Today I have progress on my mind
Of a physical and spiritual nature and kind.
Taking steps to improve my health
Where I am ow is better than where I was.
From day to day or even week to week
I don't notice the progress that I seek.
But when I step back and reassess
It is then that I'm aware of the progress
I'm farther than I was before
But still not where I want to be
Even so, I'm closer and it gives me a thrill
Because I can get there, I know that I will
There are good times and bad times
Sometimes I move forward, sometimes back
But I refocus, recenter, and get back on track
Losing weight, getting stronger
It takes practice, patience, and time
It's tough, but it's always worth the climb
It seems to me that our spiritual life
In many ways runs parallel
To the ways that make us physically well
In our prayers and in our giving
How we're loving, how we're living
Sometimes our faith builds slow
And, sometimes, it quite quickly grows
It's hard to see in the desert place
Where the wind blows hard against your face
The path ahead is very nearly lost
No idea how much distance you've crossed
But the winds die down and the skies clear
Breathe in deep as you are standing here
And through the trials you see
Just how far you've come
And how you came to where you are
You've done so well and worked so hard
Now have some rest and keep making progress

The dove lies split open, roadkill on black tar,

its white purity bleeding into the dark,

war has begun where peace once perched,

feathers soaked in oil, the asphalt’s cold hunger,

we name this wreckage progress, and drive on.

up the mountain with a tremble,
    no plan or gear or hope,
Sisyphus I must resemble,
    endless clamber; tedious trope.

no longer; I recall the base,
    the grass; the trees; the glades,
as I ascend; with unkept pace,
    the path behind me fades.

looming blizzard lingers behind,
   (it) taunts blowing in today,
upward; disheveled, lost and blind,
    no guides to lead the way.

forced to muster a clumsy strut,
     advancing; though I'm weak,
uncertain of journeys end; but,
    certain there is no peak.

Silently, I submerge my head
Under unknown waters
Closing my eyes,
Holding my breath,
I almost falter
Embrace, I must, what lies ahead

Fill my lungs with the liquid's salinity
I suffocate in the path to sanctity
The agony is merely a symptom of
My resurrection sung by a mourning dove

The ensuing metamorphosis becomes
An excruciating asphyxiation that overcomes
Preceding concepts one yearns to eschew
And yet chains of doubt still anchor true:

"The cold abyss invades every pore,
Therefore cleansing my spirit's very core
Or would that wipe my true essence
For the filth has taken root in my existence?"

we wait.
Gnōthi Seautón (Γνωθι Σαυτόν)

know thyself, is a fundamental
"must do"
for any planning
to die right…
#meditation

“Zi zhī”
Word of me, my word… known shown
“Atmanam viddhi”
Katha Upanishad:
“Atmanam rathinam viddhi,
shariram ratham eva tu”
(Know thyself as the charioteer,
and thy body as the chariot)

The world does not stop.  
Its hands grind the hours to dust,  
indifferent, relentless,  
a machine that tears beauty from its roots.  

They pave over wildness,  
turn green to gray,  
and laugh as they vanish into cities  
built to collapse.  

And I hate them for it—  
for the way they pass by  
what remains,  
too blind to see the tender rebellion  
of a wildflower rising through cracked stone,  
the stillness of a hill beneath an endless sky.  

At fifty-five miles per hour,  
they reduce the infinite to a blur,  
a place they will never touch.  

But I love the quiet, the overlooked.  
The way moss clings to damp stone,  
the faint pulse of water through soil,  
the hum of life in a field mouse’s frantic dash.  

A single blade of grass,  
standing unbroken beneath the frost,  
carries more grace than the world  
they call progress.  

For I, too, am a speck of dust,  
being ground down by causality,  
spun within the great indifference  
of all that moves and does not see.  

And yet I persist—  
a small thing against the weight,  
an ember clutching at its warmth,  
a whisper in the deafening void.  

I want to scream,  
not to stop the world,  
but to make them see.  
To make them hear the voice of moss,  
the whisper of grass,  
the soft rebellion of the unnoticed.  

I want them to kneel  
and lay their palms to the ground,  
to feel what still endures beneath them—  
not in grandeur,  
but in the quiet things  
that will outlast their noise.  

Let them say I was hollow.  
Let them call me bitter, or ruined.  
But let them know this:  
Every fragile thing that stood defiant  
held a piece of me within it,  
a weight to steady its roots,  
a breath to fan its fire.  

And when they forget,  
as they always will,  
I will remain in the places they passed,  
small and unseen,  
but unbroken.

In my journey as a marketer and strategist, working within the dynamic world of media and advertising, I’ve come to realize that success is not born from flashes of creative brilliance alone. It is something deeper, a persistent force; grit, that has driven my professional development and growth. It has become clear to me that in an industry where innovation, creativity, and strategy is highly valued, it’s not simply enough to have vision. Sustaining that vision requires dedication, discipline, and the ability to weather setbacks with unwavering resolve.

Early in my career, I believed that raw talent or the next big idea would be the key to success. But with time, I came to see that ideas, much like passion, are fleeting unless coupled with a dogged commitment to execution. Campaigns aren’t made great by the initial spark of inspiration; they succeed through relentless iteration, feedback, and optimization. It’s not the glamour of pitching an idea that creates long-term impact; it’s the persistence in refining it, over and over, even when the outcome isn’t immediately clear.

I’ve learned that in media and advertising, failure is inevitable. Campaigns don’t always hit the mark, trends shift, and audiences are ever-evolving. But rather than being discouraged by setbacks, I’ve grown to view them as critical moments in my professional development. Each challenge, whether it’s a missed opportunity or a campaign that falls short, has become a lesson in resilience. With each, I’ve honed my ability to pivot, to absorb feedback, and to adapt; skills that are as essential as creativity in this fast-paced industry.

In the same way that grit shapes personal success, it’s the cornerstone of professional growth in media. Success is less about having one breakthrough moment and more about showing up every day with determination, ready to push forward despite the obstacles. I’ve seen how those who persist, who learn from failure, and who continuously strive for improvement in their craft are the ones who ultimately thrive.

As I reflect on my career, I understand now that it wasn’t my initial creative spark that defined my trajectory, but my willingness to grind through the mundane aspects of the process, to work toward long-term goals even when progress was slow. It’s this fusion of passion and perseverance that has allowed me to turn ideas into impactful campaigns, and to evolve in an ever-changing industry.

—

It’s not the spark that lights the flame,
But steady hands, day after day.
A mind that bends but will not break,
Through every challenge, for progress’ sake.

It’s not in speed, nor strength, nor flight,
But rising up, time after time.
For grit is forged in quiet strain,
A constant push against the grain.

When all seems lost, and dreams grow dim,
Grit finds the strength to try again.

— Sincerely, Boris

In wellie boots
I wade through the years.
Tears of denial seep through
and splash into the top of these wellie boots
dragging me down
one by one.

Sticky in your grasp
I cling
wishing that mud could turn to stone.
trudging through the realization
that it never was
and never would be.

With each step these wellies
begin to separate.
They fall off and sink.
They’ve drowned.
I’ve waded into quicksand.

I laugh at the belief that these wellies
would be enough protection
from a much larger situation.
I’m laughing as I am slowly sinking
at least I’m not drowning unaware
that you would watch me suffocating.

Tears meet the years old tears dried at my feet
delusion meets grief.
Now at shoulder depth
I am laughing.
As I prepare to take my last breath
I am laughing.

I get pulled out while still laughing.
By someone who isn’t you.
and I see my wellie boots in the distance
dead and floating.

Now I jump in relief. Barefoot.