you are using those three in tandem and sychronizing their combined efforts, then that will be the day you step from the bubble. That will be the day you see that everything is attainable, it just depends on how much you have to work on it...to see that for something to live, something else must die. Reach down, take ahold of your self, and rip up your moorings. Chase the dream they say is childish, then show them that we all need to see the world as children do...and while you are at it, make sure you show the whole world. For, once again, whose life are you living this for, anyway? Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Once we make our decision, all things will come to us. Auspicious signs are not a superstition, but a confirmation. They are a response."

- Deng Ming-Dao

The road we are travelling...

2004-08-14T01:45:00.000-03:00

I was the backseat passenger, driving down a darkened highway, and that was what the cabbie said to me; at the exact instant we passed by the Travellers Motel. He had been born in Duncan, British Columbia, transported by his parents to India for the next twelve years, and then returned to Canada by way of Halifax, when he was sixteen. I asked him if it had been a culture shock, and his reply surprised me. No, he said, it was not that hard to adapt, and actually happened fairly quickly. Huh. I was also sixteen when we moved away from my homeland and started life anew in another place, and I remember how hard it had been for me. Funny that he didn't. I won't lie, I felt a little bit of envy. But, in the long haul, I think that is what makes me a writer - that it all adds up in the equation of having a-not-so-normal life, that it keeps me on the seat of my pants...and that I take the time to transcribe its happenings. Here is a little on my thoughts as of late, of how I feel my mind flicker into the future, and how although I know I must be patient...I just want it to be here right now. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

It is all about the open road, in analogies, and in future prospects. Where it leads is where I am headed because I have always known that it is a compass set in the right direction. For all the times I have become anxious when it would bend and disappear out of sight, to the times when it was straight, wide, and true. I have found myself sitting and talking of travelling as of late, of how I will make my departure from Canada, to wondering if I really will do it alone. I am starting to plan for it, for example, like seeing that I will have to get a dog for companionship; and since I will be venturing into South America, that I will also need one for protection. Besides, it will be a great way to meet women...damn, did I just write that? Good because I meant to. They have always been the ruling star in my solar system, and one day I know I will meet my queen. But, that is another story for another time...or book.

So, where was I? Oh yeah, the open road and where it is heading for me. It always has seemed to have been littered with signs along my way. I have always wondered if the real signs in life are our dreams, whether waking or sleeping. To me, they all seem to become the same in time. We all have been there, the nights that you wake up from something so real that it sent shivers down your skin, raising it again when it actually comes true; except you pass it off as deja vu. I am coming to see that we are all given a road map at birth, that is in our blood, and only up to us to learn its secret code. That when we actually embark on the journey it is then that we find our way in life, and that it has always been there...waiting for us. It is there for us all, people, may we realize how easy it is, and that the hardest part is the introspection which comes along with it. How is learning about your innerself so difficult? Peeling back layers of soul, digging deep in the sense of thought, all designed to assist you in your search; to pave the way for those that supersede us, right? The children of the next generation that must be taught that rules are not made to be bent, but that they are meant to be shattered; that what has been written can always be a shortcut to the truth, and that by learning from past mistakes they can have a world in satori. It is us who must light that way people.

So, there you are, my thoughts on a late summer evening, when I just want to ignite my own flame, yet now understand that I must first prepare the rockwall; not to contain, but to build. It is the travellers I meet along my way that ease the burn of wanderlust, and diminish the heat to a light warmth. Conversations, people, it all comes down to conversations, and the stories that accompany them. May you hit the road and make your own to share later. When you do, please make sure to look me up, and we can all hang by the beach, in front of a bonfire...while the tales fly like sparks in the night, and we laugh as children may. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

Satori n. Buddhism A spiritual awakening found in Zen Buddhism, often coming suddenly.
Segue intrv. v. To move smoothly and unhesitatingly from one one state, condition, situation, or element to another.

"As I make my slow pilgrimage through the world, a certain sense of beautiful mystery seems to gather and grow."

- A.C. Benson

Eighth desire?

2004-08-08T01:44:00.000-03:00

Ever wonder how someone can put a number on the most amazing sights in the world? Supposedly, there are seven wonders that stand out above all the rest, and that leaves me to ponder this question: How can you limit beauty to a statistic? The most beautiful thing in the world to you, may not necessarily be the most beautiful thing in the world to me, right? I mean, for example, what if the lost city of Atlantis really existed? That it was real, not a hoax, and that it was really submerged under water on the ocean floor? Somehow, somehow, the power elite would make sure to exploit it, pillage it, and maybe even open up a twenty-four hour McDonald's in it. Just imagine that - snorkelling your way through a mythical city, only to come across the golden arches, and a pimple faced teenager asking, "Do you want fries with that?" It is all too surreal at times.

