This is a story about the beginning of my journey . . .
I knew a woman who as a little girl was afraid to come outside and play. She was afraid of making too much noise or causing too much attention and disturbing an angry drunken father.
She told me how she learned to play quietly at a very young age. She use to play in places like her bedroom closet Continue reading
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Love Poem
And you . . .
The way you walk or smile;
the way you shift your eyes from left to right
and raise an eyebrow to hint the start of an idea.
The way your voice sounds
and the way your hand feels
when it touches mine
The way you breathe when you lay next to me,
and the way your face reacts to sunlight
as if the sun Continue reading
People, Places, and Things
One of the first things they told me is to watch out for people, places, and things. At first, I resisted this idea. Perhaps I resisted most because this was something I wanted to give up least.
People, places, and things referred to more than just my old friends or my old stomping grounds, which is where we did the things we did.
People, places, and things meant that I needed to pick my surroundings carefully. This meant I needed to carefully choose who I spent time with. I needed to be mindful of my behavior because above all, these three things are what easily lead back to the path I was removed from. And had I not been removed from my environment, or had I been given the choice of where to go or who Continue reading
Why I walk in the mornings
It is beautiful this way . . .
The streets I mean—all wet from last night’s rain. The double yellow line that runs down the center of the road seems to glow a little beneath a dull colored morning. The sky is covered in a blanket of light gray clouds. This is the kind of gray that matches a long beard on a puppet I once saw as a young boy.
Although it is summertime and the heat has been as thick and the air is as humid as a wet blanket; I bundle up in cold weather clothes. The weather is muggy and warm but there is a purpose for my heavy clothing.
After an early rise, I put on a t-shirt, a thermal shirt beneath a hooded sweatshirt with another hooded Continue reading
Monday, July 04, 2016
It is early here on my side of the mountain. The sky is a clear blue with only traces of color left behind from the early sunrise. From my view, I can see the sun filter through the tall trees that stand behind Old Wesley Chapel.
This chapel is very much a part of our history. The oldest grave planted in the small cemetery aside the old church that remains standing as it was is dated back to 1803. The Church remains because it is to remind us of our history.
Letters From A Son
I used to tell you about a dream I had about living in a small place up in the woods. I always imagined myself writing in a little studio with the quiet humble comforts of a warmly peaceful surrounding. In my thoughts, I pictured myself in a Continue reading
From The Book Of Firsts
(A prayer written from last night’s campsite)
Dear God,
I have been leaving messages for you over the last few days. I’m not sure if they are going through or if you’ve had time to check them with your schedule being as it is. In order to feel close to you, I took a climb and headed up Dater Mountain between Breakneck Pond and the Continue reading
Life and the Hike
We started the hike just after 7:00am.
Heading a short ways down Haverstraw, we parked the car in a small lot off the side of a quietly unused road at the edge of the woods near Diltzes Lane. This was the start of my fourth true hike and my first true test of endurance. My pack was not light, by any means. With the exception of my tent, sleeping bag, and mattress pad; I carried all that I would need for an overnight stay, which is a plan that will soon unfold.
Marking the starting point, I pulled my water Continue reading
Bizarro Fiction: Lust and Blood
It’s called paranoia. It’s part of social anxiety.
It’s part of lunacy, they say, but I call it life. . .
Delirium slips in under the wire, like a surprise visitor, and it dwells as a voice in your head. Can you hear it?
I know I can.
First, the craziness comes in like a slow and subtle storm. And you start to second guess yourself. You wonder things like, “Is anything really worth it?”
You wonder if it will pay off and when.
“When is my turn,” you wonder, and Continue reading
Real Fiction: A Hard Glimpse of Reality
“I come through shattered pieces of an amazing image
soaked with moisture
lying still
. . .and waiting
I’m waiting for another wave
or another way
to beat the system
and escape symptoms
She dives for me
angry—like the wind when the storm picks up
She dive for me like a hawk towards its prey
and sweeps me away Continue reading
The Written Addiction 