he taught me that sometimes dreams can move and breathe
and it wasn't anything he did
just his existence
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
what is it about the woods
that brings something to life within us like nothing else can
we try to capture it with words, lenses, paint, anything
but it always escapes us
although not without leaving behind some trace of itself
what is it
mystery
the unknown
but if you solve a mystery or know the unknown
they can no longer be themselves
their definitions change completely
out there you can feel him
he's behind every tree and beneath every stone
but you can never see him
he is that mystery and that unknowable thing
and when you're in the woods
you come to find just how wild he really is
at least just to get a touch
and we know he's wild
because everything created comes out of the heart of its maker
but what is the wild
it has always been portrayed as something to respect and fear
which is right
and it is powerful except it is not always good
but that is the earthly kind of wild
and like everything else from this world it is broken
there is evil in it
but the true kind is completely pure
it is the freedom and life found in a thrilling chase of the unknown
the wild is both adventure and peace that collide all around
it consumes us with the restless hunger to explore
to hunt down a mystery but not primarily to solve it
in the woods we find little pieces of ourselves
buried remnants of what should have been
beautiful bits we've lost and forgotten
we catch sight of how wild our own hearts are
and realize that's exactly how they should've been from the start
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
Truly, the abandonment of myself was my freedom.
No more pride, no more shame now that I've gone away.
Against you I could never win
But I couldn't believe that you wouldn't enslave me if I surrendered
Except it was true.
Restless, we either search for the reason we exist
Or numb the ache with the drugs we've made.
We let ourselves believe we've found our meaning
But we deny the voices of our spirits that tell us, "there must be more"
We fear disappointment.
The problem is that somewhere along the lines we also blocked out hope.
We tried making our lives into patterns and equations.
In an effort to control we took rivers and tried to squeeze them into manmade, straight waterways.
We got angry when the water spilled over the edges.
Somehow it never worked because to live is to exist in unpredictability.
Perfection was never what we thought.
It was not straight lines or smoothly fulfilled plans.
No, perfection was always and only love.
Love with all it's messes and breaks.
Love with all it's pain.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
we only have a glimpse of what love really is and that glimpse is caught through shattered glass
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
If life is a gift why do we assume we get to control it?
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
I hate that I'm quiet
They think I'm a mouse but I am a lion
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
I think love is when someone's presence becomes your addiction, when you find you can no longer go on without them
And it isn't for anything they can do for you
You just wake up one day and wonder how you got to this state where their absence is your pain
And you hate every second without them
Because that person, that beautiful, broken life has become everything to you
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC