Rain Falls in the Concrete Jungle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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?

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

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?

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

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

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...

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?

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...

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

Melancholy dreams...

Accountability or blame? I think it all comes down to choice...making a decision to realize what matters most, and acting accordingly from there. Here, people, here is a little taste of what it is really like in my thoughts and aspirations, and a little more of the dream that haunts my waking hours. Here you go, and may you enjoy...

I thought that it was lying dormant, that my actions as of late had laid some sort of muzzle on it. Then, tonight, of all nights, it comes back and lets me know that it is never going to truly go away; that it has too much meaning in my life to erode like dust on the winds. Funny, but I am actually happy to know that it is still there, whether it be in the back of my conscious, or in the forefront; either way it is not something I really wanted to say goodbye to...I mean, how could I? She deserves more than that, right? Right.

So, in one hand, I can blame all the impostors who have come and gone in my life, to make my life that much easier to live. That it was them all along who caused strife, pain, and all that other crap that happens at the end of a relationship...or, I could do what I have been as of late; imagining the dream was a fallacy, a myth, and maybe that it never even happened in the first place. But, ignoring something does not necessarily solve the problem either. So, I will do what is needed to continue on. I will hold my head up high, keep my secret near, and believe that one day she will walk into my life...and that I will be ready for it when she does. If I am to be honest with myself, then it is to admit that I am not ready; not quite yet. I need to sit back against my sturdy oak tree, breathe in my surroundings, and work on the whittling of my internal demons; release their hold on me like shavings falling to the earth under my feet. I realize that they all have had their purpose in my time, that they all came for a reason; to teach an old soul some new tricks, and to open my eyes to what is around me. To show me that it need not always be a race, that sometimes it is all about slowing down, and to remember rule number #2: There is no need to rush.

It is with this knowledge that my thoughts feel lighter tonight, and that I know things will happen in their own good time. I accept that the choice comes down to me, and to me only...for it has always has, and always will. Have you ever had something grab you by the laurels, pull you up off your heiney, and make you attack life with a force you have never felt before? Made everything spin all about until you felt nauseous, but for some reason, you refused to get off the ride? If you have, then you have only the lightest inkling as to what pushes me forward; to what makes me force my head up, straighten my shoulders...and march. Always forward, never looking back, for the dream is in the forefront, and never in the back of the pack.

So, here is my question that I will supply my own answer to in the next posting...what is it that we feel makes us alive? Is it the thoughts of what may be, what once was, or what the moment entails? What makes you wake up every morning and give thanks for the coming day? Huh...until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"And when man faces destiny, destiny ends and man comes into his own."
- Andre Malraux

Balancing the scales...

This is a new format I am entering into, here on my website that the generous souls at blogger so graciously supplied me free of charge. It has been done by other bloggers, but for me it is new territory...it is just that my postings seem to be getting longer, yet I still have so much to say, and only so much space to say it. So, my next series of writings will be separated into consecutive postings, with the new ones picking up where the old ones leave off. I am hoping to tickle your funny bones, captivate your senses, and make your mind stray from its normal deviant course. Here you go, and may you enjoy...

I spent last night hanging out on a beach, sitting in front of a campfire, walking on hard sands, and, of course, chasing waves. It was a spontaneous decision made by me and my friend, Rob, who finally got his van on up and running, and wanted to make the first road trip of the summer. We collaborated our thought-processes, grabbed some wood, kindling, paper for burning, and some snacks for the trip. A half hour later found us languishing in front a roasting fire, smiles on our faces, and stories tumbling from our mouths. There I stood, in front of the Atlantic Ocean, so powerful and angry in its own right, and it reminded me of a time when I stood on another beach.

On the West Coast of Canada, located on the Northeastern side of Vancouver Island, is a little paradise called Tofino. It is also as far as you can go in our country, for it is bordered on the Pacific Rim - the other side of that rim is Japan. I lived there a few summers ago, and events occurred there that would change my life in ways I could never have conceived, but the Island has always seemed to do that to me. Here is my main point though...the Ocean, whether East or West, North or South, Indian or Artic, has a hold on us humans in a way none of us can understand. It is a forever-flowing, ebbing, and tossing world of secrets. How many have stood before it and hurled their worries into the waves? Have walked away, feeling a just a little bit lighter, and a sense of calm running through their veins? How could you stand before a power as such and give away to past angst or pain? In my mind, it is not possible...for all those who sit behind a desk and fret about their mundane existence, I have only one thing to say: head west, man, head west. A brand new world awaits.

So, here is my point about that whole tangent...it is a matter of choice, people. In one hand, you have responsibility to yourself, and in the other, you have blame. Blaming another for where you are because they made a decision that effected your life. When all you have to do is look in the mirror and realize it all comes down to you. You don't like where you are? Then change your surroundings, deconstruct your comfort zones until they are so expansive that you are always comfortable no matter where you turn your head. Not comfortable in your own skin? Spurn the old, dig deep into your internal, find that which brings dis-ease into your soul, and understand its purpose. Then stand back, feel the scales of old fall to the wayside, and look down upon your new body; fresh and ready to take on the world. It is not like I am just saying this to see my own words, people, I say it because I have lived it, and still am. Sure, I might not have a mortgage, a wife or children, but I do have friends and family that I have left behind numerous times that are too many to count...but, once again, whose life are you living this for, anyway? Theirs? Or for yourself?

So, for now, here is where I take my leave, but I do depart with a question...if you had accountability in one hand, and accusation in the other, which one would you choose? Which of the two would allow you to wake in the morning and look yourself in the eye without guilt? It all comes down to the mad-ass balancing act of managing the scales, right? Right. Until we meet again, people, until we meet again.

