With the snow fall: waxing thoughts

Morning time, the snow falling - thoughts about skiing in powder, and then what I might do instead. The clock ripens, demonstrates that it is time to wake up the little man - my lady friend's son, Kaiden. He needs to be at school in an hour and I am the oldest one responsible between now and the walk to school. Toast, cold cereal and tea - two cups for me, please - a quick, whirlwind tour of some Beatles songs whilst ingesting, Lego play on the dinner (breakfast in this case) table, and a spinning tornado of a quick wardrobe change leaves K-dawg and I out on the driveway, top-of-the-foot deep in fresh powder. Looking up,  I see the butte, proud and pointy, its rock outcroppings dusted with snow, basking in the morning glow - one of its corner systems on the south eastern face slicing the difference between illumination and darkness. What if the rest of the world looks like this?, I think to myself.

What if everyone had the opportunity to wake up to fresh snow in the winter, a mountainous landscape surrounding; heck, what if they even were fortunate to wake up to a warm house, running water and flushing toilets, cereal in the cupboard and milk in the fridge. What kind of world would we be living in if this kind of access to the basics was parallel across many different boundaries and cultures? How would this impact my understanding of the positivity that I am privileged to experience 9 times out of 10 in any given day? And, how does this place, call it currently a winter wonderland, feed me?

Questions, ponderings, circular thoughts with two dimensional answers - the dualities: heat/cold, love/hate, life/death...

Kaiden and I follow separate, yet intertwining bike paths, running parallel to one another along the length of the sidewalk. He remarks about walking upon all of the bike tracks as two more trails, evidence of someone else's recent movements, join the fray. I think aloud, half addressing him, half addressing myself - my questions about this place, and what the rest of the world may be like - settling on the expression I've heard and said many times: it's all relative.

Relative, proportionate, corresponding; near, with respect to, connected. Tracing the outline of these synonyms in my mind, I associate thoughts in my head, with a general, overwhelming theme of privilege, and gratefulness for the former. Wow. Perhaps, that is where I'll depart this thought - at this point, this juncture in the tracks.

I am thankful for this current expression of love and living; for snowy walks down sidewalks with young minds, caring and aware souls, and this place we call home. Thank you!

Alan

Reverie's Dialogue: sitting by the river

Before sitting down to type, I sat by the river, taking it all in: the sun cresting the ridge above town and as the rays warmed the ground and river bank around me, I noticed a subtle breeze moving about in the green grasses yellowing with winter's movement into the Animas Valley. I saw the plants regain some of the vitality that the cold night may have sapped; I witnessed the sun's reflection in the ripple of the river; the relative silence of my conscious thoughts, and the subsequent foresight of my insecurities, future-tense, displaying on the walls of my mind. 

Sitting long, longer in silence the lay of the ground in front of my seated form seems to fold closer, no longer does the river feel further away; I am nearing its edge - the roll of the water on its course. A course that has carved our natural landscapes for hundreds of thousands of years, uniformly and unmolested by industrial creep and human desire. The progression unfolding, meeting resistive objects with a general sense of nonviolence and nonchalance in most given moments of time. 

How is it, then, that when nature's destructive coercion roars its necessary head, altering en-mass any and all objects in its path, that we feel obliged, necessitated by a sense of status-norm, to return our presumptions of the natural environment and society's boon to what they were before, pre-ruination? Is it fear that holds us in patterns of the known? 

I notice my tendency to judge, to predict - as to unconsciously prepare a reaction - should such things occur, future-tense. I then consider how, through peer feedback and introspection, my energy, my truth is less for the deception of my judgments and more for living in the moment and observing the dialogue that precludes an open and sound right to entertain living love-forward first. 

I recognize through contemplation that sometimes I wish, in a subconscious space bubbling forth into higher cognition, to heavily influence what I'd like to see happen. I wonder where this comes from? Was it born or bred into my behaviors? Was it something I've studied and perfected in order to get what I selfishly desire? I tip my hat to acknowledge thoughts about my Ego's conveyance of desire, surely it knows what it wants to the point of confusing, distracting and belittling other higher thoughts of sense and cognition. And what of intuition's loving encouragement, parceled out between and sometimes just under the louder volume of created thought? Where does it fit into this wish to heavy-hand the outcome before me? 

