Transitory.

 (Originally written on March 4, 2012)

I am running down a path.

Pmf. Pmf. Pmf.

My shoes echo one another, each pining for the last word

before they are silenced by my weariness.

This desert landscape is a familiar one

and I have gladly followed this path for many miles.

Vast and sparse, yet exceedingly lovely.

The muted browns and blues hint at a hidden beauty

and my soul sighs contentedly.

I belong here. 

And yet.

Amidst the tranquility, my soul knows. 

It senses the invisible, inevitable change that has been slowly advancing

on this unassuming setting.

The wind, silent and dormant at first, begins to disturb what little vegetation there is.

The dust scurries through the sky,

unaware and powerless of where it will land.

Twilight descends and time stops abruptly.

The air becomes thick as electricity builds, reverberating invisibly

against my skin.

The land has become alive, yet tensely so, held in suspension 

of what is and what is to come.

The silence is magnified and the atmosphere reaches a frenzied chaos,

becoming a cacophonous crescendo of anticipation.

I cannot take it anymore. 

My pace quickens and I am no longer aware of anything except

what lies before, of which I am powerless to control.

Yet, in my mortality, I am not scared.

Only curious. 

And flustered in my claustrophobia of the wait.

As the silent clamor builds, I become even more wrestless.

Something needs to happen. 

The road disappears from my feet and I am left directionless,

but I keep running. 

Dead ahead.

And finally, 

a line against the horizon.

 I sprint towards it.

The wind howls.

The air crackles.

The atmospheric pressure builds.

Pmf. Pmf. Pmf. Pmf.

Double-time now.

The line draws near, revealing the end of the desert.

Almost. There.

Pmf. Pmf. Pmf. Pmf. 

I take my last step and launch myself off the cliff, into the air.

Alas, there is peace.

.

.

.

.

.

But now I am falling. 

 

 

 

 

The Art of Spontaneity

**This blog was written several months ago, published, and for some reason, unpublished. Not sure why it didn't stay up, so let's try this one more time... with feeling.**

(September 2011)

I hereby dub this past month: Mois Nouveau

I have never been one for routine and predictability.

In fact, one of my biggest fears, among sharks and old age, is monotony.


Yet...
It has recently come to my attention that I now cling too tightly to comfort.







HOLD THA PHONE.
I hate admitting it, but it's true.

Through a series of fortunately unfortunate events and convictions, my eyes were opened to this fear that has slowly been finding its way into my life.

A fear of instability. Of losing what I hold most dear. Of not knowing the outcome.
In short, I am a control-freak.

This past month, I have broken from my little cocoon of comfort (whether by force or by choice) and
just. went. for. it.

Three-AM night hikes vegetarianism parkour downtown heartbreak Cuban cigars country music (oh, dear) publishing a blog a new hair color(ish)

I am sure there are plenty other lists containing way more exciting things than the aforementioned, but each of these has a story that signifies myself breaking the normalcy with which I have become too accustomed and comfortable.


ie:
I decided to become a vegetarian two Mondays ago for no other reason than the fact that I like the taste of portabella mushroom burgers better than beef patties. I am still pro-carnivores and think In-N-Out and Chik-Fil-A are evidences of God's grace to mankind, but for now, one more chicken and/or cow will sleep in peace, knowing he has not yet met his end for my sake.


A couple weekends ago, myself, a friend, and her dog parked at the base of Mt. Rose at 3:30am to see the sunrise from the summit. It was cold, terrifying at times, and exhausting, but worth every second I was wishing I was back in my warm bed. Because I wasn't.






I smoked a real Cuban cigar. And then felt like I was going to vomit. Still, Fidel would have been proud.



I will be attending my first country concert soon. If you know me at all, you know my slightly ridiculous aversion to country music.
I'm bringing cotton balls in case my ears start to bleed.




I finally faced up to my parents' threats after 4+ years of living on my own and dyed my hair for the first time. I feel strangely different and slightly invincible.
We'll see if that turns out to be a good thing or not.
 

I started this blog to break my insecurity of people judging my writing, the fear of which has oftentimes stopped me from pursuing what I love.



I parkoured down Virginia Street with 3 other people. No, I was not drinking. Yes, it was awesome.


Err... sorry, Officer.

.
.
.
.
.
.
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Oh, and there was that little mention about matters of the heart.
There's nothing like a good dose of heartache to shake things up a bit, and while the pain still lingers, I feel as if I have caught my "second wind" in approaching such matters in my life. I believe Mr. Lewis addresses this the best:
“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one... avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” (CS Lewis, The Four Loves).



Lesson learned: in short, spontaneity and the joy of living often lie in the extent in which we allow our hearts to be vulnerable, uncomfortable, and to love.
(And above all, I fear hardheatedness).

As it has been brought to my attention before, some walls are in need of coming down.
Chink Chink


So, my adventures and misadventures will continue as I seek to keep my heart in check of what is truly valuable:

either
Control, Peer and Parental Approval, and Comfort
or
Something greater than myself that secures my insecurities and teaches me to love beyond these walls...
(hint: it's not the first one...)

What are your walls?


As before, stay tuned.

It's a Nice Day to... Start a Blog.

Blogging. More like blah-ging.

I’ve finally decided to join the masses and start a blog.

Just like every other literate and opinionated American with Internet access.

Why?

Creation.

There seems to be an intrinsic need within myself to find an outlet for my burgeoning desire to be creative.

Unlike Dali, Mozart, Snoop Dogg, and the like, my expression of creativity is not found on a canvas or in a recording studio.

Rather, beautifully constructed syntax is what gets my heart beating a little faster.

And the sound of computer keys ricocheting off the Pergo floors.

And the soft feel of a plain Moleskine notebook, eagerly awaiting the filling of its pages with new content.

And the crinkle of a new package of Pilot G2 Retractable Gel Ink Roller Pens, Black .5mm.

Yes. I am a nerd.

The creation of this blog is meant to be my outlet where I can share all my nerdy (and hopefully creative) thoughts and ideas that refuse to stay quiet and threaten to drive me insane until they are written into existence.

There will be pictures.

Maybe some poems.

There will definitely be rants.

And awful jokes that I will no doubt think are brilliant.

Probably one too many “your mom” jokes.

Of course there will be stories of adventures.

And, ultimately, inspiration.

Stay tuned, if you wish.