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.

Thank You, Daily Post

From the bottom of my heart, thank you Daily Post for being the springboard for my blog, my emotional health, and my fire as a writer. You will be missed, you have done very well. Thank you.

An Adventure Contemplated

And so, my pulse slowed, fever abated, fingers went numb. Yet there is still a touch of blush in my pale cheeks and blue lips. There is still a glint of the blinding sunrise scintillating in my eye.

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.

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Damon Ashworth Psychology

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