I, myself, have lived in what some refer to as one of the most beautiful places in the world...not the most beautiful place I have ever seen, for through all my travels, that still remains to be St. John's, Newfoundland. But, anyway I digress, and instead, choose to share with you a memory of that other beautiful place I spoke of. It took place on a pebbled cove on a mid-winters night, not so many years ago. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I once had a girl tell me that Vancouver Island was unofficially considered the eighth wonder of the world. I would have to agree because no where else on this earth has time seemed to stand still. At least, for one night, it did for me, anyway. I remember standing with a friend, under the heavens on a clear winter night. Snow does not fall there so much as the rains make their presence known. I was observing a glorious sunset, asplendor in all colours of orange and rust red; all mingled in with a light blue sky. It seemed to split the horizon in half, splintering rays of dust into the nether regions of early dusk.

There is an energy on the Island, an untapped source of life that its inhabitants understand, and I could just imagine so many others watching the same sight. The sunset rose in the sky, sending out plumage like a...hold on a second. It was then that I stepped back and completely surveyed the scene. It was then that I realized it wasn't a sunset after all. It was a full moon rising.

My God, it was unlike anything I had ever seen before. I never thought the moon could light the sky upon entry like that, so much so that it overshadowed the sun's exit. It rose high above the stars, proud in all its glory over all of us earthbound mortals. I felt my breath catch in my throat as I noticed how calm the waters were. They were stretched out to a glass surface, striving to finally reach their maker. The ocean was becoming a concrete finish that I could almost walk upon; but no, only one man has ever been able to do that.

I slid my arms around my friend, and felt her hands grab hold of mine. We stood there until the moon reached its apex, and then stood a little while longer to pay our respects to the Universe. I know we all have had moments in our lives when time stood still, when even the birds stopped singing their songs of praise to Nature. But, to me, in the long run it comes down to what my eyes have seen, and what they have yet to see. Will she be there with me when I see my most beautiful sight in the world? For some reason, I know that she will. For the real true wonders of the world are all around us, in our waking hours. The one true wonder is Life. Grab it. Run with it. And by all means, live it. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"An age is called Dark, not because the light fails to shine, but because people refuse to see it."

- James Mitchener

Clarity of Sight

2004-08-07T00:45:00.000-03:00

We all love our mothers, right? Of course we do, but I consider myself pretty lucky to have mine; or at the very least, the friendship we have. She has seen a lot, has done a lot, and has raised a lot of good boys to become strong men. Yet, to me, she seems to get stronger herself the more the years pass. I have put Gail through many things in her time with me, but now it is not so. It is pride I hear in her voice, strength in my belief, and on her shoulder I many times have found my head. Sometimes, I think it may be her words that flow through my hand, but, no, that would be crazy to think that, right? Right? Meet a little portion of my Mother and tell me if you agree with that or not...I bet you will beg to differ. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

Imagine growing up never being able to see out of your right eye. Now picture yourself, with that "limited" vision, raising four young boys on your own, and learning to understand yourself in the process. She showed us how to laugh at each other, by laughing at her self in the first place...and one day showed me how to laugh at life. Remember that I told you I hurt myself once, but have only hinted at what caused it? There is a reason for that, as there is a reason why I am writing a book in the first place. It is the best way I can ever see fit to honor my Mom, while we are both alive in the same world together, and I know I am allowed the allotted time to do it. How do I know this, you may ask? Some time in the next two years, when my book is published, you will learn why...when it is all said and done, we all are allowed the allotted time to finish what we started, and others of us are just allowed to create their own stories. That would be me, and that would be Gail. Really, people, that would be all of us.

I grew up around her and never took anything from the fact that she was unable to see out of her eye. For that matter, for what I got away with when I was younger, I could of sworn she had two more in the back of her head. It never passed my mind that she was as normal as everyone else; but, she was not normal...she was an angel disguised as my Mother. Seriously, people, there is only one I will ever run to when I am needing solace, when my heart is shattered, or when I just need to hear her voice. I know there are some of you out there who have lost, some who never knew, and even those who met another who became the same. I understand, really I do, because I see it in her eyes when she looks at me. Remember what has come and gone, but be most thankful for what we still have...and that is the life we breath as you now read. Inhale in, exhale out, and just believe. There is a purpose, and there is a care. Once again, how can I be so sure, you may ask? Miracles happen everyday, and I just learned one only yesterday.