And what of the heart?

The rhythm disturbing the air near my ears courses through my body - like an electric current in rapid transport - mirrored in the tap of my feet on the floor. I regard this movement as energy and recognize this other part of me; the body. Within this resides a highly complex and coordinated system of movement and structure, input and output, and energy - always transferring amongst the tiniest of imperceptible molecules; for we cannot create nor destroy - only use what is there, existing in the universe. 

Brings me back to the heart, the universe, energy; all of these 3 inter-relying on one another. The complexities of it all. With heart lending truth to our concepts of ourselves and others and the world around us, the universe providing the opportunities, and energy serving as the direct link between my heart and yours, and our universe. Prosperity and achievement - call it an evolution of love over Ego and selfishness - resulting. 

Though, does it not bode best when we are responsible for our energies, dualistic or multiplistic? Our actions or inactions? Our desire to change, to judge, to feel powerful and demonstrative within ourselves and around others? 

A blue heron flying over head disturbs my thoughts. I blink once, twice, noticing that some cars move on the far bank of the river. Had I not noticed them, nor their sound, before?  Readjusting in my seated position, I look side to side, up into the clouds of sky above stretching and appreciate the beauty around me and within the shared thoughts of consciousness. Sitting down finally to type, to share, to paint upon the canvas that is expression of life and living. 

Alan 

Autumn Reflections

The morning snow falls, down from the sky, the clouds overhead, lightly landing on the grasses green and leaves yellow. It is October 1st and already a snowy landscape is being painted here in the interior mountains of Colorado. I, in the bliss of season's change, am entering an introspectively reflective space. With the snow comes some biological change, germinating from inside out.

The sun peeks out of the clouds every now and again in the early morning sky, smiling as it does todos los dias somewhere, always. At and adjacent table, in the coffee shop where I write, a couple in their late 50s attempts conversation, while a beautiful young lady passes, nabbing my attention for a quick second in one passing swoop. Easily distracted and similarly reminded, I focus on writing. Somehow, the couple reminds me of the delicate balance and compromise that is required for a long-term relationship to thrive. Observing the man's body language with no ear for what is being said, I percieve his disinterest in his wife's conversational pieces. That, or I am projecting how I, in some manner or another, have been in those shoes - either directly, or through seeing my own father and mother interact, and the lack of complete interest and engagement. A swift feeling of sadness wells up inside, enough for me to notice its internal uttering.

Jimi's guitar and words, synchronized with his heart and soul, play in my ears and dance on my heart...

it's only a dream, I'd love to tell somebody about this dream: the sky was filled with a thousand stars, while the sun kissed the mountains blue, and eleven moons played across the rainbows above me and you... 

This stomach of mine grumbles, not enough fuel of solidity has entered this morning. Choosing coffee over tea this morning, plus a singular banana, has not been enough to quell the internal hunger riot forming in my innards. My hands are cold, though not nearly as chilled as they were the night before as I sat beside my bed in the van - bearing the cold evening air, not yet filled with snow particulate, to finish a book - The Celestine Prophecy. Powerful were its messages, the most prominent for me was about control dramas - ways we manipulated for energy, attention, since we were children, and how these dramas still remain consciously true in our adult lives. Again, I think of the man and woman couple, his aloof drama combined with her poor me drama; they both desired energy, attention, and in the complexity of their shared lives, they may have forgotten how to tap into the universal love that is all around us. Instead, when narrowly focused, we attempt to subtly control others for their energy, so that we can be filled again.

I notice how, while listening to Jimi play and sing, that I feel filled - energized by the beauty that he shared with the world and I wonder how else in my day I will tap into universality. I love this feeling, that life is a huge mural, with real consequences, interactions and experiences, upon which we paint our mutual existences. I pray that this never changes.

Thinking of my own morality, reminded by the chill of seasons changing, I grasp how I'll go about making the most of this visit to Earth that I am blessed with - living love forward. That sounds a solid approach plan.

