A perfect moment

Oh life. Sometimes it gives us perfect moments.  Sometimes they only last a minute, or the length of a song, and sometimes when we’re especially lucky, they may last an entire day.  

One of these said perfect moments began yesterday over a couple of brews, good music and best of all, good company.  I had just finished a long week of work and working out, which right now is requiring a little more of my attention and focus than it normally would.  It’s mentally draining going through an intense period of personal voluntary changes.  But to be able to sit down and interact with an old friend and pass the night away with laughs and chats and music, it’s soul-healing and life-invigorating.  One of my favorite parts of the night was sitting outside under the stars, sipping a glass of exquisite beer, staring at the reflection of the flickering flames in the crystal blue colored gems, and listening to the sound of guitar strings.  Story telling at it’s best, full of rich, colorful, experiences shared with another being.  And finally, being surprised when the colors start to tint the now early morning sky.   With the rising of the sun, my moment starts to fade away.  But not before a latte, a visit to the chicken coop and a sun-ripened strawberry picked from the garden.  Instead of feeling sad that it’s over, I’ll just be happy it happened. It will be my moment to remember whenever I like.  Thank you, Life.  

The Valley of Antigua

I woke this morning to a sun-filled world and so I rose.  To cope with what seems like mountainous responsibilities each day presents in our modern metropolis, I begin it with the simple task of brewing a cup of coffee for myself and my sister. 

I roll out of bed, slip into my white fleecy robe (to make the idea of leaving my warm cocoon a bit easier) and pad down the hallway to the kitchen, each step accompanied with crackles and pops, protests from my stiff joints.  I fetch the bright red kettle from it’s place on the stove, fill it with water, turn on the heat, and wait for it to boil. 

This morning I’m trying a new bean from the Valley of Antigua in Guatemala.  While I wait for the water to bubble, I grind my new earthy beans. They look dark and full of flavor as I pour them into the beige coffee filter.  The kettle whistles and I begin the brew.  The next five minutes are filled with slow drips and pours from the kettle. I watch the water surrounding the ground beans, seeping in, and listen to the happy drops of caffeine making their way out the other end. 

When it’s finished, the coffee has a dark chile aroma, mixed with whiffs of cocoa and lemon flavors. I set to splashing some soymilk and a bit of fructose in, swirling around my early morning indulgence, enjoying the little clinks the small metal spoon makes against the cafe’ Caspartina cup.  

Back in my room, I sit down in a patch of early morning sun, watching the delicate whisps of steam evaporate gracefully in the air around me. I smile, happy to have this small moment to myself and wonder who I should thank. Someone surely. So I thank an unknown maker, a coffee god perhaps. 

As I sip my hot brew, I imagine myself in the Antigua Valley, surrounded by beautiful blue mountains, rich earth, a sea of green cultivation, the air filled with the smell of citrus.  The sun is just descending into the valley’s low parts, wakening the cafe’ farmers who slip into their boots and denims, grab their hats and canteens and join the birds in their song, walking down the dirt road, greeting one another on their way to the plantations.  It’s quite picturesque and I wonder if it is as I have imagined. I suddenly wish badly that I was there to see for myself, there to take part in the organic life. 

The sound of a door opening jolts me back to my own room, full of simple luxuries and comforts, nothing but my half-drunk cafe’ to remind me of my Antigua day dream. ahh, sigh….the day begins. 

fabled help

I began to think that I could not go on without help in this world. 

But, the more I wondered if there was someone to help, the more I became sure that there wasn’t. 

And the sillier people became who said there was. 

And so, the world became cruel. 

I drew myself up into my isolated tower and we rose, rose higher than the heads of estranged friends, higher than the trees, even higher than the holy sky scrapers, until we reached the clouds. 

When I looked down, out of my iron fortress, I found no beauty left in the world, but instead the gnashing of teeth, and the evaporation of souls.  

Where then, does that leave me? 

Motto

Alice: “This is impossible.” 

Hatter: “Only if you believe it is.”

Alice: “Sometimes I believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

Hatter:” THAT is an excellent practice.  However, just at the moment, you really might want to focus on the Jabberwocky.”

Alice in Wonderland (Tim Burton) 

Undeserved Kindness

Give me cool mists, grey skies. Give me some clouds to cover my wounded heart, or is it perhaps my pride? Let me hide away from all the friendly faces, the out-reaching arms, bearing gifts of undeserved kindness. Grant me, although unwarranted, solace from this wretched scheme of punishment.  Maker, What am I to learn from it? I, wicked and unvirtueous, I, who fail again and again in the simple endeavors of human goodness, I, who knowingly welcome kind deeds without genuine gratitude or even a gesture of reciprocity. I am the receiver of all that is good in this world. Acts of the most tender and gentle kindness, oh, how they leave deep impressions on my soul. What will you have me do? It’s as if my body, so full of sin, burns at the very touch with things of virtue.  

Alas, my shroud of mist has come.  

nocturnal escape

I lay quiet

The velvet night all around me

layered with noises

a train sounds its horn miles away

the hum from the nearby freeway

the crickets and the birds start in with their melodious symphonies

a dog’s bark punctuates the air

bushes rustle from the nocturne serenade of my little furry maestros 

cool air sweeps across my face 

 the night is filled with sound waves; it is one of my favorite comforts. 

I feel as if I can make time stand still…or at least move it slower…

But then my thoughts drift back to my room, where I’m held captive 

by the antiquated clock ticking on my blue wall

it exhilarates my heart

speeding me forward to meet the responsibilities of the day. 

and there it is, the bubbling brew of anxiety, filling up my cavity

incapacitating.  

If I sit here any longer I might just bubble over…

so…I start.  

Kept at Tron Bay

Where can I go in the world to be happy? 

a life in a quaint italian village, foggy london town, the congo’s of Africa, the forests of Oregon, even an island that has yet to be charted. 

An escape into the digital world perhaps?

No matter where I go, there will always be pressure. 

pressure pressing down on me, pressure of all the things in this world, light, happiness. Darkness, sadness, knowledge and ignorance. 

humanity, imperfect humanity chasing after perfection. 

forced to accept the loss of one thing to gain another

arms crossed in front of me, holding back this pressure

one day I will have enough strength to not only keep everything digital and physical at bay, but the strength to push back. 

push back and watch as a brilliant light explodes, sending all misunderstandings away, destroying every evil deterrent, blasting back my insecurities and fears. 

Now, re-integrated with my true soul, I’ll exist in this space, emanating lightful zen, peaceful solace, truth and justice will be my friends. 

one day, I’ll charter the unknown grid.