Archive for the ‘ Inspiration ’ Category

Everest, of sorts.

I lean in my doorway, staring out into the inky blackness of the night. I can feel the doorframe pulsing against my shoulder, as though the beats of my heart were somehow shaking the very foundations of the earth.

The thoughts running through my mind incoherent, a texture of slight madness. A confusion of my senses.

I wonder at the complexity of the human heart, at the physiologic response imparted by a feeling. A growing tremor in my balance, equilibrium a distant and disquieting memory.

I find myself many times wondering. What is my subconscious trying to tell me at this time, this place? I question everything, it’s my natural reaction to nearly every external stimulus. I can be very much an extrovert, but deep inside I am still that same shy little boy, the same unobtrusive teen that grew into the man that I am today.

In my quieter and most honest moments I can admit that I am still that timid youngster, wrapped in layers of extreme accomplishments and a bravado bordering on outright arrogance. I have pushed myself to love the most extreme of life experiences – to leap without looking, to fall with no fear of dying…but the emotional leaps are the hardest, to look through those tattered holes in my heart, through the filmy wisps of my soul and still have so much hope.

I was cold for a very long time, much of my adulthood has been spent bucket-listing the most death-defying, insane sports I could apply myself to. But it has always been to allow myself to love unconditionally – without thought or reason – that is my everest.

I always think in terms of the visual, when I say my everest I mean exactly that:

The air crisp and cold, hard packed snow crunching under my boots. Whenever I take my eyes off of those desert tan boots I can see that there are vertical miles ahead of me. There are no Sherpas on this trek, the only carrier for my baggage is my back. The trail is steep and slippery. Crevasses dot the landscape, some seen, most hidden under seemingly solid snow. You can never know when you will fall, nor how far, or hard.

Some falls break pieces of you, pieces that are put back in but will never fully heal or fit together properly. They leave seams and scars, in places the glue wears ever thinner. Some are no more than scrapes and bruises. Every fall weighs down your pack, it gets heavier with every step you take along the path. The lonely trail grows only more arduous and treacherous as you ascend. Occasionally someone will walk with you for a bit, shouldering some of your burden as you shoulder some of theirs. Strange, how you’re carrying the same amount of weight but it seems so much lighter while you have someone to walk with.

Your companion almost invariably leaves to take their own path up the mountain. Some leave with kind words and an exchange of gifts, you keep a piece of each other forever locked away. Others flee in the dead of night, taking from you things that you will never get back and won’t discover until the morning reveals their footprints leading away – away down a trail you cannot, will not, follow.

You climb ever higher, the air is thinning, it gets harder to breathe, to go on, to place one foot in front of the other. It grows ever harder to believe that the path is right one, that you’re not lost and walking in circles.

Sometimes you stop at a base camp, restock and revitalize. Taking deep breaths to remind yourself why you must continue on. Even though your path stretches behind you for months, years, decades, you still have not summited.

You walk on, ever alone, never revealing everything to the single-serving friends that emerge from and re-merge with the darkness siding your trail.

And then you meet someone on that winding trail, someone that carries a torch, someone who somehow rekindles your own. And you wonder how you ever felt alive before that moment.

I wonder.

You marvel at the fresh snowfall, obscuring all of the other prints, the light banishing the shadows and you cannot fathom the how or the why, you are unable to articulate the fear-joy that tells you a crevasse is coming and that you’re in no way prepared for it. There is no explaining it, you just feel; fingers and toes thawed, the wind no longer ice-cold.

The fear sets in, the joy takes hold and the peak looms just above, beckoning. Drop the bag and leap it seems to say, could you but reach forth your hand.

Charmageddon

…and the crowded room receded back, the music and laughter; stilted conversations droning down into a low babble. She looked down and said, “I know I said I don’t feel things like normal people do, but I really like you and I’m afraid I’m going to break your heart, or that you will break mine.” And my heart stopped, my breath caught in my throat and my mind roared down every path I could see sprouting forth from that moment and all I could say was, “Then let’s make it worth it.”

Swoosh

I can feel something stirring, deep inside of me.

Something I no longer thought I was capable of. Something that I had, in my infinite naïveté, believed was dead.

I cannot explain it, I suppose that these things just happen. I think it has been buried in my subconscious for months now. Waiting like a whisper, just beyond the edge of hearing. A low, throaty hum, buzzing in the back of my thoughts.

It waits for its moment. A moment that you’re never quite prepared for. And then it springs; roaring into your mind like a hurricane of thought and feeling. An inrushing surge of…wow. It is a flood and I am swept up in its wake.

Excitement, trepidation – neither word is quite adequate.

My eyes open, I can see the filmy tendrils of my breath in winter wind flowing forth; physical manifestations of that which is now flowing through my veins.

I wonder, at moments like these, what sort of plan is behind my personal universe. What it is that I am supposed to garner from these flashes of clarity.

I also think that I think too much.

Just do it. That’s what it says on the side of my running shoes.

Swoosh.

Ad gladium

In the world of the gladiator, a man’s fame and glory construct their own truth.

I’m still wrapping my mind around that one. I get it, it’s actually quite easily divested of meaning. It’s the logic behind the statement that I’m examining. The idea that rumor and gossip become the truth of a man, simply because his name is on everyone’s lips. That a man’s real self becomes lost in the translation.

It makes the statement become one of immense sadness.

Ah, well. Such are the thoughts that consume my Sunday while I should be editing.

Ever upward

Never lower your gaze from the heavens, aim for those stars that populate the sky; cast your own brilliance back at them.

Shine, with a brightness built of purpose and find the greatness that rests inside each and every one of us.

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Keep your head up, unbroken and unbowed.

Un

I cannot quite describe how I am feeling at this exact moment.

I do know this, someone needs to change my iTunes password.

Seriously. Impulse buys are filling my purchased playlist.

I’m on my favorite top-step perch, it seems to be where I do most of my ruminating these days.

And of course as I am now never without my iPhone and all of the apps and music it holds; my thought processes are tied to the wonders contained within its circuitry.

I think I need to unplug, un-think, unaware myself to the world.

Yes, I know I used unaware improperly there. I’m a writer. But I enjoy verbing words.

I feel almost lost. Not in the geographical sense, but somewhere inside I seem to have lost something. Something indistinct and half-tangible. Yet somehow something so very real.

I honestly don’t know what I’m trying to say.

The non, the fiction.

Life isn’t perfect. We aren’t perfect, but the perfect thing about life is that you get to choose who is perfect for you.

We get to choose who we let into our our weird, private little lives. We can choose who gets to see the barest possible soul inside the layers of armor and pretense that we are forced to wear daily by our imperfect world.

Truth superseded by the image, what we want others to believe to be true superimposed over the reality of ourselves.

So elusive, the real.