An Author's Offering

I look at the sea, and the sea looks at me. I dive into its arms and it buoys me up. I slide on the slippery seaweed and pebbles. I dance as the waves slap the water in time. I feel the spray in my face and shout to the sky. But I know to never let this relationship go too far... For if I go too deep, the water would swallow me whole.

Apologies for the lack of posts. I blame a long sinus infection, strained muscles in my back, and the fact that the doctor put my hurt foot in a boot. You know: all those happy cheerful times in summer... Anyway, here you go! A cliché is not authentic. It is not original or creative or often even helpful. Many talk in clichés to say things they do not really mean. But a cliché is not a lie simply because it is cliché. It does not pretend to be original; that is not the point. Its purpose is not to open the eyes of mankind to truths never found before. But still, that doesn’t make it a lie. In conversation, it can be used thoughtlessly, without feeling. It can be more of a comfort to the speaker than to the listener. But a cliché doesn’t pretend to be anything but what it is: a common, overused phrase or saying. But all this doesn’t make it a lie. A cliché is said too much because when it was first introduced, it meant something to those who heard it. Perhaps the origi...

(The point is to be a little confused at the beginning... don't worry!) I’m a bunny in a breeze. I’m a frog in a frenzy. I’m a mole in a mountain. I’m a lion on a lawn. I’m as slippery as soap, and as stubborn as a sailor. I’m as listless as a lump, and as harried as a hamster. I’m a human in a pickle, looking for identity, lost in metaphor and riddle, searching for analogy. I find I’m both and neither…  everything and nothing… Until finally I decide: I’m not a character,  portrayal or example, I’m me: impossibly complex,  and truly unexplainable. 

We often describe this life as “fine,” “good,” and “same old same old,” when the truth is, it’s not. Often, we’re drowning in a sea of change, loss, hurt, confusion and loneliness.  Sometimes we’ve fallen so deep into a pit that we don’t see a way out. A rope was thrown down after us, our only hope, but often it seems no hope at all. It is slippery, and we can feel it slip through our fingers no matter how tight we hold on. We can barely keep hold of it, and salvation seems impossible. We are so deep underground we can’t even see the light of the opening above our heads. We’re weighted down by mud and dirt, and long for enough oxygen to really breath. We may begin to panic, or give up all together. But still, we manage to keep hold of that rope, the only way out. Maybe, it will eventually become dry enough to climb, or someone might even pull us up. Because if we let go of the rope, our hope, then we will never get out of the pit.

In honor of Independence Day in the U.S.: There once was a child born in Kansas,  living as centrally in the U.S. as can be, who loved the land of Dorothy and Todo,  but knew nothing of the world beyond the horizon they could see. ~~~~~ They asked their dad from Georgia,  “What is the country beyond the border?” The father responded, “Son, it's the land, of the American dream and entrepreneur, Where you raise your children on good American values, prepare them for the land of self-governance, where through hard-work and commitment, if had in abundance, they will be ready for self-independence. And most of all it’s the land of the brave, and along with that the land of the free, with stripes and stars flying in the sky, and hoping for better for you and for me." ~~~~~ But then the child went to their mother, and asked again the question of before, looking to the woman born in California, “What is the country beyond...

Have you ever felt it? That one feeling… that one explosion in your soul. It builds hot and wild in your chest, swirling about and around, faster than a hurricane. It stretches the limits of your heart, filling every inch of you, from the tips of your hair to the bottoms of your feet. It stretches your fingertips out, making you long to reach out and grasp something you could never touch. It is barely contained by the physical limitations of your body. It is like an untamed stallion: bucking, rearing, and devoid of all thought. All it has is the longing to be free, and to ride with unlimited strength under the sun, reaching beyond the horizon of the the impossible. And then your heart turns to wage war with itself. A giddy joy fills your body, making your feet and your heart both long to dance. And at the same time the explosion pricks your heart with the most terrible sorrow. You feel the overwhelming pressure of the tears pressing behind your eyes. But even as ...

Sorry it's been forever! Here we go: Emotion behind the words, behind the tunes, Behind the stories and melodies, Emotion, the feeling in our souls, in our hearts, in the places inside us no one can touch, Emotions lying dormant and hidden, Buried deep within the core of each of us, Exposed from behind the traffic and bustle, conversations and clashing, what would we find? Would we discover truth? Would we find beauty? Horror? Everything? Nothing? Or would we find the emotions we've known all along? Whatever I find, would the knowledge bless me or curse me? Regardless of revelations, what good would it do if I had no clashing or conversation, bustle or traffic, melody, story, tune or words with which to express it? As it is, I search for truth not only within myself, but also in this turbulent world around me.