i looked into that hole,
that empty place where once i was caught,
at the precarious handhold that once supported me,
where i wanted to let go,
and forget the world as it would forget me.

i saw the place, and even stepped into it, expecting to fall -
into the abyss that could claim me -
it is so easily done.

but as i stepped, i found my feet on firm soil again,
the hole now too small for me to fit.
for i am more now than i was,
i am greater than before,
and i cannot return to that place
without seeing it as a stepping stone.

some people were not made to live safely,
to guard their hearts and their person closely,
to live small and simply,
to be content with living life unnoticed.

some people were not made to diminish,
or to do menial things and merely exist,
to just be,
and let others simply "be" as well.

when we encounter them, some people run,
some people hide,
some people put on a facade and pretend to face the world,
some people give up,
and some people die.

i saw the towers fall,
the panic set in,
the evacuation of a city thinking it might be next.
i heard the questions being asked -how and why -
and the cries coming from video footage on tv
of those who lost family, friends, coworkers.
we all had a choice that day,
to become something more,
to believe there was something greater,
or to wallow in self-pity and anguish.
we did both,
and it made us great -
not because we're smarter,
more thorough,
and not because of the laws we enacted,
or the wars we fought,
we were forced to face the world again,
to face our mortality,
to choose whether to be a part of this world,
and fight for something better,
or to let the rest of the world suffer in our ignorance.
today, we were great because we were reminded
of what it's like to be human.

over the edge,
a sheer drop down the mountainside,
eye level with large birds that soar on the invisible
     strings of air currents,
a rocky ledge upon which to stand,
over the valley expanding below
with its little farms and patchwork fields.
to attain this place,
to be here contemplating these things
is a journey that tests and tires,
batters the body and mind against trees and rocks,
loose soil and the heat of the day.
i took no photos.
i will hold it within me,
and let it shine out
that others will look and ask what it is
that keeps that spark alive in me,
and I will tell them of this place,
and invite them to come and see for themselves.

the angel-lights move quickly,
a fleeting moment and they're gone,
a brief reminder,
a glimpse,
that there's something out there
looking over us.

when you see the angel-lights,
stop a moment -
wonder why you were able to see them,
let your breath be taken away,
and say a simple 'thank you'
for the moment,
and for all the good things in life.

i look at my hands,
and i see the place where
the chisel slipped when i was a boy,
and countless other wounds
were wrought into my flesh,
from a life spent touching and working with
my hands,
and i know it is a life worth remembering,
a life of substance,
a life that changed those whom i have loved,
and each scar bears witness to that life,
so that when i am old,
i may recount the tales to young lives,
and lay my scars at their feet -
a challenge to live their own lives fully.

day by day,
one moment after the next
and you don't notice a thing,
you don't know why you're doing it,
but you are -
continually pouring out everything you have,
emptying yourself day after day,
until you look in the mirror,
or a reflection in a window,
and you see someone -
someone who wasn't there before,
who doesn't even look like you,
but echoes your movements,
your shadows -
a better reflection than what you used to see.
it's something new,
someone better and stronger,
with eyes that see the world differently than they used to,
and perhaps understand something more.