We had not talked in a few weeks with me being busy working two jobs, moving to a new abode, and basically being the delinquent son boys can sometimes be. Last night, I listened to her voice, joined with my own at times, but mainly just listened as she told me the news. How her granddaughter stood slightly out of sight of her right eye, waving her hand, and how my Mother was able to actually see her do it. That, no, it is not anywhere near complete quite yet, but that it is there at all is a miracle in itself. The tears came, followed by thankful thoughts, and, once again, I am overtaken by the power of my life. How it flows through the ups and downs, and how it takes the time to show me that the way is lit; and that the path is true. Not that it didn't matter to me about her sight before, but more so now, that the next time we meet it will be with both our eyes. We are all held in the palm, people, and remember that when things seem at their worst, and when they move too fast. Know that this too will pass, and another door will soon open that was even better than the last. If Gail is experiencing this now, then my years in life can only get better the more days I put into it. A day in is a day in. Until we meet again people, until we meet again.

"Youth fades; love droops, the leaves of friendship fall; a Mother's secret hope outlives them all." - Oliver Wendell Holmes

Clock out?

2004-08-04T21:59:00.000-03:00

Unique adj. A thing without like; something unequalled or unparalleled (eg. The phoenix, unique of birds)

Thought n. The intellectual activity or production of a particular time or group (eg. Ancient Greek thought; deconstructionist thought)

I strive to figure out what others consider normal conversation, or for that matter, what they consider normal thoughts. It seems that I am one who does not think like the normal flock, or even keep up with normal daily ins and outs. Believe me, people, it is not as if I do not want to diverge from my mind sometimes, but it just seems that when I do, it follows me like a sheep dog herding a lost stray.

I realize then, that my course is unique from the norm, and the sooner I accept it, the better off I will be. All are called but not all will answer...fine for you, but not acceptable for me. I hear the bell tolling for me to come home, and home is where my journey leads. All it takes is a little bit of time, a dash of patience, and a wanderlust for the road ahead. For an example of life within the confines of my mind, read on. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I lay awake last night, just before I fell asleep, and listened to my thoughts. Amazingly, I could actually feel time passing; an internal clock of sorts with an inaudible tick to mark the passage. It led me to think on how I live my life, and if I am taking advantage of my daily opportunities. To be quite honest, I do not empty my waking moments of their full usage. How could I possibly do that? As it is, I am told that I think too much, that I can be too deep at times, and that I need to get out of my head at others.

There are those that look at time as the end of days, as in they finish one another off. No, I prefer to see them as new beginnings, another chance to learn, as avenues of growth, and, more importantly...times that bring me closer to the truth. For if it is not the truth you are searching for, then what is it? Why would you journey down the road, only to find fallacy in the end? Why indeed...I only know that the truth will set us free.

Locked doors can lead to open rooms, and are also chances to rest. They are pregnant with inspiration, sometimes evaluation, and are always time for preparation. I am all about my present moments, but is it so wrong to plan for my future? To imagine my life full of happiness, travel, and reaching for my full potential? So, when it all happens, I can just act surprised, even though I know everything acted accordingly to plan. I mean, why else would I invest so much time in myself, right? I do not so much aim for my mark, as much as I aim above it...that way, I am able to at least hit what I have in sight. No more; no less.

That is not to say that failure is not allowable. Actually, quite the opposite at times because the best way to learn is from our mistakes. No, it is more about how we bounce back from our failings. To not dwell on them after the fall, but, instead, to pick ourselves up, brush off the dust, and continue on. Not to repetitious, but, remember that forward progression is the only link to survival.

It is the lessons learned during transition that aid us in our journey. The end result is how we look at our passing days. Are they just a means to an end that is inevitable, building up one on top of the other? Or are they chances to build on your life and make each day better than the last? For this cat, every day brings me closer to wisdom, and, eventually, my end result. The last rung at the top of my ladder. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"What I say, what I think

What I put down in ink

I'm only trying to find a way to understand

And I mean no harm

I'm just searching for calm

In the storm of mankind"

- David Gray

Encounters of the Soul

2004-08-02T06:55:00.000-03:00

Friend n. A person whom one knows, likes, and trusts.

