That Being Said

Some people are pure light
When they fall, it's not into a pit
When they anger, there is not hate in it

Some people are pure light
You will never catch them in a lie
Or feel anything but love coming from inside

Some people are pure light
So bright they're untouchable
So pure it's unquestionable

Some people are pure light
Their simplicity is humbling
Their beauty is stumbling

Some people are pure light
Without a stitch of wickedness
Without a thread of darkness

Some people are pure light.

May I remain in light.

I keep learning that I'm learning. That I take up what I should put down.
That sometimes helping is hurting. That words can be so valuable, yet so misunderstood.
That the closer I get to someone, the further away I want to be from them.
That I may be dreaming of a sweeter past, or I may not be remembering the bitter taste of it.
But which is it? I keep learning that I'm learning. And for that, I feel unfulfilled and grey.
God has been the only thing sets me straight again with everything, with everyone.
Practicing the life of cleanliness and holiness keeps my tangling thoughts at bay.
I have to exclude people from my life in order to follow this path.
Yet the hurtle of leaving them aside is most often too great for my compassion.
Though, it is long overdue; darkness and dwelling just doesn't interest me anymore.
Yet, I have taken up a roll that once again has proved to point me towards darkness.
Sometimes helping is hurting. Sometimes, I just shouldn't help. Sometimes, I feel like I'm being lied to, manipulated, or belittled... Darkness. All of it. Whether it's true or not. Darkness.
Some say, "You can only help so much", "You can't live like that forever", "Haven't you been through this before?" "You care too much." "Your concern is misunderstood."
Whatever is the right way to say it, something about all of it rings true.
"You can lead a horse to the water...."
You can lead a person from darkness to light, but it's only a desire for the light that can keep them from the darkness. Who they follow through the dark is not the source of the light.
May God grant them peace.
I've grown too impatient to be entertained by darkness anymore.
Yet, I am challenged to take grey areas and separate them into either black or white, (dark or light) and then, present a choice.
I have often chosen wrong myself. I have been lured in by the mysterious dark, thinking I could illuminate it away. And most very often I have only been trapped in by it.
When I finally crawl out to my senses again, I'm presented that choice again. And again, and again, even with all my failing, I choose the light.
But I've grown tired of this choosing.
God,
May I remain in light?

In the event of my passing.

In the event of my passing
may the Lord carry me on
For I will be done with all my roaming
having never found my home

In the event of my passing
know that I learned my song
For every day was a melody waiting
that I heard but sang it wrong

In the event of my passing
look underneath the floor
For each day I built the future
I buried the past a little more

In the event of my passing
open every box
For some things stay hidden
that should never have been lost

In the event of my passing
may God find me whole
For I have never felt so empty
as when my body turns away from my soul

In the event of my passing
may my loved ones all have peace
For they knew somewhere inside
that I should be released

In the event of my passing
let the words of God resign me
For even after every puff of smoke
I always waited on His timing

Now What?

Something that is very eye/heart opening to me about getting better after a life of depression, is realizing you don't know how to handle a lot of consistent joy in your life. This is my experience. I often develop thoughts like, "man, this day is so damn beautiful, and you haven't screwed it up, and you've done so much already today, people are smiling, God is with you, you're fulfilled...now what?"

Memory

    A couple days ago, I had a lot to say. I had connected the dots and filled in the gaps. My mind was telling me something. My heart was making sense of my journey. I was laying in bed looking up at the ceiling, not trying to sleep, not looking at a screen of any sort. Just had time to lay down and do nothing. I laid on the bed for a while realizing...things.  Then I went into the bathroom. Sat there a while. Thinking about writing again; I had so much good sense to put down on paper, so much to say.  After the bathroom, I must have started doing something else...because I don't remember anything I was thinking.
    As I'm only remembering that I had "something" to say, yet not the context, all I can think is, perhaps the point is, write it all down exactly when you're being compelled to do so from within.
I regret not doing that.
    Sometimes I wonder if losing your memory is a blessing. Usually, I think its a curse. If you're a better person in general, a more stable person, a happier person more often, who's not controlled by emotions anymore, who doesn't feel the pain of confusion and doubt so prevailing in my heart and mind anymore, a more confident person, isn't that a blessing?
    Or have I transformed into a man with a selfish heart?
    I am not free of responsibility in who I am today, but God did the real work. I did the dysfunctional  parts.  However, God has made me very aware of each path that I should and shouldn't go, and each one I get stuck down. More and more, as long as I'm staying close, he strengthens me to overcome self-inflicted burdens I've carried my whole life. I mean, I have no choice in my faith. The truth happens to you. You can't unbelieve an obvious presence of God in your life very easily. So with this strength, there go I. I'd call that a blessing many fold.
    

    A l l   m y   l e t t e r s   h a v e    t u r n e d    i n t o    p r a y e r s

       A l l     m y     p o e m s     a r e     b r e a t h     i n  t h e     a i r

            M a y     a l l      m y      w o r d s    n o t      d e s p a i r  

Audrey

I met Audrey Hepburn on a bicycle once
I knew right away, she was not ordinary.

Opposite of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind =
Eternal Shadows of the Regrettable Heart.

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?