The sun warms the ground through the clouds and those upon it. The mountains, too, warm the heart with their illustrious grandeur, all dusted in white. Thank you for this perspective; for continually loving!

In the spirit of change that autumn reflections bring,
Alan

I flirt with the edge between fulfillment and failure, teetering on it - feeling the figurative wind blow up from one side of the precipice and down the other - wondering what it would be like. Something gives and there I am in free-fall...

...space drops away, thoughts float, feelings, too. Nothing physically is recognizable for this thrives on in another realm, a spiritual one. Things surface, not from below but from within; stuff, experiences, memories that have been sitting with and on my heart and mind, laying in wait for sense to accompany outward. Intuitive indications of how to proceed, feeling grounded in its guidance.

This is how it feels as I land today, this morning. Waking up to the blessing of rain dancing and drumming on the roof top of the van, and lots of it - accompanied by the winds of Autumnal change that blow the rusting leaves right off their tender tetherings - I am not sensing how to feel or what to think, rather, experiencing it all as it comes. Bit by bit, smiling in a space of contentedness for what is given, for what I am blessed with, and for the care I experienced and continue to feel around me. Grateful am I, too, for what is is I already have!

I imagine another; the landings of thoughts and feelings - of self with just self; the challenge, the reward, the journey forward.

As Janis Joplin plays the rain continues to pour, my inner processing flows outward in the form of abstract wording; I am what I make of myself. Perhaps this is healing in motion...coming back into a loving space, shedding self-limiting notions that rob us of personal power, power for love in our moments, some past, many future, and only one current, here and now.

Thank you for your continual support; for your love and care.

Alan

Wisdom in the Wilds

"With great responsibility comes great power..."

So it has been said, and in the same vein, does it hold true that, with great wisdom comes great responsibility?

In the last few weeks, more so the recent week, I've been diving into myself - into the things that make me me. Exploring the emotional energy I've been carrying since who knows when. "Stuff" I've had since I was a child, since adolescence, and especially things from who I acted as when I was in my early 20s. I am glad and grateful to have the space in my life to take this literal time-out in my day or week, to be absorbed in my "stuff," and thus have friends and strangers to open-up and share with. To relate to others as having a similar experience, with the unique nuances that come with each individual's life path, inherent challenges and journeys, etc.

I've found the beauty in these mountains of the interior Rockies to be expansive, larger-than-life reminders of the positivity evocable in this world. Of the amount of love that is out there, tugging at our consciousness to be acknowledged, admired, and interred. For when I leave those vast spaces, those spaces where complex processes are going-on with simple components, I am filled with joy and a love that encourages me to face the challenges of the other parts of the world quite unlike those in the wilds, and to experience myself reacting and responding to the stimuli and triggers around me. Being objective about fear, and not consumed by its subjective distraction.

I am grateful for this duality, just like sitting in the cool shade looking at the sunny warmth a mere foot away, and perceiving then experiencing how the shift from one extreme to the other changes the way I think and feel - much like the wilds to society.

It is my hope that more people experience this, and in such a way that societal things fall away as they travel up and into the mountains - or wild places that intrigue and fill them with awe and wonder. Leave the camera, the car, and certainly the phone - as I have come to understand, we are already exactly suited for this adventure; all we truly need is the essentials and a conscious thought to go without our habitual comforts for a short, satisfying smidgen of time.

This is my hope.

Love to you in your days, in your minutes of free time, and to the seconds that permit us a chance to be blissed and blessed in the moment at hand, mind, and heart that may never come again.

Accepting and loving that thought,
Alan

A month in speed; a mind in space

The way in which the world flies by, I in it - enveloped by its surrounding. The speed of summer, its heat in July, our reluctance in accepting its upcoming end in August, the tell-tale chill of Fall in September.

Knowing this, what would you change now? What would I change?

Not a thing.


The pull of the mind, distracted by alternative motivations - perhaps preservation of self? - tugging us aside, off-track. The lull of the open space, its sweet intoxication - registering first as the absence of sound in the ears, travelling further inside, down the spiral, to land in a warm place of heart.

