Remember that place is silent, awake//Send a prayer it remains without din...
The Art of Being
All I can say is, much like this post, I didn't know how it all started, where it went, and I pray it never concludes. All I knew was that I simply was in that moment, and the precise art of being is one to always be sought but never mastered.
Sneakers On Half the Band
Leather souls on two gent'lmin//o'gray//N'sneakers, but no two sit//nex'to soles o'the same
Ruminations of a Working Man, Pt. X: Member of Everything
Last night, I hung up the coat that shielded me high on the Cliffs of Moher in the closet that I seldom open, the hinges groaning in protest. The salt from the ocean spray, still clinging to the thick sleeves, left my fingers sticky and longing to return. A gentle yet abrasive reminder that, for once, I did it. I was a member of everything, and my eyes saw the vibrant colors of everything. My ears were buffeted with the pulse of everything, and its pulse became my pulse.