Hero n. In Mythology and legend, a person, often of divine ancestry, who is endowed with great courage and strength, celebrated for their bold exploits, and favoured by the gods.

I have this friend that I think of all the time, and who means the world to me. She is leaving this country behind in the fall, and I feel it would only be right to brag of her to everyone else. You see, she is a big reason why I have not given up on people at times, and is nothing short of amazing. Today is her birthday, and with this posting I give thanks to her, for her, and am thankful she is in my life. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

How does one go about changing their life? Do you one day just leave it all behind and begin anew? What if leaving it all behind meant leaving your homeland, and moving to another country on the other side of the equator? What if it meant reinventing yourself and learning a new language? Now, imagine you are only eighteen years old...would you still do it? You would if your name was Nelly, and all you ever wanted to do was travel and make the world your own private playground. That is not to say that it has been handed to her on a silver platter, by all means no - she has been through her trials and tribulations, and yet holds her head high to wade into the battle. If you know her, then you know she would do anything for the important people in her life, and even more for the ones she loves to death. I am one of those fortunate few who benefit from our bond, and really, to tell the truth...I am not looking forward to the day when she walks away from the East Coast; although, I do know we will meet again.

I have sat down and talked with Brasil on so many occasions that it would be silly to count them all. But, with everyone of them, I come away with new knowledge, new insight, and the feeling that my words were not only heard, but that they were appreciated. We embark on stories and tales of lore, conversations of life, and where we are headed down our respective roads. We laugh at each other, and let one another know we are happy to have each other's friendships. But, of all the things I have received from Nelly, it was the lesson in love that I treasure the most...and I know she feels the same way. If you were to read back in my archives, you would come upon an entry on how people enter our lives for a reason, season, or a lifetime. I have now seen that I met her on a different level...an encounter of the soul between two individuals who needed to see what the other side looked like. To learn that you can always gain knowledge everyday, but in the end, it is the wisdom of understanding life's little ins and outs that matters the most. I am so eternally grateful to her for so many different reasons, and will always consider her one of the closest friends I have ever had. I mean, there are only two people in my life that will get the first manuscripts of my book - my Mother and Brasil. The two most special women in my life.

So, Nelly? If you are reading this, then cheers to your twenty-fifth year on earth, and cheers to your upcoming future...so bright and open like the skies above, both North and South alike. Do not fear what lays ahead, or what others may say to you, or even what they might try and take from you. Remember that you have more strength that you could possibly know, and so many people that love you dearly...I know this cat loves you to the very marrow of his bone. Shine like the stars above, and love like you have never loved before. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Friendship is the hardest thing in the world to explain. It's not something you learn in school. But if you haven't learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven't learned anything."

- Muhammad Ali

Summer of Wonder

2004-08-01T00:36:00.000-03:00

I was going through some of my papers whilst packing up belongings...you see, I am moving at the end of the month, and so must begin the horrifically tedious task of throwing all my belongings together. Again. Anyway, during my paper shuffling, I came across a writing I did earlier in the summer about destinations, and, now here I am, preparing to arrive at another one. I have almost been in Halifax a full year, and it is the longest I have stayed in one place for the last six years. My second year of school is upcoming, and, really, life is just getting better and better. The next entry is a story of my thoughts over the course of a few days, during an East Coast summer day. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I'm sitting here, listening to traffic passing by on a busy afternoon. Life moves so fast that I sometimes need to take the time to slow it down; take the time to breathe. I laugh as I watch a bird hopping on the outside deck, as it takes little jumps to reach whatever temporary destination it is headed for. That is what it comes down to for me...destinations of a temporary nature, all reached before I blink, and then gone in a breath. Then the next one beckons me forward, its crooked finger always inviting me onward. Straight ahead and down the winding path.

My dream has lead me to so many times and places, all meant to be temporary for their own particular reasons. It chases after me, and, usually, may sometimes mock me; or so it can feel at times, anyway. But, oh, what my eyes have seen along the way. Some of my favourite things in the world have happened in selected nooks and crannies, like sitting in an ocean cove, while children play in the park behind me...or watching the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean; even listening to a friend laugh as we share a story. As I think of these memories, my blood begins to tingle with the thought that there is even more to come.

The days pass until the fog drifts into the harbour. I watch as it burns away and the sun struggles to break through its clouded barricade. Funny, but not so many years ago, I was in my own fog, unsure of my next step, but only knowing that they led forward...and not backwards. I have learned to understand my past, even when I do not grasp its meaning. It is my future that awaits, and my present that lays the bedrock of foundation. Like I always say, forward progression is the link to survival.