The beauty of everything, and nothing all together, intermixed, enriched naturally, and perfectly palatable.

Thank you for this.

Perch of the Wallflower

The buzz is stimulating, perhaps too much so. Their characteristics a smorgousboard of much and many - worth thousands of words combined; long minutes to the individual.

The scene is lively, bursting with energy - perhaps the buzz has them, too? A lady waters flowers, a small girl plays the sad card to her mother; older women chat their gossip about what intrigues their taste for drama as the older man group – regulars at the morning's weekday frenzy – disbands and goes about their day.

Outside, men discuss over plans of the physical sort, referring to different things with their hand gestures. With the onset of June comes a shift, perceivable and recognizable. Do you feel it?

A pregnant woman walks in – nothing unusual and yet there is a kinder regard for her, as if she holds something important.

Like a typical buzz, artificially induced or not, there reaches a point when you level-off and mellow-in. This is where the vibe is. The ladies pour on, leaning in to listen intently to what the others are saying – conveying real interest. The older man group, in a surprising shift of tides, grows instead of dwindling. When one leaves, the lazy Susan keeps rotating to reveal a new face to the group. Bikes with people on them come and go, as do dogs on leashes – some with their mouths tied close to prevent biting or chiding.

A blonde Jackie O comes in the door – complete with the lacy trimmed dress and stylistic Jackie O sunglasses. And on and on...this buzz will continue to climb and level, eventually reaching a climax for most, though the inevitable burst of late bloomers will hit at their premeditated rise to the top within the hours of the day they see fit. Perhaps this is getting on with what it all is: the freedom to choose.

Just maybe, possibly, this is the most intoxicating – even more than the buzz we imbibe, swallow, inhale, inject, snort, gurgle, lick, suckle, apply etc. And, do we know this?

Do the individual sums in the total understand their gravity in the mathematical arithmetic? Their butter in the cake batter, chip in the bingo game, or teeth in the cogged machine?

Do I even understand? I, the man alongside the outside boundary, reasonably comfortable in my perch; soaking up the refracted rays to photosynthesize these words – the words of a wallflower amidst the daises, dosies, floozies, flimbos, and snuffleupaguses. Of all shapes, though mostly white, like I. And perhaps that drives the nail home into the wood: this is a racially sterile environment, a greenhouse in which one can flourish – day after day.

Fortunately, when I was created, I was not confined to be bound to the pot of existence, yet exited the womb of life to walk upon legs. As I'm doing as soon as I finish this sentence.

See you in the sun,

Alan

Spinning

May 31st, go to bed - say a prayer to a higher power, thanking them for your life, your physical and mental capacities - your friends, your van, your family, and the fact that you do not have to work day after day to eat and live.

June 1st, wake up, appreciate something else...

Sit in the seat at the coffee shop, looking out through eyes of privilege at all that surrounds. Take in the morning sky, the beautifully bright blue of Colorado summer. Greet a friend and appreciate their smile, the care they show in the moment, despite the schedule of their day. Sip your tea, type on your keyboard - seek a deep breath, feel it fill your lungs, hold it...a bit more...let it out.

How do you feel?


The last 20 hours have felt like I've been floating. I perceive my body to be grounded, and yet my mind floats - attached through pendulous threads to what is below. Look down, then up quickly and see the world spin in mild disillusionment.

I cannot quite pinpoint the onset, the beginning of this spin-y floating. While belaying my dear friend Luke up a climb at Lemon Lake yesterday, I must have strained or hyper extended my neck whilst looking up at him and now mild vertigo is present when I turn too quickly in any direction. It feels as if my body responds to bring me back into balance, and that my head, my mind, instead, is caught in a spin - not quite in real time with what is going on for the rest of me.

This is what I perceive; maybe it is really part of the plan. And, I am grateful still. I feel trusting that this is part of what I am to experience - the unknown, the unknowing. To experience another lens in which to perceive the world, and in my perceptions foster patience for what is unfolding, minus judgement of myself and certainly others.

