The North Country calls to the few who search for each other
In their flesh they feel the meat of life
Flavorful and juicy with humanity, emotion, and discontentment.
In their nerves they smell the scent of existence and experience.
But in their bones is a thing or two more
that houses their curious souls and
nourishes them before taking on their next spiritual expedition.
Skeletons rattle with the purest rhythms of an entity.
They drum a beat more constant than heart
that guides the lost onward
to the party waiting for them in the marrow
where they will find a river of unlimited beer and friendship
that was truly always coursing through their veins.
I cannot wait to be drunk off of these beautiful rivers
and so full and so satisfied.

I think all I've got left to do
is all very realistic and will happen eventually.
I think I would be happy if I could finish just a couple things
before i leave.
Maybe for me
to be enlighteningly in love,
sip a nice thermos of coffee,
do something exhilarating
do another something and maybe one more
and then keep that blood rushing
would make me quite ready to die.
Death would be the next thing on the bucket list,
and I would be so happy to delight in its adventure.
Be enthused, be in love, be adventurous, be inspiring, and then be dead.
That will be the best.
That will be the life.

Borrowed from the earth:
A body was not hers, let alone his
A body was not his, let alone hers
they shared them
nourished them from the same cup
used them to climb to the same heights
allowed them to protect the other's
Two of the same mind intermingled across distances, oceans, space
Holding hands like never having parted
The flesh caressed fingers and skulls
aware of death
delighted with life
We won't always have these guts, these *****,
use them now.

A year had passed since, and so far a little one’s freshly-birthed body had only ever been cradled by the hands of the mountains. A plane brought them back to the motherland and for the first time, the sandy shore of the Netherlands embraced the lightness of the little one’s footsteps with a surreal familiarity as if her toes were raindrops coming home to the ocean. A mother smiled with stupid instinct plastered on her face by the little one’s mirrored expression.
Expecting no response from the little one but laughter, she asked, “You like it, liefje? Me too.”
Irrational joy erupted from the little one’s babbling mouth at the sight of an infinite horizon, but a fearful hand clutched a mother’s pointer finger.
Timid hesitancy shook the little one’s head at the suggestion of entering such a moving, living mass. In only a second, impulsive curiosity drove her little feet forward into the wet. A mother inched forward to shin-deep as the little one waddled, still clutching, until chilled up to her chin.
The little one spoke with a laugh, asking for a few things: to go forward, to never leave, to know how to express herself. Words weren’t familiar and could not have captured her feelings anyhow. Her good spirits were not interrupted by these limitations, only by the currents. A wave that was thought to be a new friend threw a punch to the little one’s unsuspecting face. A punch that was only a splash to a motherly shin. The little one crumbled and retreated from the fight. She was wounded with salt water stinging her nose. Surprised and enthused, the little one let out a cry. The dominating singe of salt in her mouth and nostrils overthrew her sense of smell. It seemed to be a betrayal of the sea, so she fled to steady and supportive arms that watched from the trustworthy shore, only steps away. The little one’s fear and strife was addressed with loving but casual sympathy.
A mother’s chuckles implied a lack of severity to the situation. “Does it hurt, Sofietje? No need to cry, you’ll be fine.” The little one felt relieved but still the worst pain of her short life was not being attended to. For just a moment the world ****** and a lesson was learned and an understanding of the pain began establishing itself.
When the breeze blessed her with relief and the familiar scent of a mother’s skin returned, there seemed nothing more important then to also return to the water. The little one was smarter now; she knew it could make her cry loud, but she also knew it made her laugh louder.
To have a child let a mother be a child and share in the freshness of perspective. A mother cringed with nostalgia as her last and littlest one now inherited the waves of her childhood. And they were received with nothing but the proper response: incoherent elation.

