If You.

      I f   yo u 
r e a l ly,  r ea l ly,  rea l l y    t  r  u s t  
y our   h e ar t   a n d  y o ur   co n sci en c e 
a nd   s to p   l is t en in g    t o   e v e ry on e     
 y o u 'l l   be   h a p p y. . . 
and you will know you're on the right road.

Descriptions

If I leave my front door open in the evenings, and the screen door shut, I can subtly observe all the surroundings from here to there, outside my house, on my corner, in my neighborhood. It's that rare part of the year when the weather allows this. Otherwise you'd have to turn your air conditioner off, if you're not wealthy. There's a ball game going on across seventh street. I can smell coffee from the shop on the corner. I can smell carne aside cooking. I can hear my neighbor sanding wood in his backyard. Kids yelling. Coaches chanting. People clapping and cheering. Cars zooming by down seventh. Aircraft backdraft in the air. Squelching disc brakes. I can smell laundry. Boxed powdered laundry detergent. Cut grass. A faint draft of curry. Dogs barking. Hoses shooting. Voices walking. Shoes scrapping. Car doors closing and opening. Laughing. The smell of cut wood. The sound of my dogs nails running across a hardwood floor. Kitty cats meowing. 

Honesty = Travel

I love honesty. That pure gut wrenching vulnerable position we're all faced with from time to time to look at ourselves and make a stance, be it small or big. Or that pure unfiltered brandish that can't be denied. Give'n it all  up to fate. Honesty: No trees, no bushes, no fence. You just know. No or yes. After 34+ years, I can't whack away at some distracting bush in the vineyard when the path is already cleared for me in one direction. My heart is weird, yet true. Complicated, yet true. "The only one for me is me," God tells me... "Until the time for you has come."

I've traveled the earth and one thing remains the same in any culture: respect.

I've been guilty of disrespecting a few cultures by accident but, only while in America. Nothing major, just minor miscommunications because of traditions or culture I wasn't familiar with. Most people understand at least the effort. The ones that didn't, passed by with their own indifference to my culture. But I discovered long long ago, somewhere in Belgium, that cultural differences were only surface level, and sincere humanity always flowed, given the patient chance. 

That's one thing I love about touring the world. Meeting new people that share the same old spirit you do, and almost magically we are connecting the dots to the present moment.

The Effects.

Sometimes it makes me feel nostalgic
whimsical, flirtatious, sad, inquisitive, or
kinda extra sweet near bedtime...
I have a couple cocktails,
I think about the good times, and
only the best of times in life, I feel sugary
For that smile, that laugh, that warmth
of arms, or the long, long depths
that our eyes meet at,
never acknowledging that depth
then or there, or ever unfortunately
It makes me laugh at all the aches
that keep us affected
the effects that bring me back
to where I am, here
lucky, just to know who
I am.

Romans 12

A Living Sacrifice

Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. 2 Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

The Sunset Boat

When a man is broken, he is not whole. It is this void he searches to fill. Like a bucket of water with a hole, it keeps losing its fill.
Not fit for a companion, not fit to be a leader. Not bound to a certainty, not even bound at all.

     There once was a man who set off to sail his boat into the sunset, leaving everything behind, but looking back smiling and waving. When the horizon disappeared, he noticed he was alone. His boat suddenly seemed so small in the vast ocean, as he looked at his hands on the helm. The water was so wide and far and seemed never to end. And when the sun sunk down, the night was dark and cold. It was those times when he heard the depths of the unknown beneath him. He could feel his mortal vessel afloat. He could sense the things greater than himself. He could find his reason for leaving less and less. And that night time darkness slowly washed him further away.
     In the morning, the light of day seemed to refill his dreams, waking him up to possibilities each day to move further ahead into the unknown waters. Something about the morning's fresh breeze, whispered to him that he can keep going, keep churning the wake behind him. Sometimes even the wind in the day time was so strong it lashed his boat around, tempting to crack the hull, but the light of the sun equipped him with the energy to navigate the waves and maintain his strength. When the calm finally came, he was worn out and couldn't enjoy it. He would only fall asleep in the wheelhouse.
     The sunsets in the west were his only reunion with his reason why he left in the first place. There were so many brilliant colors in a sunset, something must be at the end. 

