Dreams on Fire

I long to go where I can feel the immensity of the world. Somewhere I can be reminded that as individuals we are insignificant, but to one another we are often invaluable. There’s a special kind of intimacy to it. I need to know that I’m a part of something bigger. That’s where I find solace. Replace these stars with the city lights. Set flight to my dreams. Ignite the sky.

The best things. The things we build up so much. The things we are endlessly passionate about. Those things have the power to enrage and overjoy us. To improve and deploy us. To make and destroy us. I’ve always believed in having dreams so big that the ladder needed to reach them is seemingly never ending. Turn away from the task or climb rung by rung, step by step? The latter is daunting but it’s what I prefer, what I need, what I believe in. Entertain my faith. Faith is all relative. Defined only how you see fit. Faith in people, faith in dreams, faith in a sacred place. The only place I know who I am, who I’m not, and who I’m trying to be. A sanctuary of sorts.

I have much to sort out. Life, none of it and all of it, all at once. Caught in the limbo of anticipation. Constantly on the brink of change. Change everything. Nearly 17 short years. Young, but I’m not that bold. I’m not sold on the status quo. When all is said and done, and the caps have flown, what will be left to show? You can keep your prom queens and quarterback boyfriends. The illusion will be shattered. Will you be cut by the glass? Astonished when you realize none of it was built to last? Get drunk, get laid. Party it up. #YOLO? Hell no. Screaming shut the hell up. Grow up. Grow up. But not a sound escapes these lips. Nothing more than a girl who gave up trying to fit in. How many friends you have means nothing in the end.

I often said just wait, they’ll see. High school isn’t all it’s made out to be. At least not for me. One day after another, deciding who we’re going to be. Actions speaking so much louder than words. Words aren’t appreciated, words are merely heard. The art of listening has been lost. Everyone demanding to stand atop their own soap box with nothing intelligent to say. Go back to bed. You’re drunk, hung over, blazed, dazed. I’m crazed. Make it stop. You live your life and I’ll live mine. Now that’s just fine. My dreams mean too much to me to waste on your immaturities.

 I’ll be gone soon enough. Leaving all I know behind. I find one thing to be unmistakably true. I’ll be leaving all of you. I could lie and say I’m sad to go. But no. Nothing good comes from lies. A strong moral’s demise. I can’t wait for the end, so that I can finally begin. Replace these stars with the city lights. Set flight to my dreams. Ignite the sky. 

8 Feet Tall

Tuesday morning. Burnt coffee, weary eyes, grey people filing by. Nose to the ground, city sounds, monochromatic lives pressing on and on and on like the buzzing fly that just won't repent and die. So many blinded by the routine of today, unconscious of the seconds, minutes, moments passing away. Caught in their own head. Nothing goes unsaid. Life taken at a million miles an hour, but not living at all. Relinquishing the power to the system; nothing more than a shell of a body far from self-discovery. The humming of traffic never dies. The neon lights never lie, stumbling blind towards material enlightenment. Grab a beer to drown out the fear of not being able to recognize the stranger in the mirror. Surround yourself with those who claim to be friends when in the end they're merely necessary for approval, for identity. Vanity masks what you've done and who you're yet to become. Nothing more than the blind leading the blind in this snapshot of time.

Tuesday morning. Burnt coffee, weary eyes, no time for disguise. Eyes to the sky, cloudy but calm. Feet on the ground, foundation is sound. Wind humming by whispering nature's secrets, shaking the green leaves on the trees that far out-date my inhabitance as a human. Nothing is more humbling than feeling Mother Nature inhale and exhale as you converse with the streams and flowers. City buildings tower above and scrape the sky, but no amount of ingenuity will compare to the pure beauty of redwood trees or a warm Rocky Mountain breeze. Sitting alone in a garden seems a silly thing to do, but when you know exactly who you are, the only company you'll ever need is you. And you're never really alone. We are made of stardust, and so is everything else. I am the trees, the trees are me. I'm the bench that I sit on and the paper that holds my thoughts. I'm the fresh water my lips sought and the grass that grows beneath my toes. I look around and there is no separation from what I see and what is me. Tuesday morning and I have one question to pose (here's your cue): I know who is me. Who are you?

Found at a Loss.

