Love of the Game

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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