#1

     I'm addicted to many things. I have to admit it to myself now. There is no escape until you see the light. I need more strength than I have ever needed before. Traveling had some answers. I understood where I was from a long way away.
    As I press the buttons to make these words sentences, it is this addiction I have to being on my phone that torments me, and hurts my eyes and wastes my time.
At least, right now, I'm writing.
     

Father's Day

My Dad...

A man of few words
But well understood
A strong hand
But a gentle understanding
A man who reaches goals
And sets up more along the way
A great listener
With wisdom happily ready
A tireless worker
With youthful energy to succeed
A great charm
With a smile that can melt hearts
A genius mind
With a humble heart
An efficient tasker
Who leaves no time for waste
A seasoned sailor
With skills to navigate the sea and land.
A born leader
Who's example breeds pride in his followers
An experienced life coach
Who's advice can breath life into the down-hearted
A constant steady provider
Who has never left his loved ones hungry
A funny joyous drinker
Who's alcohol only brings out the childlike giddy
Humor and deep love in his humble heart
A stoic and highly intelligent being
Whether in decisions, money, family, or matters of the heart
A careful wordsmith
Who's words and writing is portrayed in the utmost thoughtful concern
A fun, adventurous seeker
Who greets life and danger with a blessed joy
A part time teacher, chef, farmer, builder, gardener,
Accountant, deacon, singer, sailor, captain, counselor,
Volunteer, fisherman, traveler, coordinator, engineer,
Inventor, creator..
And a Full time father and friend.


I love you Pop.
-your Son.

Life is a jet plane, it moves too fast. 

Marijuana

Mental incapacity over a period of time.

Paint.

 I write about a river,

                         
                     or a tree by the water


                                           the view of the sky    


                                  or a day gone by


 I write about a bridge


                                         or a concrete valley


           
                                                             a rich cultured land        

   
                                  or a wide empty field


 I write about a canyon

   

                            or a storm on the rise

 
                       
                                                               a border line crossing



                                                    or a tale of true loss


I write about the wind


                              or how it blows

                   
                                                       a gust off the ocean


                      or a whisper in your ear



             
 I write about your song

             

                                                 or the ache in my memory


                                                     

                                  I write about the paint in the scenery

Pastabilities

Io sono scrive canzone per te,
dove sei?

Ala Italia? I no?

1.

In the middle of a room;
   bright natural light glowing
white curtains hang over a worn oak floor
sparse furniture in shades of brown
wood and leather nothing modern.

He sits straight up on his couch
cross legged and silent
this ache of nothing
is sitting within
his body like a stone
He prays with all his muscles
his hands are abused
his head has always to be cleared.
when his breath has opened
water flows through his bones
light bursts out of his eyes
his dance is like fire works

In the middle of a room;
 in a house on a corner
some man is living alone
with a dog.

Wanna know what the devil has been doing to the thoughts of mankind all this time?

 He tricks the ones who love themselves to think that they're going to heaven, and

he tricks the ones who love God to think that they're going to hell.

the pine.



  

   












Eighty-three year old eyes 

haunted eyes 

by sight of old things 

tired fingers, worn hands, foggy mirrors and her garden gloves. 

the door creaks on one hinge, it whines   

it opens slow and he sees again 

the pine 

his frail teeth clamp together and his lips tremble 

the pine 

trembles of a reminding wind 

the way the tabacco fields only grew with her 

her by her farmers side 

helping at harvest time 

but time haunts his eyes 

and time chills his spine 

and he can't turn away 

his eyes from the pine.

"The truth ends every conversation."


   - Jerry Seinfeld 

be here now

I'm sitting on a couch in my living room listening to a song that i was listening to last year at this very moment. i remember it. the day the time the hour the minute where i was where i went where i am, i was here.

The Stepkids change my mind about new music.

The Stepkids! Finally I found a new band that is changing my mind again!!

They got that soul my brother Luke has been looking for.

Funny video too!

Always with a cup o' coffee, not! My bladder is shot! My gall is exploding! My stomach is congealed! Always with a cup o' coffee, not! Not one pot! Not one cup! No americano, espresso, three or four shot 'a brazilian nut!  

1 5  d a y s,

    N O  C O F F E E .

Phx life is good. Work is all I feel like I'm doing. I feel like I'm beginning to remember life out on the fringes again, but how different it is from this. It's the other half of my heart. I can't help it. But I'm thankful for every day I'm given and I'm feeling the clear light more consistently. Regardless of where I'm @:)