I get lost in the way music lives inside your mind when you trap it between two headphones. I get lost in the way the world bows out and falls away piece by piece until nothing remains but your thoughts and the sweet melodies that guide them. I get lost in the beauty of the stillness and the sureness and the silence of a world on mute. I get lost in the overwhelming sense of being and self one gains as expectations and the constantly critical eyes descend with the sun. I get lost in the endless possibilities of wonderings and creations and revelations that take place when the sun sets and the curtain rises on a mind always on display, always pondering away. I get lost in the moments of the past and the great adventures of the tomorrows to come and the endless dimensions of impossible realities. I get lost in the beauty of simplicity and the intricacies of complexity. I get lost in your absence, in your silence, in your sly disappearance. I get lost in the perfect string of words stated ever so confidently at the precise moment of vulnerability, of opportunity. I get lost in two strangers greeting eye to eye and embracing each other with diversities set aside. I get lost in the whispers of the wind and the way the comforting sun feels when gracing bare skin. I get lost in the puzzle and the riddle and the mystery of why. I get lost in the false implications of love and the questioning and the questioning and the questioning of its existence. I get lost in your soul, in your eyes. I get lost in the lies and disguise. I get lost in the making of a moment that is sure to become a memory of the greatest kind. I get lost in the crash of thunder echoing off every towering building in the damp city and in the spark of lightning to remind us that there is light even in the darkest storms and in the grace and elegance of a shower of individual raindrops falling together as a seamless, unified mass. I get lost in the bravery of the trees to constantly undergo such drastic change. I get lost in syllables and punctuation and phonemes. I get lost in the way friends openly embrace one another with incredible amounts of unconditional love that never needs to be stated because it is constantly felt. I get lost in how absolutely spectacular individuality can be. I get lost in the way you lean against your car like you're Senna himself and the world is your racetrack. I get lost in the way the universe appears infinite but no one can be certain. I get lost in how insignificant our lovely emerald planet is. I get lost in the best things in the best ways and I couldn't be more grateful for each moment I spend at a complete and hopeless loss because those moments string together to create a life worth living.

Cognitive Yoga.

Faces hide so much. A lifetime of unsaid words can be declared with a simple look, a simple touch. We build up all these walls, all this thick skin until it exceeds all limits and prohibits honest human interaction; what is seen on the surface is merely a fraction of all someone is. It's such a waste to live like this, so I ask of you to embark on a journey of the mind and leave your body behind. Start by stripping down the fears and the societal tiers of "he's so much better than me." Layer by layer peel away the embedded belief of beauty lies no deeper than what the eye can see. Discard all the stomach and guts because more often than not hunger strives no further than for material things and too much importance is placed on being the strongest and fighting your fight until the fat lady sings. Pull back your guarding ribs one by one until your entire chest has become undone and your beating heart is so vulnerably exposed. Now, I propose, that you let your proudly puffed chest deflate and with it discard all the hot air from cemented layers of hate. Let your legs be heavy, dead and realize all you are running from is merely in your head. Allow your arms to follow because all they reach for are material items that never satisfy the places that are ever-presently hollow. Finally, release your mind from its all too confining skull, and you are left with the most important thing: your soul.

Take a moment in this raw state to contemplate all of this you that makes up the threads of your soul. Does it feel too old? Mine often does, and so I'm told. However, I frequently jolt it back to life with sudden bolts of adventure and beautiful nonsense that comes at the expense of nothing more than feeling young and alive. Daily, I strive to maintain such pure exposure while preserving a calm and collected composure. I suggest you do the same and take note of the connotations that have become associated with your name. Does the fabric of your facade reflect the rips and patches that you can easily detect in all that make up your soul? That's the goal: connectedness through and through. A soul dissonant with a face, just won't do. There is an infinite amount of beauty in the expression of all one really is. Unfortunately, that is exactly what we miss. Vulnerability grants us the capability to deeply connect in the form of honest disclosure. However, people are too afraid of overexposure of the beliefs they hold most dear. Too often people don't realize that almost always someone is wiling to lend an ear. Discard your fear of judgement and strip down to your core. Dare to be more naked than you have ever been before. Unfortunately, in the physical world we can't walk around wearing only our inner most being; we must journey back to our vacant skin, picking up all the things that we lack and allowing this new light in.