I can smell the salt ocean air, can watch as the light bounces off waves over the water, and can feel life running through my veins. Along my way, the road has been rocky, and sometimes treacherous to walk upon, but yet, I will continue on. For there are the days and times that I feel the smoothness of my path...and know that I am headed in the right direction. Of that I readily know, and trust in the process of life to take care of me - to take care of my soul and allow it room to breathe.

Head up, shoulders straight...now, march.

"Really great men have a curious feeling that the greatness is not them, but through them."
- John Ruskin

Survival of fate...

2004-07-23T15:46:00.000-03:00

Destiny (Des-tuh-nee) n. a course or end that seems determined in advance, esp. something great or noble

Hand n. a person or a person's action, skill, or power

One must have possession or control over the other, right? This is not always necessarily true, but usually the latter must tip the hat of the former. Roads will diverge, collide, and then spill their collections of souls; only to swallow them all up again...shaking the contents in this mad game of Chance we call life. Sometimes, it is not so much that I know where I am going, but more so that I am following the path where it is leading. I have always known that I am on the right one...even when it was headed in the wrong direction. Here is a story of a well-placed sign to offer guidance for the road ahead; an indication that there is time for everything...and that everything has its time. Here you go, and may you enjoy.

I have been known to bear my soul now and then - to friends, acquaintances, and sometimes even complete strangers. But how was I to know that a few appropriately placed words could turn complete strangers into possible close connections? I met this couple while I was working and they were having their last taste of East Coast seafare, on their last night on the East Coast. They told me a tale of how they had no rush to be anywhere, except to the airport from whence they would be taking off from in the early hours of the morning. I told them how I had spent the last five years - well, six now - travelling abroad, and had whiled away many an hour in airports, train stations, and bus terminals; even sitting on the side of a highway, waiting for a good samaritan to stop and pick me up. For some reason, it seemed like an opportune time to network my life vocation...beats me. Something just guided me, I guess you could say.

"I could tell you a book to read, while you were killing time in the airport", I started, "But it will not be published for another two years." As I said these words, the woman's eyes seemed to illuminate light from within. Turns out, she just published her own book, and that it is due out in less than a month. It seems the storyline in one of great hardships and heartbreaking tragedies...all lined up one after another. But, from her mouth came nothing but words of hope - hope, faith, and the assured knowledge that everything will always be okay. I stood listening to her as she described her life, the entire time knowing that fate was in the room. They told me how they had started their dinner plans in another restaurant downtown, but felt that their presence was better needed somewhere else - then, not even a half hour later, they found themselves as my guests while I served them supper. We never know why things happen the way they do, people, because we are not meant to know. That would take away all the fun of the surprise, would it not?

We traded small memories, and I listened as they fed me small pointers on how to prepare for what is upcoming. We swapped phone numbers, email addresses, websites, and titles of our books. Then we made plans to contact each other soon, hugged...and before I knew it, they were gone. I remember walking home later, when the realization of what happened sunk in to my senses. A light mist of rain sprinkled my face, and my soul overcame my body; for a brief few seconds, it was released from the shackles of my human vessel. During that short stall of time, I touched the heavens, and then the feeling was gone. But, it is the experience that remains...like it was meant to be and like it always will be. For it will not be so far away that my dream becomes a reality, and my soul will never again feel any boundaries. When it is all said and done, people, it is only up to us to go and grab what is written for us in the stars.

And to think, all this because the hand was pointed in the right direction. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"So, be kind to a stranger

Cuz you never know

It might just be an angel

Come knocking at your door."

- Ben Harper

A way with words?

2004-07-08T19:36:00.000-03:00

Can you hear the music pounding in the background? The vociferous noise over the din of the crowd surrounding you, and people yelling to be heard all around your comfort zone? It is difficult on its own to try and hear your own thoughts at this level, but what do you do when someone walks up to you with something to actually say? You may find yourself wishing you were in a small, private litte cafe, with time to talk, and a want to maybe even learn of the other person's ideals about life...but, no, you are not able to do that, so you do the next best thing. You close your mouth and open your ears because you may never know what you can learn in any given situation. Here are my thoughts on the art of conversation, and the realization that it can happen at any given time, place, or opportunity. And when it does, people, please wait for your turn to speak; instead of only waiting for your chance to interrupt. Here you go, and may you enjoy...

