We live in a house with creaking floorboards. We lose ourselves between the cracks and crevices. Most days, we float about these halls and thresholds as currents caught in the unforgiving cyclones of spawning fish—our voices broken, weakened, and yet, loud— never making it upstream— only becoming forever trapped, assaulted in, about, and by the falls cascading from lofty ledges like waves stampeding to their deaths.
Often Spirit sits me down for a spell or two to refocus and reunite with all of my scattered pieces. However, after the last few years, I suppose I have finally earned a master’s degree in self-awareness. How do I know I leveled up? I have been sitting myself down. Out of those sit-downs emerged my daily tea break. I have become more and more aware of the fact that I often forsake today in pursuit of a better tomorrow. Silliness when you allow the math to math; after all, the bricks laid today become the foundation of tomorrow. And
Dear Love, You know, I spent a lot of nights stressing over the life I desire to see manifest before my eyes like magic from a witch’s wand. I have felt a time or two that all I was doing was not enough. Yet, I am always doing— and doing a lot of it. And everything I have touched in the name of freedom has transmuted into gold. Sometimes meager amounts of gold here and there, but gold no less, silver here and there, and of course, paper notes, whatnots, debits, credits, and trades of sorts. Nevertheless, all the attempts
“Is it too much?” I asked myself…probably asked Frank too. After all who would have the audacity to slap their whole profile on the cover of their debut self-published book. Well, who was I and I am me. In retrospect to a year ago, you could say it was a bit of vanity— I mean I love that picture. On the other hand, I never want the world to have to search long or hard for the face of the hands that penned those lines of prose and poetry. When I was young, like 13 or 14, back when AOL
Imagine for a moment that you are a spirit being human tasked with a soul journey of consistently freeing and expanding your mind and strengthing and refining your body to manifest expansion. Now, give yourself the grace of knowing you have your lifetime to accomplish the latter but that time goes by in the blink of an eye, and every woman or man’s blinking is measured on a different scale and kept by a different clock. Learn and Grow to Manifest Expansion You have a duty, only to yourself, to grow and expand by mastering your nature and elevating your
Dear Love, Not to long ago, I had an ideal opportunity to teach my own poetry/spoken word class at a local art center. Ironically enough, I have not went through with it, yet… Did I squander a perfect opportunity to expand my horizons or postpone the opportunity for a more suitable time? I ponder over questions like these often. Cycling the Mulberry Bush We live in a time where we rush to achieve this or that daily. We force ourselves to become unfulfilled masters of this skill and that field in an unattainable pursuit of success and happy. Along that
Dear Love, I often find myself or catch a glimpse of my authentic self when I am rambling to my speech-to-text app in my car. In those intimate moments, while my mind and heart are dancing on the tip of my tongue, I stammer upon the necessary incremental notions of who I am becoming and what she and I truly desire. Unfortunately or fortunately, the transcriptions of said candid recordings is barely ever an accurate representation of those actual self-revelational moments. Therefore, the mere thought of editing the ramblings into anything close to a cohesive blog post is offensively and
We always believed we could fly—no one else did. They only saw us getting as far off the ground as their chains allowed them. But an old goose once told us that there was always a way to make the impossible possible, even if it was a long shot on a distant horizon. So we waited. Waited until the clouds churned black one day and lightning struck the sea. We leapt—some would say fell headfirst. No matter, someone or something caught us, both, and fixed our broken wings. My Mother Said Write: Shadow Work Available on Amazon, Kindle, Books-A-Million, and
They will say we sound like the distant rumble of two trains passing in the wake of night—like the scent of sweet magnolia and a snowing dogwood gallivanting through the city streets, dancing just beneath the down-turned noses of street vendors, invading the savory bites being consumed underneath umbrellas outside of old pubs and well-established breweries by the high-class and low-class, the white-collars and blues, and those without likes of either. Others will say we look like two stars—colliding like kaleidoscope images caught in a spiraling hall of mirrors. Yet, it is we who will say that we are nothing