Soudtrack to Life

Recently, I've been thinking how great it would be to have a personal soundtrack. It would be so freeing knowing what to expect in the next few moments from the tenor of the music in the background. You would know not to open a certain door from the ominous music that would begin to play, you would always know if you were about to have a romantic moment from the way the music would begin to swell. Your anticipation would be greater, your poignant moments more touching, your happiness infused with a spritely tune. Oh, to have a soundtrack...........

The Spark of Life

There is a reason they call it the spark of life. Passion ignites. Creativity burns like a fever. Focus and dedication are a steady flame. It all comes down to heat and when that heat extinguishes, life begins to end.

For me, failure was what doused my flame in the harsh waters of reality. In one instant, I'd failed everyone I'd ever met. I would not be remembered. My fate was sealed with my anonymity. Listless, withdrawn, morose, depressed. All these could describe me back then, but those words could not begin to touch the melancholy, the frozen netherworld, that had become my existence. There is no life without fire and my embers were almost out.

Eternity would have been more bearable. Then one day life began, very slowly at first, to become warm again. Heat began to creep into my bones in an ever persistent pace. I began to feel color again. A steady, warming glow began to make itself in my chest again. I began to smile again.

I found my passion, my quest, my mark to make on the world.

Waiting

The clock ticks steadily onward. A never ending heartbeat that seems to drag every moment forward with its constant rhythm. Waiting is the hardest part. Seconds bleed into minutes, minutes into hours.

There is a stillness to waiting. She thinks that may be the hardest part. The personal silence that engulfs her in this busy, crowded space. She begins to rock back and forth in time to her breathes. Forward. Back. Forward. Back. She is starting to get strange looks from the faceless souls around her.

She doesn't care. She just wants the waiting to end. She is waiting for the waiting to end. She tries to distract herself. She thinks of the best scenarios. The ones where she is healthy and happy. She thinks of his smile as he turns to look at her; the calm sunrise on what she almost had; the comfort of someone's arms wrapped tightly around her.

It doesn't help. She is not distracted enough to no longer see the minute hand make is ponderous way around the large metal clock across from her. She is starting to get frantic with the need to make it all stop.

The door opens. Her waiting is over.

Love Is

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..." by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with a passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

While generally not a fan of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, I do love this poem. It takes one of man's most prized emotions and weaves it into the fabric of life. I've often heard the expression "I love you but I'm not in love with you" and it seems to me that people who say things like that have completely missed the the point. Love is not just an emotion; love is the act of being. It becomes of part of your sense of self and colors everthing around it. This is the kind of love that stands the test of time and it is truly sad that society today conditions people to reject this kind of love. Selfishness is the norm and the selflessness of this kind of love is scoffed at as weak and old-fashioned. How sad.

When Perception Becomes Reality

Optimism. Pessimism. Realism. Attitude becomes a way of perceiving the world. Perception becomes individual reality. We are all optimists, pessimists, and realists in differing degrees. Like the primary colors they blend to make a kaleidoscope of perspective.

What do we do when our outlook differs from a disappointing reality? Sometimes we can will reality to conform to our wishes, but more often than not we are forced to accept a vision that is ill-fitting our mind's landscape. Is it better then to be on the blue end of the scale, looking at our surroundings with the edge that comes from pessimism but never being disappointed when things go south? Or is better to be a vibrant red, constantly seeing roses (yellow realism being the elusive clear sighted vision we crave)?

Which causes the most damage?

Don't Worry

Recently I have been wrestling with a dilemma of epic proportions. It all started when I heard, for the first time in years, the song "Don't Worry, Be Happy". It is so easy to tell someone not to worry about the anxieties in their life. In fact, we have many ways of saying so. "Chin up", "smile", and "turn that frown upside-down" are all imperialistic expressions used to command the listener to change a particular feeling. While such expressions are meant as comfort or solace, the fact is that such expressions demand a change in demeanor. It begs the question, is it really possible to will yourself into a better mood?