The wind it does blow: a gentle breath upon - the trees, us, every and any that will receive and acknowledge it. It feels true, I am motivated to write when I feel I have experienced the bug of gratefulness. And the what ifs: what if my life was continually like this - mild, peripheral spins when I turn too quickly, a sense of disillusionment from what I am, was used to. Then, I think I would feel thankful still for what I have: feet that walk underneath and with me, a mind that thinks and processes, and a heart the loves and beats within a rhythm of life's own flow.

June 1st, go to bed, ...


Thank you again and again. I love you and appreciate your care in my life.

Alan

Intiution, oh how I greet thee

Led to the spot, not by his own thought, but alas a voice, an utter, a whispering;
Trusting in space, without great haste, he enters the coincidental moment;
With Spring in the air, the love of life's share, he smiles, he appreciates the calling. 

 What can be said that already has not? Much to process, a bit at a time - no rush on this - boy, I feel grateful.

Spacey are his thoughts, in and amongst his grand jaunts - from mountains to plains and beyond.

There is, for me, this invisibly tangible string that pulls me along. No rail or line that I must follow, yet a free medium in which I can flow - any way, side-to-side, up and back. Indeed, grateful be thy name!

Fortuitous are my experiences when I am privileged to not work and instead roam a path I have put intentional thought into wandering. The people I meet, the reconnection with ones I know; all is in this grand suggestion of life and living less in an overarching plan of control and contrivance and more in the unknown!

Thank you for this, oh Life and its Creators. I, too, am indebted with a running tab being paid in moments of opportunities, here and today.

Alan

How to Make Love Stay...

"When the mystery of the connection goes, love goes. It's that simple. This suggests that it isn't love that is so important to us but the mystery itself. The love connection may be merely a device to put us in contact with the mystery, and we long for love to last so that the ecstasy of being near the mystery will last. It is contrary to the nature of mystery to stand still. Yet it's always there, somewhere, a world on the other side of the mirror, a promise in the next pair of eyes that smile at us. We glimpse it when we stand still.

The romance of new love, the romance of solitude, the romance of objecthood, the romance of ancient pyramids and distant stars are means of making contact with the mystery. When it comes to perpetuating it, however, I got no advice. But I can and will remind you of two of the most important facts I know: 

1.) Everything is part of it.
2.) It's never too late to have a happy childhood."

-Tom Robbins, Still Life with Woodpecker

Pearly's been true

Thoughts in the windows of time flashing,
Sitting, standing - however it may be,
The middle of the room not quite middle enough

Creep to the edge of dreams,
A finger in a mouth - picking about,
Tapping time away - looking down

Sunlight peeks through the curtain of clouds,
Steam trails rising - cups of warm mediums,
Dust collects the friends of neglect on all we are

Music plays - ripples of sound in time,
Hearing, heard, hardly,
Stands to hold the contents of our lives

Thoughts - again the loving lassoing of the fleeting,
Bodies coalescing - reminders of flesh's mortality living upon us,
Harmonizing lines blending the energies of two or more

These things I do see,
See these things do I,
Eyes do not - and the heart will.

bliss In blossom

I feel compelled to write today, this morning. Those that know me see a non-serious side in my daily doings. Those that read, perhaps this blog, get a sense of a serious side, spiritually evolving in its discourse.

As I eased into a content space post-breakfast at a local cafe favorite of mine, I was drawn to the television. On it the Olympics were unfolding. Generally I am avoidant of overtly sensational on-goings, and yet the way the figure skating pair moved spoke passion to me, my perceiving and curious consciousness. I was transfixed. There could have been a fire in the corner of the cafe and I would have looked, shrugged indifferently, and returned to the flowering plant of passion on display.

The way he moved and she followed, begging a transition to her lead and his following. Their bodies, speaking words only partially explainable in terms of written English, coalescing over and past one another - mirroring a beautiful process in blossoming flow. The enraptured look on their faces as they completed a series of complex, rehearsed movements, the euphoria it conveyed - temporarily invulnerable - appearing to be in a state of shared bliss.

