Under the cold inky sky, the ice crunched beneath my steps and I
trod down your tree-lined length, tall maples, Norway, Sugar, and Red,
hung leafless from the path's edge, shielding the stately old victorians and colonials
from the obscenity of the outside world, the world of faded love and lost commitment,
the world of not being good enough, or being too good? None of this matters, the ice turns to
snow which clings in the hollows and crooks of branches, tall trunks strong against change
and inconsiderate of emotion or need, they bend only to the pages of time, their branches
surly and stubborn, break the brilliant stars into little fragments, and frame the silent corridor
whose only echo is mine. We all die, but only some of us truly live. Maybe I'll die when I'm 30.
Or perhaps I'll outlive these maples. I don't want to know. I just want to live. Because while the asphalt and concrete neath my feat have felt the wrath of frost and sun, time and humility, nature knows no time, no place, only a purpose, to dwell only in the present and forge meaning from whatever is there, now, here. It's 2 in the morning. Warm fuzzy nightlights flicker behind windows and children, dogs, husbands, wives, bums, they all rest and drink from the fountain of tomorrow's possibility. I can never stop walking, traveling, though I am physically bound to this place and moment, already, I know what I will be and who I have become, the ice melts and snow trickles into streams as the dawn warms the earth and suddenly I am high in the mountains, an explorer, a wayward adventurer with no particular destination, cascading down the left coast, the continental divide shimmers as it fades into the horizon, I miss the comfort of the familiar, but no I can never go back, I know too much to ever truly relish the banalities and absurd drudgery of the average, the routine, always something new. Apathy is the silent killer. The ocean appears on the edge of reality now, steadfast, longing, its gravity pulling me, and quite suddenly, I descend and am enveloped by warm, lush air, which turns to water, or is it water that turns to air? Life is liquid, it flows, descends, navigating around sharp corners and cliffs with the ease of something that knows only one reason, one purpose, to achieve equilibrium, to be calm and thus always turbulent, to see everything and be the master of nothing, yet experienced in everything.
~Chewonki~
This word means a place or turning, of change, and memories, they fade like summer,
of autumn's leaves and chill, sun and wind across the water, filled the sails and brought us home, strangers from all walks of life, brought together in the simple camaraderie of working for something, someone greater than yourself. Study the vastness, complexity, and depth of our collective consciousness, our elevated purpose, here at this place. We have so much to be thankful for. Each day, grant us the wisdom to tread lightly on the earth, to speak softly and with conviction, to play without fear, laugh without doubt, Chewonki, a place of turning, yet also of the familiar, the comfort of a landscape unfettered by modern tribulations, bound by the currents of the tide and the sun, wind and rain, old and young. Community need not have a place, but it must have a purpose, so see truth in the vitality and the insignificance of our passing, this place is home, Chewonki.
To Learn more, go to: www.chewonki.org
~Words~
Hate. Funny how that easily that word rolls off our tongues like liquid asphalt in July, it burns, but only under the surface, an afterthought of casual indifference to someones lifelong struggle to laugh, cry, smile, pay bills, and be loved just like you, just like we love to say the American Dream is all about equality; but not for everyone, not for our brave men and women overseas, fighting for humanity but also Foosball players spun by the American greed machine, the wicked spin them like so many plastic figurines, except these few are different, not just a few but many silent voices stifled of ever admitting of simply loving someone, for fear of losing their job, losing respect, isn't love the purest form of respect?
How many times must we be told we are "wrong" and "immoral" before we either give up or are conned into a lie we make ourselves believe? You might think we've come a long way, 21st century life, but there's still no equality, no regret or shame when we casually cast hateful words around like shrapnel in a car bomb, it ricochets off the inside of my mind long after you've forgotten, forgotten I'm not asking for forgiveness, not asking for apologies, just asking for equality, to stand next to you and not in your shadow, so that I might break stereotypes, defy convention, be different but also the same, and no, I don't have an 'agenda', but I do have a problem with social 'conventions' that push me to the edge of my sanity, make me question my existence, my purpose, my mind searching for some inherent disease when I know there is none. How does it feel to have your friends, your family, your closest companions mock a fundamental part of your being with casual indifference? It feels cold. And sad. But sadness can turn all the world's weary inertia into something beautiful, all you have to do is try.
~Seconds~
In the brief seconds it takes to read this, millions of people will go to sleep hungry, wake up weary, go to work underpaid, underfed, overworked, and exploited by strangers a thousand miles away. Seconds we ask for at dinner; what a bubble we live in, a hollow glass sphere surrounded by all the chaos and squalor and beauty of the world, murky depths unseen by our vapid agenda of pop-culture worship and false idol obsession, perhaps we are the wicked ones, not the simple, cyclic forces of time and nature we vilify in a vain attempt to seem righteous, to seem fair. Think when you ask for seconds; we are all human, all drawn by the same hands of fate and need of peace, love, acceptance, and shelter, all bound on the same path of consciousness. Enlightenment is serenity, acceptance of things we cannot and should not change, wisdom to step lightly on the earth, speak softly, to think outside our narrow confines of comfort and understanding, if you can study the vast sea and mountains and find truth, if you can see the purpose and the insignificance of our passing, two sides of a face turned to greet strangers with kindness, the only medicine the world needs. To be content and restless, bold and humble, careful and reckless, embrace this bubble which scales life into humbling perspective, yet question. eveything.
~Misadventure #3~
The Charisma and bold tailored charm
you spun me into another misadventure
that fades under scorched orange sunset,
why do you sketch my soul
into bold streaks of intent ambition?