The Night Before Atlantis Fell

In the brief, ethereal moment before twilight breaks into the deep velvet of full night, three stars shone faintly in the sky. Trees swayed gently in the soft, dusky air. A trio of diaphanous women gazed silently into the coming darkness.

Theirs was a wait of expectation. Soon their world would be one of myth and legend, the milieu of intangible longing and unspoken expression. The elders had come to the incontrovertible decision to leave the mortal plane and no one inside the great city would be allowed to leave. Goodbyes would not be permitted and any family outside the colossal walls would forever wonder at their fate.

These three refused to accept the destiny forced upon them by men old enough to be their grandfathers. These men had taken away any chance of lives filled with love, and laughter, and above all, freedom. Soon the transition would take place and anyone outside the protective barrier would perish in unimaginable ways. This was the destiny they chose.

Life without freedom is death and so they chose death. Brave souls.

New Music Worth Checking Out

1. Jenny Says - Cowboy Mouth

2. Trash Unreal - Against Me!

3. Sometime Around Midnight - The Airborne Toxic Event

4. Seventy Times 7 - Brand New

5. Pirate Song - Go Betty Go

6. Bow Down - Warsaw Poland Brothers

7. The Boy With The X-Ray Eyes - Earthling Society

8. Money Honey - State of Shock

9. End of the Movie - Cake

10. Nobody But Me - Save Ferris

All Who Wander...

Across desolate, forsaken gloom that marked the hour before sunrise, a lone figure trod grudgingly across the empty wasteland. His dirty face was streaked with tear tracks as he unceasingly put one foot in front of the other. He did not hear the sorrowful call of the raucous birds in the distance. His mind focused only on the step before him. A steady beat of sand and skin and leather.

His past forgotten in the quest to continue on. It was almost a relief to not have to think of anything other than the shifting sand under his road-weary feet. As the sun began to rise, its life-giving rays having gone horribly amok in the barren wilderness he now found himself in, he thought back in the inevitable sequence of events that put him on this solitary path.

Who was the woman? Why did she need him to die?


The sun rose silently on the empty land.

Only The Lonely

The lonely soul stands atop a cliff watching a seething mass of humanity twist and gyrate in time to the steady thrum of mundane life. The magnetic pull of companionship, of love, of desire drawing him ever closer to the crush and pull of writhing bodies. Deeper he travels into the dark crowded place called "family and friends".

Atop a small rise, he watches society pulse in endless streams toward every direction, his arms by his side as he is touched by many hands. The babble of voices, the faint melody of a thousand different songs wafting gently on the breeze.

He is alone. He is always alone.

The Green Arrow

I sat waiting at the red light. Anticipation burning silently through my veins, waiting for the one blessed instant when the angry red light would turn to a glorious green arrow and I could complete my hard fought battle to reach my destination. Slowly the seconds ticked by until at last I was given the signal to shift into first gear.

The car in front of me started. Then it braked. Start, brake, start, brake. The driver's hesitation a source of laughter to the motorists across from us, waiting for their own release. Did she know the hard green light indicated that she was free to turn left without fear of misadventure? Did the clear direction only confuse her?

Such is the sad state of late night travelers.

That Magical Time of Year

Autumn is now upon us! Hurrah! There is nothing more refreshing than a cool autumn breeze sneaking its way past summer's heat. This is my favorite time of year. When the weather begins to lose the intensity of deep summer and the air becomes crisper, tarter and the essence of the fall season begins to make itself know, the anticipation almost becomes too much.

The scent of autumn awakens to the glory we call September. It smells of newly cut hay, of apple and cinnamon, and most of all it smells of the intangible essence that turns the leaves into a brilliant array of color and begins to put the summer world to bed. It bursts with the freedom of one last dance before the lights go out and winter once more holds sway.

Perhaps it hearkens back to school days, but September in all its shades, seems to be a time of beginnings. It is a time to take stock of the good things laid before us, to reflect on the bounty of the year and make preparations for the months ahead. One last freedom before the dour months of winter again make their chill felt and the world begins to sleep.

Red and gold and green and brown. Autumn is here! September has come!