Mining for Gold

 

Photo by Bill McDavid

 

I know at times it feels dark and bleak

to encounter the news –

or another day, or life.

I know when you feel uncertain

it’s the best case scenario,

as the more common alternatives are

fear and anger

and hopelessness.

I know that sometimes you wonder

how things could possibly get any worse;

and then they do

and you feel broken

all over again.

________

I also know that raging beauty

and unbounded goodness

and decency exist –

not only out right for all to see

but buried like treasure in the hearts of men,

all men.

So please, dear ones,

take my hand,

and let us become miners

in search of it.

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Winter to Spring

As winter acquiesces to springtime in the mountains,

light peals back the darkness of morning

earlier and earlier,

and stays later and later

each day.

Like a dinner party invitee,

The Light is akin to that dude who

awkwardly and unexpectedly arrives

way ahead of the appointed time of the soiree.

And later,

after all the food is gone and the dishes are put away,

and the roar of the fire is down to its flickering embers,

The Light is that last lingering guest,

begging the host to question:

What the heck is this guy still doing here?

All In

1.

I’m the sorta writer who’s comfortable being a one trick pony; able only to write about my own life and how I live it. I’m not a poet or a comedian but I weave words like spring blooms flowers and I find my own self hilarious on a regular and ongoing basis.

I’m a writer in the same way the seasons come calling and winter is the longest, here in the mountains of the west.

I’m a writer like I’m a Montanan, not native born but chosen – and savored as though any day might be my last. And there’s a good chance I’m a writer in the same way I’m a comic: not at all and only to myself.

I’m a writer who likes to think that one day the book I wrote will be in book form, with a cover and binding and acknowledgements no one reads.

I’m the sorta writer whose heart will be the last thing that gives up – and it’ll take a tank to take me out.

2.

I’m someone whose called to step it up in the being-a-decent-human department. I’m someone who’d much rather be seen as kind than cool. I’m someone not looking to put on airs or parade around pretending to be something I’m not – but you should know that who I am authentically is a standup dude and I have my house in good working order. So if I intimidate you or you think I appear too good to be for real, that’s your baggage not mine.

I’m someone who works hard each and every day to show up well for my fellow global inhabitants. I’m committed to a life lived with a heart open choked and full throttle and high moral standards I’m not willing to compromise on.

I’m someone who holds in high regard such things as virtues and ethics when it comes to modes of conduct and behavior. I’m someone who doesn’t think it’s dope to joke about dysfunction or how someone spends most of their time drunk or high or in a state of perpetual teenagerhood.

I’m someone for whom life is an action verb and I’m someone who is all in.

 

One Day Soon

Pic taken of Mike and I the day before he left for Deer Park Monastery for a 3-month retreat stay

 

One day soon, the other side of the bed will be occupied by him once again, and I will no longer have to utilize the services of my heating blanket to keep warm at night.

At certain times over the past 3-months, I’ve used this solo time to imagine what a life led in his permanent absence would be like; as though he were gone for good and not only for a short stint. I’ve pondered how I would manage and carry on without him. I’ve gotten a tiny glimpse as to why a widow might keep herself in mourning for a lifetime.

When you’ve married your heart to another full throttle – after weaving your lives together for a spell – there is no such thing as time spent without their energetic impression accompanying you.

Mind you, I can hold my own. I’m steady on my own two aching feet and can joy it up with the best of em, all on my own accord. But I want to keep doing all of that with him close at hand.

One day soon, I’ll shift positions in the middle of the night and in place of the open sea, he’ll be there to catch me – and it will be the utmost of grand occasions.

Sunday Morning Reflections

Self-created meme with a verse I wrote this morning

Sunday morning reflections, penned this morning:

So much unfolds on its own accord, without cause for input or advice. We could pitch a fit and throw it in the direction of so many a thing, but it would be akin to trying to flood the world with a garden hose. Absurd.

How much time is wasted on matters we have no sway over? How much hardship is generated by shirking responsibility over that which is entirely in our own hands and of our own making? On both counts, the answer is: a lot.

The combined daily total of world births and deaths a lot; the amount of times I’ve apologized in my 39 years a lot; the number of stars in the sky a lot.

Remember, a bird has cause to sing and a flower to unfurl each on their own time. If we were to attempt to take over the sun’s job as conductor, the world would be flung to the wolves for rapid devouring.
______

My morning writings bear the brush strokes of my current influences. And since right now I am reading Mary Oliver, the grace of birds and flowers are finding their way onto the page.

And this simple exchange gives me ripe pause.

We often think of children as sponges and adults as stubborn, who become more set in their ways as they age. Yet, are we not just as susceptible to input?

Yes.

The answer emphatically is yes.

______

 

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Living a Non-Fiction Life

My morning’s scene of enjoyment, equipped with a Yoga Joe in meditation pose

 

What is this never-ending thirst we have to live a fictional life?

Are we so misaligned with the cosmos that such an existential crisis is in order?

Are the splendors of whatever landscape we find ourselves surrounded by not enough? And if the answer is no, why not?

Perhaps instead of manicuring and primping our bubble of comfort, we would be better served to hone the art of developing ease in varied environments.

Our communication skills are practically non-existent, in regards to: our self, others, the trees, the birds, the wind, the water.

If we’ve not yet come to terms with how intertwined our mind and body are, what chance do we have for absorbing the message the moon is sending, in its waning ascent over the mountains? How will we come to know what a fallow field of wheat is expressing or what wisdom teachings pulsate on the currents breath of the ocean?

We must learn to lean and settle into mundane landscapes, and bridge our mind and body together with aid of breath.

When we sit in perfect accord with our self, in the graces of our current locale, living a non-fiction life becomes a great deal more than all we need.

 

 

Kinds of Love

There are some people I only love from afar.

The way one might revel in a painting in a museum

while standing across the room.

There are others I love like

dipping in close to smell a wild rose.

Absorbing it full throttle

but only for a short burst of time.

There are some I love like movie theater popcorn:

ravenously but only once in a great while.

And then there are those I love like music and tea,

drinking them in as often as I can.