Bliss, that undying fervor in singular pursuit of that which entices. The way it follows, cascading down the hill, skidding to stand erect and confidant upon the doorstep of opportunity: mind tucked and heart open. Risk, a non-thought easily set-aside for the juncture that could ensue. This is me, to a degree, and you as well? Are we all not driven by some sort of passion? Some put-your-thumb-on-it-and-know-it-to-be-true situation we would gladly throw ourselves into.

I pause, remarking at these statements, the facts I say are true for me. I am a passionate person, yes. And, while I have an easy-going nature going-on with my general demeanor, I am deeply driven to explore the caverns of a shared vein of rapture with a woman. Trusting that they will meet in parallel ways and in the resulting explosion of colorless sights, liberated emotions and bliss, that all will be right despite the world's propensity to implode around us.

Perhaps this is what blinds me to the energy I give, often expecting nothing in return, knowing that I have been given to, and thus I can give, give and give again to feel still full and content. Though, where is the line, the burst in the pipes, the breach in the dike? And, how shall I negotiate it?

A habitual line-crosser, I feel I have a large expanse of comfort for being out there.

"He lives in a van down by the river." Kevin, the security guy at the hotel attached to the building I work in, says. He enjoys announcing to bystanders that I live in a van, which is subsequently close to the river, yes, though not quite by it per say. Alas, the zeal and thirst for what life contains, explored through the medium of a movable, metal rectangle on wheels, this is what I crave.

It feels like I could explode some days, with joy, with a fucking awesome feeling of love for the opportunity that I have. Sitting here, I realize I wake up each morning and that I'm am so fucking fortunate to be alive again! Sure, we control a portion of our lives, and then, there is this undetermined, trusted part that is. Intuition speaks, and I'm learning to trust as my listening and understanding to the wisdom being shared in whispers under my conscious thought evolves.

Last night, as I was rushing to change after work, mentally tick-tocking the timer of performance's measurement, I noticed a subtle, guided assurance that I would have time, despite the clock - human's feeble tracking of the mundane. Caught-up in my fury, my tornado of faux Ego-derived expectations, I finished my wardrobe adjustment and was on a quick jog down the hall to catch the shuttle bus down the mountain only to find it hadn't arrived yet. I heard and I didn't fully trust.

Such is the unfolding joy of another night, another day of living. I sit here, supposing I'll never be short of opportunities to marvel at the magnificent proportion of life that I can and never will control. So much is out of my fathoming - what a relief! Thank you for this bliss.

Your love continues, day after day - despite me, my faults, my erroneous lenses - and through your love I am learning.

Thank you again,
Alan

Losing a Sole: overtones of hard to easy

One never seems to imagine the day they may lose their sole; nor how they would react. So too, was this experience for me.

The wall facing me each day before I commute to work looked slightly different today. A heavy dosage of continuous snowy weather inundated the area I call home for winter, netting some 2 feet or more of accumulation in 48 hours - sending connoisseurs of the powdery stuff scrambling for an opportunity with Mother Nature. Perhaps that is why the 3 miles of bike path between my van home and work was not plowed; that, or the pressing needs of the township were not primarily concerned with secondary recreation trails.

Nonetheless, when one sees a figurative wall, their mettle either dictates an impulsive retreat or an intuitive idea to move up and over, around, or through the wall. There exists a quote to this effect that my mother used to have taped up to the cupboard in the kitchen, and I never imagined how it would inspire me later in life.

A bike ride was out, the snow far too deep; why not ski to work? A simple, adventurous idea. Yet, a solution to moving past the wall I was faced with. Driving to work was just too easy. I have lived long enough with myself, knowing that I find a certain pleasure in submitting myself to challenging situations. The overtones of this ring true to my relationships - how I push them, straining the other and myself , as to see how they can stretch, grow, and still have an unparalleled strength. A loving bond that stands tall like a robust tree, mindfully swaying and not breaking in a strong wind.

The late 80s model of Rossignol cross country skis, skinny and long, on my booted feet wait my input. A gift from my brother-in-law, this is the first season I have used them - thus, the manner in which they will function, and for how long they will for the distance I intend to go, is a gamble with the faceless unknown. These things, though, do not cross my consciousness; it is only through reflection that I realize the extent to which I trust blindly in the great power watching over - or is it also just a general trust in life?

