Hiking in the huachucas

Huachuca. Sounds kind of like: Waa-Choo-ka. You’re welcome. I have been hiking & backpacking lately in southern Arizona on the Arizona National Scenic Trail. I do it as a form of therapy and enforced quietude. It’s often so silent, so beautiful, and so rugged, that I get swept up in emotion unexpectedly. Here are some… Continue reading Hiking in the huachucas

The Gift

“Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving. It doesn’t matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times. Come, yet again, come, come.” Jelaluddin Rumi Yes, the world hurts, but there is power in those hands of yours. Yes, the world hurts,… Continue reading The Gift

Should I quit my job?

This post is from my latest newsletter. As I’m working on my book (round 2), I have begun to focus my efforts and my writing over at Prolificate.com. I still plan to post here now and then, but this site is reserved for whimsy, random musings, and other inanity. Meanwhile, I hope you’ll head on… Continue reading Should I quit my job?

This post is an installment in my 30 day writing project called “This moment” – where I put pen to paper and write whatever comes to mind starting with the statement This Moment… If you want to know more, this post explains a little more what I’m up to.

This moment.

This moment I am thinking of you, friend. How our friendship is like a dance. The way you dance with me. Unsure of each other, yet kind and knowing it so we continue to walk trusting that each will step when it’s time to step, stand when it is time to stand and sway when it’s time to sway. Friends are like Ansel Adams cacti on the landscape. All around with arms stretched wide so to catch me when I fall, but not without their thorns. Precious few at times, but they let me give voice to the scary bits, never judging, always knowing they’re there. The warmth of their presence reminds me that all is well with creation, with the universe. I honor the arms and I love them for their thorns that make be bleed.

And what is this universe, if not a web of friendships? Relationships at least, but who is the judge of a relationship and its name? I say, I am friend to that mosquito who just took my blood so that she may walk her path as I must mine. The tree that shades my Florida house in the relentless July sun? She is my friend. The Sun is my friend too, I need her, but have been hiding when she comes to call. Too much, I say. Overbearing. Oppressive her friendship. I’ll need her again though, so I take her call though it pains me.

The man who hurts me – is he friend too? I think yes, though I feel the thorns more than the arms. What about tougher stuff? Fire? Rapists? Can we be friends? Space that is vacuum and inhospitable to me would blow me apart. Is it my friend too? What is my relationship with all of this?

I think that I am here in this form to learn something, to accomplish something. I am in this body so that I may have arms to catch someone else falling. Who shall I lift up? Myself? “Charity starts at home,” the saying goes, but my elbows are wrong for that. These arms are made to hold another, not their owner. Is there a god? If so, would She be so cruel or so loving as to create us with arms that only bend to hug another? I can touch and pat my own back, but it isn’t the same. A dance with you, my friend, always feels right.

I’ve stepped on toes as I’ve danced, I’ve stood and sweated and smelled and made bad conversation while life’s music played. My cactus arms are thorny as any. I’ve been clumsy dance partner to many. Here I am though–Black tuxedo, navy blue socks, pilled white shirt and a smile – ready to dance with you. Will you dance with me? It may be our last chance, though I may see you again as a cactus. Will you remember me then? Ansel did.

The strong, silent type

Fathers. You are enough. Your mind is full of your shortcomings, might-have-beens, and obligations. But you are enough. You spend lifetimes quietly punishing yourselves for what you should have done better. You think no one notices. Look in the eyes of your sons and daughters, THAT is unconditional love. We admire you. We know what… Continue reading The strong, silent type

Categorized as Essays

Notes from rehab – day 4

This is part of a series I’m writing while in a self-imposed digital detox program. I’ve struggled with attention span, and lack of direction (or rather too many directions at once). These are my actual journal entries. Observations from digital rehab: day 4 My thoughts have returned to me. I didn’t realize they were gone… Continue reading Notes from rehab – day 4

Categorized as Essays

Notes from rehab – day 3

This is the 2nd installment in my series about my struggle to regain control over my addiction to technology. Digital Detox: Day 3 I’m writing this in the early morning. Last night was rough. I can’t believe this is affecting my sleep this way. I’ve been irritable for the past several days. Snapping at everyone.… Continue reading Notes from rehab – day 3

Categorized as Essays

Save yourselves!

I remember when we used to have warm, balmy nights like the one in this picture above.  Back then, we had so much. Disclaimer: This is a silly post, written amidst a very long, gray, and unusually cold winter. I admit, the weather has put me in a bad place (read: overly dramatized, a bit hopeless,… Continue reading Save yourselves!

Categorized as Essays