Shake awake your legs that no longer run from your past, but embrace your future and stand strongly on a foundation that is built to last. Rub feeling into your arms and extend your fingers towards the hand that needs helping and those that are yelping in distress. Allow them to wrap endlessly around the ones you love and be full of strength to carry those who are barren of hope. Fill your stomach with a never ending hunger to reach your full potential and learn all life has to teach. Restore your bravery and guts for the fights that are a must, but acknowledge the importance of gentleness. Some battles are not won with sharp words, but are brought to victory by a kiss. Inhale deeply and once again inflate your lungs with confidence rather than arrogant pride, for pride can often serve as a painful knife in the side. Now pause. Take a moment to do nothing but listen to the rhythm of your heart. This is life. This is the source of the end and the start. Before you tuck your heart away behind the strong safety of your ribs, recognize that it is always available to be worn on your sleeve, which I believe takes an insurmountable level of courage that an honorary few possess. But your value is no less if you choose to build your ribs up around it. One by one they fit into the often impenetrable wall, that should never be too afraid to fall. Finally, return your mind to the confines of your skull, but always keep it open and understand that it can never be too full of wonderings and knowledge.

Your body has been restored and your mind has soared through space and time to find that all that really matters is your soul. I won't console you with false truths and sweet lies. The most beautiful, the most powerful connections are the ties formed from one person to another when they are both in a form of pure exposure and composure is tossed aside. Sadly, I think such a thing has died over time, but that provides no rhyme or reason not to give it a try. Let your mind, body, and soul fly. Dare to connect with yourself and with others, whether it be acquaintances, friends, or lovers. If it's a bit too much to take, simply remember that souls connected, threaded by the most finite of strings is undoubtedly the most beautiful thing.

Father Time

Time. What a strange concept. It’s entirely manmade for the mere purpose of convenience, yet it dictates everything that we do. It is honest and true but at the same time it can be so cruel. Who does Father Time think he is deciding when we come and go, how long we stay, and what’s left to show? Who is he to ask us to limit the minutes and hours our eyes spend gazing and who is he to keep these painful memories from fading? He owns this planet, these lives. Time becomes so standard that we don’t feel it slipping away, day by day. I’m so afraid I’ll never be able to string together the right words to express all I have to say before Time steals away the final breath before the phrase. And now everyone is lost in a daze, living in the haze of cyclical lifestyles until Time slaps them awake with an earthquake of events. Suddenly the world is shaken, people are mistaken, and so many are left to wonder why they’ve been left with no final goodbye. Turn your eyes up to the sky. Time never tells a lie. His hands are steady and strong but he’s done no wrong. He’s not the one at fault for being unable to come to a halt. The gears never cease to turn and no matter how much we yearn for one more day, for one more moment, it remains stolen and tucked away in the years of yesterday.

Time can be potent and cruel but looking at it from only one side just won’t do. As Time ticks on, skin falls layer by layer to form well-earned laugh lines from happier times. Worn out skin basks in beautiful contrast with eyes full of life, adventure, and wisdom. These wrinkles are not a sign of defeat, but an illustration of all the places you’ve been and all those you’ve been lucky to meet. Those who were claimed by Time himself live on within you. There’s nothing you can do to release them from Time’s strong grip, but don’t let them slip out of your memory, out of your eyes, out of your soul. As you grow old, allow them to age with you. It may prove to be a difficult thing to do, but don’t let that deter you. You have the strength and Father Time will be with you every step of the way. Your hair may turn grey and your energy may slowly fade, but I’m confident that you will go about parading with life and adventure and pure zest until the very end. Time shakes and awakes and takes pieces of people’s hearts and quietly asks you to embark on a journey of trust. It’s not an option, it’s a must. The journey is long, but once it’s completed, your pain will be depleted. Only then will Time begin to heal and make amends for the moments it had to steal.

Time is true. Time is tragic. Time is beautiful. I only hope it treats you kindly and you don’t parade about blindly assuming that it will never spring up from behind the curtain to make certain you never forget about it again. With Time, broken hearts will be amended and new people will be befriended. Memories will be made and young fears will be slayed. Those that have been claimed all too soon, will always occupy the room in heavy hearts until they’ve been lifted once more. Then they will be forever stored in your soul and with you, and Father Time, grow old. May Time be ever on your side and guide you towards the life worth living and may Time do some forgiving.