Two days prior, leisure was the course of my afternoon. Despite the general lack of sleep from late nights with a kindred soul, I was fully feeling stoked on another day of blessed life. The idea of walking through the snow to a friend's house and back to do laundry and hang out seemed foolish. Out came the skis from the rocketbox atop the van, on the boots went - purple in their throwback memories to the scene of 1980s cross country ski touring. Off I went, gliding, rekindling knowledge of the technique necessary. My legs and arms feeling strong as they created momentum; my mind clear and excited about playing in the snow; my spirit soaring. All seems literally forward moving, until my sole gives away.

"Oh man. OK ... I can figure this out."

The certain wall of tomorrow's time faces me. I am tripping into the future, and now I am without sole. What will I do?

Again, that blind trust in life. That, what will happen, will happen! I intended to ski to work the next day, and now my boot sole is completely beyond repair. Seeking and succeeding to not create self-limiting thoughts, I register nothing on the topic. To take the harder road and be in the present moment, occupied with a conscious silence that comes easier with patience and practice.

Intuition speaks, I listen. That guide that insinuates and accentuates loving and accepting moments of uncertainty. Leaving me to know rather than create, I hear and preview my options ahead: tomorrow, I will look at the local thrift store across the street, and if not there then the gear store next door. Somehow, something will work out! Thrift store to gear store and back, I settle on the cross country ski boots one size too small - figuring to make best with what I am blessed to accept.

New sole intact, I surmount the wall of today's challenge. Registering a grateful, conscious presence within me for how things just work out.

The day passes, and with the few hours remaining before sleep - that blissfully unconscious communication with the infinite - I take the time to type, pulling down fleeting thoughts that carry a resounding overtone of gratefulness for great-full moments in life.

Thank you, once again today, for your love.

Alan

Be Wild, Be Impromptu

Some days it appears, to the astute viewpoint of a dear friend, that I live my life in a reversing fashion: settling the whimsical desires of youth at an earlier age of life. Trading establishment and the desire, that many adults achieve through the hoops and hurdles in life, to be "settled and stable," relinquishing adventurous offerings of the midlife crisis to just that, a midlife point.

In remarks about her father, a dear friend shared with me that he was wishing he did this or that differently when he was younger - feeling regretful in his age. I understand that hindsight is seen as 20/20; or, as I like to say, 50/50: fifty percent of one or fifty percent of the other. Often, as we see through the lens of age and maturity, we wished we would have seen clearer, chosen the other fifty percent of possibilities; traded our cards for those cards, instead.

With this type of thinking, what does it do for us? And, how do we go about feeling empowered in our current course? How, then, are we thus removed from our current stasis, and ability to act in stability?

I feel trusting, perhaps honest, about the future. My hair cut is not going to change; I don't imagine buying some piece of property in the islands somewhere (unless it is really as good as it sounds), nor do I see myself jumping on the brakes and yanking the wheel to try and reverse the course my life is taking.

I say, what is, is!

Spontaneity, something I revel in. With roots tied in loving friendships and seasonal jobs, I always seem to have an avenue of escape if needed. Dualistically choosing a fitting fifty percent over the other. Perhaps this gets at our primal roots as humans - always keeping a safety valve in sight or mind.

Ever wonder why you prefer to sit with your back towards the wall and your eyes on the entrances? Why you find yourself distrusting, and feeling anxious, in a new situation you know to be safe? Chances are favorable that you are experiencing some primal upheaval within. Connecting with an innate survival mechanism that was born, not bred, into you - regardless of your conscious mind.

It is something I have been drawn to explore more of: why I choose a parking spot for the van in a quiet corner; the bike ride home from work, sans headlamp, on a cold, starry night; the flirtatious and not committing association I have with stuff I own; and, the lifestyle I desire to live, placing me in the wilds more than the tamed existence of everyday human this, human that.