"I was taught very early that I would have to depend entirely upon myself; that my future lay in my own hands." - Darius Ogden Mills

City dwelling...

Outside my window, the rain continues to fall, and fall...and fall. It falls unto hard cement sidewalks, on top of cold impersonal skyscrapers, and into the endless depths of the Atlantic Ocean. It is funny to sit here and think that I never wanted to live in a city again, a metropolis of humans all running on a never-ending treadmill; all scrambling to get nowhere fast in the rat race of politics. I know, I know, I came here for school and in the long run, that is the desired result I am aiming for...but, on days like today, when I am stuck inside and just want to get out and do something, I find my thoughts stay their course. Amazing, that it does happen to me occasionally, but at times like these, I just want to be somewhere else, a place where the sands are soft and white; where the snow on top of mountain peaks are untracked and waiting for my arrival. If anything is helping to keep me sane, then it is that I have good friends all around me...it is just that right now we all are feeling the same; we all just want summer to come and stay for a few months.

Rain has always seemed to follow me where ever I go; or, maybe, more that I seem to be on its trail. I have seen many different forms of sky-juice in my life, but none the likes of what I saw growing up in Newfoundland. It seemed as if the rains there fell from the ground up; big, fat, drops of condensation that came down like falling cats and dogs. Well, okay, it was not that bad, but it was pretty thick sheets of water. Add in the fact that Newfoundand is smack-dab-on-the-tip of the Eastern part of the Atlantic Ocean, and then you might be able to conceive the winds that were partners in crime with those same rains. No one walked outside on those days unless you wanted to be blown away like Mary Poppins on speed...get it? The Disney character that used to float down by umbrella? Well, picture her in a windstorm, being blown backwards at high speeds, without any hope in the world of ever landing. Back home, the storms come to play, wreak havoc, and then blow away back into the ocean; brewing up plans on when they will be back for a return engagement. Leaving the inhabitants of that Island grateful for the repreive.

It is days like these, that I realize I am back on the East Coast of Canada, in the beginnings of summer, and wondering when this damn liquid sunshine will stop..and allow for the real Vitamin D to arrive. I mean, dammit man, if I have to be in a city again, then at least open the clouds so I can see what surrounds me; so, I can see old bunkers of rock and stone overlooking the flatness of water, and grassy knolls of history covered in the growth of time. The last few months have held scenes of an age-old culture based on tradition, foggy, smoked filled nights, and time honoured values. When the clouds break, we all rush out to bask in the sun, and feel its energy...I just hope we can remember what it looks like when it does show its face. Until then, I will just blame it on the rain.

"Far away in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead."
- Louisa May Alcott (1832 - 1888)

Curiosity killed the cat?

Damn, sometimes I scratch my head in wonder at my thoughts. I can lie awake at night at times, not able to sleep, and my mind just races like the Autobahn. Continuous circles of an endless road that stretches on for what seems forever. Then I wake up, albeit groggily, and give thanks for the coming day; it just always seems that my raceway seems to follow right along. Most of the time though, my memories have a way of forcing their way in, and for a while the race heads in for a pitstop. Then I get the opportunity to remember a time when, and eventually put that into print. This would be one of those times. Here you go, and may you enjoy...

It's like you hear a timer being rotated in circles, and you know you only have a small amount of time in a place, before you hear the ding of the bell. I speak of travelling all the time, but that is only because it is good for the soul, and that so many of my friends feel the same. Brasil is going to Miami, California is in Thailand, Canada is headed to New Zealand, and Newfoundland is going to America. We are all searching for the ring that I feel is close at hand for this cat; all it depends on now is not "if" it happens, but when it happens. When my forehead slammed into the ground, I could almost hear the ding going off in the background...for my race was only just beginning, and so no time limit can ever be enforced on me. Scattered images of a broken body, confused mind, and an insatiable thirst in those days. There was a hunger to heal, to rebuild and mend what was willing to be remade.

I knew my back was okay the day I flew off the lip on Mount Washington in Vancouver Island, and ended up catching my edge on the take-off. I was roasting at the roller and was in mid-rotation when it happened. It sent me about 8 feet in motion until I slammed into the solid groomed snow below. The collision was hard, quick, and I landed straight on my bankroll; sending my jacket up over my chest, and exposing my once-broken-back to the cold snow. I slid another 10 feet at high speeds, upside down, and laughed the whole entire time. I could feel the quickly heating snow all along my lower posterior, but didn't care about the burn...I was riding again, and nothing else mattered anymore. I remembered how I stood at that same base in the opening days of season, and how I gave thanks that I would be able to go snowboarding again. Then, had the same lifestyle show me that things are always going to be fine. Just trust, believe, and enjoy the ride. The freedom it allows, the soft surf on the wave of snow, and the timer is always on for the search. I can only compare it to travelling to a new beach, surfboard in hand, and finding a break so sweet that you ride it everyday that you are there.

Now, here I sit at a computer on the East Coast, coming back to the present day and time. The sun breaks through the clouds, showing promise for the coming night. Blink, and a day passes; open them and another begins. It all comes down to friendship, people, it all comes down to friendship. From there, you grow the confidence to explore and reconstruct your comfort zone, ready to head out and lay your own tracks. For me, it all comes down to this - if you are feeling like selling everything you own, storing the rest, and taking off into the dawn like a bandit in the night...then what are you still doing here? Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it will never dent the soul of the survivor. I mean, forward progression is the link to survival, is it not? It's all good, my man, it's all good.

Hold on McGinty. Hold on.

"Every man ought to be inquisitive through every hour of his great adventure down to the day when he shall no longer cast a shadow in the sun. For if he dies without a question in his heart, what excuse is there for his continuance?
- Frank Moore Colby