I woke up on a perfect winter morning while the sun slumbered behind snowing skies. My crusty eyes opened without any dark circles of obligation for once and my breath filled me with a flourishing freedom. I lied there for a moment and merely existed, before the pounding of my heart and rushing of my blood pulled me forth to take on the world once again. This restlessness of the ocean inside me guided me as I transitioned from who I was towards a me more capable of grander and love. On this morning I felt a freshness of mind that set me forth with strong strides in the winding direction of a future so enlightening and so ideal in its flaws, and what could I do with myself but seek out a sweet adrenaline to satisfy a piece of my wandering soul? I decided to go. I, with a deep intuition and knowing, left my doorstep with oatmeal on my lip, skis on my back, and the intent to make decisions and create the life that is genuine to me and to this world that I have found worth being part of. My mind was waiting for me in the mountains and my soul was with me in the snow. So, in good company, I bounded forward on the road. My brothers sat beside me and we shared the bumps of the potholes that put hiccups in our laughter. These memories in making were tinted through golden filters of familiarity and understanding. Onward and ahead, we saw the mountains looming with a million-year-old confidence that I sought to adopt. While I held slight fear in my heart for what was to come, I also held my own sweaty hand as comfort. I was full of vulnerability and courage and I still sat giddy in the car because I knew I was living and nothing could be greater.
Soon it was midday and the clouds loitered around the edges of the sky as if they were suspicious of the sun. Beams of light ricocheted off of goggles and snow and beads of sweat that were caught in my oldest brother's beard. The hard work and constant determination of the hike up was a way of earning our run and it made the view taste so much sweeter. Finally able to rest, I planted a granola bar in my mouth and squinted through a frame of icy eyelashes to see a sight I had seen before, every day for the past week, but still punched the air out of my lungs. The powder was up to my thighs and the snow lovingly seeped its way into my boots just to kiss my toes with painful numbing. I wiggled them to try tickling some sanity and warmth into them. I only hoped that my now purple toenails would not fall off. I pulled up my balaclava to dodge the lunges of frostbite's ravenous teeth. Each nip of cold, the company of my brothers, the view, and the raw interaction with the mountain created a moment that reeked of a dream: a seemingly perfect balance between pain and pleasure, just the right mixture to allow for maximum appreciation.  
The hype of the day kept us from settling our thoughts and quickly my siblings were bounding down the mountain. I felt freedom in the love I had for the mountain and for my four brothers whose elated screams echoed off of the mountain ranges. I joined their chorus of mountain yodelling and embraced the carefree mindset of Mother Nature. My skis led the way and found fresh tracks. The lines of the songs that blasted through my headphones were translated into the lines that I skied. The music shuffled with an abrupt change of pace that did not hinder my happiness. The random shuffling of songs only fed my innate addiction to change and let my enthusiasm multiply and blossom. With a knack for going with the flow, I knew that what the universe hands me is often what I need, and today I needed to listen to the soothing tones of The Tibetan Monks of Gaden Sharste & Corciolli as I sped down the slopes.
Although childish in our hearts and in our unpracticed aerials, we were not childish in our perspective. We had a shared understanding of the bigger picture, an open-mindedness that comes with being a small, overrated mammal sliding on some sticks down the biggest thing it could get its hands on. Each of us took our fair share of tumbles and we accompanied each with cacophonous laughter muffled by mouthfuls of snow. To be atop a mountain, and to feel its indifference to you, really teaches the skill of not taking things too seriously. I grabbed some air and crashed into a disorganized pile of all my gear. But my commitment to the bettering of my skills, my world, and myself, let me rise from even my most deadly of wrecks not unscathed but changed and always for the better. With such a brutal fall, I gained the experience necessary for landing it next time...and I did.
     After reaching the bottom, without hesitancy, we followed our spontaneous urges to pursue more. Every moment spent on that mountain came from a drive to experience and learn. It was based off of my ceaseless search for something new... or for learning or for the rad or for the gnar or for swagger or for living a life that could inspire. The seed of this search was planted in me by my five older siblings who all held within their bellies a fire of the same breed. And we sewed that common thread together on ridge lines and in powdered fields where nature is in perfect harmony with man and my head is in perfect harmony with my heart...where my intelligence and ambition trust one another and I trust them because they have gotten me this far and I know they are not tired yet.

Sometimes the stars ***** me with their changes
A frightened tickle brushes my toes and a cry will bubble
A well-anticipated annual sob that will flush me with endorphins and
dump the weight of
ego and age and time and living
from my shoulders.
The world turns fast and I can feel my gut getting motion-sick
A puke-covered nostalgia strangles my fading past
and I hold on.
A heart is a muscle, it can never break
Luckily my mind can still go to bits
and I can live happily under a shield of insanity.

Your hollow bones make the most killer tunes and tones
Please don't fill them with lonely independence
I have sugar and adventure that I will lend you
I am your neighbor
I am your person
If you must, we will fill them with what I have for you,
We will make them into rainsticks
and play them
till the sun turns to rain,
till the rain turns to ice,
and till you climb the droplets to the clouds
Where you will find your head
And finally forget all the things they have said
That have made you settle and waste the day in bed.
We will let you breathe
You can sigh into my skeleton
And my bones will sing to you a song only your voice could inspire.