Conversation is an art form that is dying...there, I have said it. Yes, to those who know me, I have said it countless times, and have repeated it numerously over the years. But, to this cat, I feel that so many people have decided to numb their subconscious by flicking on the "idiot box", changing channels on a screen, until they feel the slow rot of television burn internally into their brains. Or if they do chance a rap session, it is to only embark on piddly surface shat that does not stretch your intelligence; instead occupies space where real knowledge may one day be stored. Why is that? Are you afraid to let your mind run free? To bring up ideas in your cranium that make you think and go, "Hmmmmm"? a la Arsenio Hall used to? You have a mind, and please, for the love of all that is sacred, do not let it disintegrate into nothing but sands on the wings of time...you deserve more than that, people, trust me on this.

So, what would you do if someone did come up to you with something to say? How would you react and handle? Say, if they busted semantics on feminism - I shudder at the term "feminism" - and you supplied your own view, then stood back as they taught something you never really thought of? A different perspective than your own, yet it made you look at something in a more abstract ideal? That is why conversation is important, people, because life can throw the most offside curve balls that mess up your balance...and yet you can walk away unscathed with a new knowledge. You can leave the meeting with a feeling of individual empowerment, you know what I mean? Do not step lightly around this subject, but instead bring up a topic amongst your friends, and see how they respond to your thoughts...but, most importantly, jump all the over the chance to see what you may learn.

Here is a topic for you: If you could define intelligence in two seperate words, what would they be? I mean, really, when it all comes down to it, it is only words that we are spitting from our mouths right? I guess that would only depend on the observer because to me it is more than that...to me, it will always be about friendship, and never knowing what you may hear from another's mouth. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"Minds are like parachutes; they work best when open."
- Lord Thomas Dewar

Quiet on the set...

2004-06-21T12:48:00.000-03:00

My question in my last posting was what makes us feel alive, that which makes you wake up to give thanks for the coming day, and here is my reply to my own query...I have sat, thinking long and hard on the topic, listened to friends of their thoughts of it, and then had ten days of my life bring it all into clarity. It is kind of funny how things work out that way; funny-god-damn-amusing, funny-ha-ha, and, even more so, funny-like-a-clown. Here you go, and may you enjoy...

Somebody, please, if you can, grab the handle and give my carousel another spin...so that way, my ride may never have to end. The last week has been one of those kinds that can keep a person's spirits lifted for an entire year. It started with a surprise visit from my Mom - she flew in Edmonton to the East Coast of Canada to see me - which was amazing in itself. Then later on that week, I had the best hour and a half of television pleasure ever, when I caught an interview on Tony Hawk, then after that an excerpt on Newfoundland and Ireland, and then caught the Beastie Boys live in Scotland. Whew, I was so happy that week, and then my Mom totally treated me by taking care of fiscal shite, and then filled my fridge with groceries. I spent an afternoon with her, my friend Steve, Nelly, and an old family friend under a beautiful sunny Halifax sky, while we drank beers and listened to stories of old and new lore. I was sad to see my Mom go, but she will be back in the fall for my birthday, and is even thinking of moving here...whew, if that was not enough for a week, I spent the day yesterday as an extra on a movie set, watching as the magic of moving pictures took place, and picturing how my future screen-play may turn out. Life, in all its ups, twists and turns, only gets better as the sun drops lower in the sky; then even more fun as the night takes the days place.

I wake every morning - okay sometimes in the late afternoon - and for the first few moments, I will lie there and think; of my friends, my family, my coming day, but most importantly, I give thanks for the chance to be able to even open my eyes again. For the opportunity to see my friends, my family, and to have the ability to understand my thoughts. So many out there can take those things for granted because it is so easy to forget about something when it is always around you. But, to see my Mom smile at me again, to hang out with her and laugh, was exactly what the doctor ordered. To relax on a beach with a close friend, laughing and burning shite, is what makes my nights pass into the journals and memories of good times. Don't forget who you are, and where you are going, but most importantly, do not forget where you came from.

If I can ask only one thing of you, it would be this: somewhere, where ever you are when you read this, all I ask is that you sit for a second and listen to your breathing. Feel it enter your body and pay attention as it leaves it again...understand that without it, we have nothing; no more, no less. So, when life is getting you down, and your friends are nowhere to be found or seen, realize that all you have to do is breathe. Simple, hey? Until we met again, people, until we meet again.

"The world I love the tears I drop to be part of the wave can't stop...
Ever wonder if its all for you?"
- Red Hot Chilli Peppers