This to me feels like the nutshell in life that I trace with curious fingers - sometimes day after day. I am not waiting for some magical unseen point where my boiling point has been reached and I scream out, like the tea kettle upon hot stove, lashing and leaping from one end of the spectrum to the other for sake of expression. I desire to express now, here! Each day of living, loving and breathing!

I acknowledge deep roots with something. Often times my familial roots give me the brazen feeling to branch out, knowing that I have a loving support system to catch me, should I fall from the tree tops. And, even though the pile of leaves looks enticing to fall into, I would rather acknowledge its potential padding, than need feel it. Perhaps this is how I judge myself, how I assess where I am, and where I am headed.

A roller coaster ride to some who know me, a thrilling ride worth the admission ticket to others. And, to sit here and read how I seem to flow, I reach a point of perspective, witnessing how my life is easy for me - because I am mostly with just me - and challenging for another in my themed life of undulations.

And then, I channel into something - her - this drawing creature that paws at my heart, pulls at my physical form to return to; a saturated and steeped-in something, continually mysterious existence, that I cannot deny; the underlying, fundamental love of mine that feeds my branching out: the wild Wilds.

And for this, I am grateful.

-Alan

"Life Marches On"

Listen Here:
 

In the country
The farms and the orchards swell
With oranges and peaches
A little bit of truth as well

In the city
Politicians beat their drum
All the suits come a runnin'
It's all degeneration

Life Marches On
Life Marches On
Life Marches On

In the country
Everybody thinks we're dumb
But we built the fire
Why'd you come and get you some?

In the city, skyscrapers touch the sky
What's the use in being so high up
When it's only gonna bleed you dry?

Life Marches On
Life Marches On
Life Marches On

In the country
The stars shine brighter
Than in the city
In the country
In the country

In the city
I turn on the radio
Only leaves me down with the question:
What happened to our generation?

Life Marches On
Life Marches On
Life Marches On
Oh yeah, yeah
Life Marches On
Oh yeah
Life Marches On
Life Marches On
Life Marches On

Warm tea in Winter's time

The escaping vapor of heat from the tea cup sitting upon the table swirls into the warmed inside air of the cafe. I recognize this familiar pattern of vapor's levity upward, seen in the chilly air of winter. Laying in the back of the van this morning, captivated and content in my prone form, smothered in a warm down sleeping bag, observant of the twirling vapor trail issuing from my mouth - existing in a space of being, just being.

An hour later, I feel in the midst of this space still, with no definable future boundaries, only a beginning point to the space; perhaps another marker in the sand, so-to-speak. Call this an epoch and I would not argue with you. Call it a session with trail and error and I would feel fully supportive of that notion.


A month-long relationship is now over. Not seeming to find a middle ground, from which I was willing to compromise with, I chose to walk away. Inevitably, all things end. This is nothing unusual to admit, though, do I take comfort in this thought of endings?

The snow of winter's time falls outside, light in its dusty dance downward. Fueled by a slight wind from the Northwest, I admit privilege of being inside and out of the van, my winter home, for this space of time before an afternoon work shift. With this freedom, I feel content - something I know to be easy for me - when I am with just myself. At my mother's remarks last evening on the phone, I recognize the sentiment I take in being with myself - a comfort I've watched develop conversely with age. And, I acknowledge how that can shift - though, am I too particular to shift when the situation seems right?

I often listen to music when writing, finding comfort in the out-pour of what is my current mental reality. Whilst composing today, Rain Song, by Led Zeppelin came onto my music player. The last set of lyrics holds me, pulls me into a world of thought:


These are the seasons of emotion and like the winds they rise and fall;
This is the wonder of devotion - I see the torch we all must hold.
This is the mystery of the quotient - Upon us all a little rain must fall.

Perhaps into a world of cerebral comfort. And, I will not fight it. For, from inside this comfort, I have only to expand out -  and out again - into the world I live in. Smiling and greeting it by its appearance to my heart: a grateful and overflowing cup of privilege! Just like the cup of tea, steaming and welcoming with warmth from the cold. 

For this, I continually feel thankful; I have everything I truly need, and realize the details of desire yet to be worked out, future-tense. 

Thank you for your love and vested interest in my life - again and again.

Alan