July 22, 2019

Simply writing daily

I’ve often read that one ought to get into some sort of daily writing routine to turn it into a habit and also to help grease the flow of words from yonder brain.

One thing I excel at is being consistently inconsistent when it comes to writing and blogging. In rare moments I get hot and pour out stuff but most (er, almost *all*) of the time my brain farts cold air and creakily shuts down.

A long time ago I used to be more prolific at writing — I sometimes wonder if I’ve lost my muse. If I close my eyes and squint hard enough to squeeze my memory cells, I think that moment was when I and a great love of mine parted ways onto different paths and the well dried up. It seems to be easier to wax poetic when in love, perhaps…

Or maybe it’s just another one of my lousy excuses to add to the discard piles littering the writing room in my head (that room houses an ornery bastard that always shoots things down).

Either way, I’m going to try again — I only have a good two or three decades left so I ought to try hard even if it might mean falling on my sword yet again.

Why? I miss writing and I’d like to re-form my neurons into a regular, life long habit of putting fingers to the keyboard again. I also feel it will give me more sense of direction since I’ve been pretty aimless at a lot of things in an on/off way.

(I’ve also been holed up for awhile in Florida recovering from Lyme disease so I may as well put some of my idleness to good use, yeah?)

In the article linked above, Furaha Asani says to write anything, whether it might be random thoughts, poetry, fiction, etc. etc. — to simply do it each and every day. She started by challenging herself to publish something every day for a year and did it successfully.

So here goes. Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow from my keyboard. If not…. you’ll find me impaled on a discard pile somewhere.

Ray

P.S. If you’ve taken on a similar challenge, share! I’d love to hear about your experiences and such.

December 28, 2018

Dreams that bleed into you

You ever have dreams that bleed into you on a deep, profound level?

When you wake up, you’re very quiet inside/outside and highly sensitive to everything around you, as if you’ve been peeled open by unseen hands. It’s that expansive, raw feeling that stretches beyond humanity.

Where you feel the deepest love, the deepest sorrow, and the deepest joy all together in an indescribable blend that’s thrumming and vibrating in and around you, especially your heart.

Those kind of dreams press the pause button on you, your life, and who you are, making you momentarily irrelevant yet vastly aware of some deeper, infinitesimal meaning.

There’s nothing to do but remain open, dwell, and feel it all in its rawness and intensity…

And stay paused until that invisible hand lets you loose once again.

Starry night at Toad Suck campground in Arkansas

December 16, 2018

Seed of hope reborn

After years of fighting a chronic and incurable illness, once strong floodgates holding within finally cracked and blew open, unleashing a torrent of despair.

My will, my strength, my heart… Which survived so many trials as the rock of my world, shattered into millions of pieces. Ominous thoughts of killing myself flitted in and out, torturing and tantalizing me.

That was it. I saw darkness everywhere, even in light of the sun.

With all crashing around me, my own body responded in kind and I collapsed into my then-wife and daughter’s arms with a cry of

I can’t take it anymore… I just can’t.

I wept as never before, tears pouring forth from every fiber of my body and soul. It was a purging, the deepest kind, one that renders you raw inside and out utterly and totally.

This is the end. There’s going to be nothing left of me after this. How could there be after being on intimate terms with such an unrelenting hell?

Spent and lifeless, I was gently laid back in bed, where even my dreams were tainted by disease.

The next morning, the sun rose as always, but the tint of evil I saw in it as a reminder of another day of despair wasn’t as strong. This time it was filled with a tiny shimmer of hope. An unusual seed of promise, one that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I felt different. I still felt so raw, but it was a cleansing kind of raw, the kind where you scrub a wound so thoroughly that all infection is removed so it can start healing.

It was disorienting. Why was I feeling this seed of hope and promise within now, after the ground under me had fallen out?

Turns out the torrent the day before was a tsunami violently crashing through, sweeping and cleaning everything out. I had hit bottom. There was no further to go.

Tilling my soul like the hard soil it was, life had been conspiring all along to make it fertile for the planting of that new seed of life, of promise, of love. To surrender. To be reborn.

The light growing from the seed within prompted me to find a spiritual mentor and show me how to heal within, to nourish this seed and let it flourish.

I found her. She looked at my hands and smiled warmly. You are to be a healer, she said. But first, you must heal yourself. She pointed the way, saying it was divine guidance that I meditate and my life would change forever.

Day by day, I danced with meditations. Night by night, I soared into the heavens. With each step I felt myself healing, bit by bit. All kinds of beautiful light, energy, and visions started pouring forth. My hands now burned with healing energy.

Within months, what had plagued me for so long lifted like a veil, to haunt no more. This seed of hope had grown, unfurling towards a long and winding journey of rebirth into the immortal beloved.

February 17, 2018

Bee on a sunflower

While passing through a seaside village in Tatamagouche, Nova Scotia I came across a yard exploding of sunflowers and snapped a few photos. I was reminded my daughter needs something for her bare walls & loves sunflowers so I dug this out for framing. I think she’ll be happy.

February 14, 2018

Reminisces with Father (and) Time

The other day Dad and I took a long walk where we reflected upon life and such. He spoke again of his dream of moving to a little cottage tucked away in an old fishing town with a yard and a dog. Where he could take long walks with his dog, hang out with other salt-of-the-earth folks and — most joyfully — go fishing.

All these things are deeply ingrained within; I saw it in his father as well. Grandpa lived in a quaint home by the sea that was within walking distance of his fishing spot. He’d consort with fellow souls and they’d share stories through the hours.

Like father, like son — and beyond unto generations of our past whose sweat and blood sang that song of old Florida.

I encouraged him to move forward on his dream; to rekindle that fire and make it happen. I reminded him he was getting close to knocking on the door of his twilight years.

Waiting for the right time or opportunity would be a sorrowful delusion because time itself is a most wily deceiver. It would fly by so fast he’d wonder where it all went and by then it would be too late.

I urged him to head off those final gates of regret, to tear down those moving goalposts and set a hard move-by-this-date deadline, using the example of when I terminated the lease on my cabin to force me out into the nomad life.

I know he heard me (and has for quite sometime), so will he finally make haste? Who knows. He can be a stubborn sort; I know this because I’ve inherited the same trait that’s sometimes maddening and yet endearing. He is a man of his own time.

Meanwhile, I’ll carry on whispering of his dreams on our ongoing walks as a subtle reminder.

I’ll dream for him too — the dream of seeing his soul sing to the tune of a life drifting into sunsets in his little boat with an ever faithful dog at his side, and of course, a fishing pole tugging in the breeze.

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.

Mark Twain

February 2, 2018

Walk in the swamp

View from this evening’s sunset walk in the swamp at Barr Hammock preserve in Gainesville, Florida (yes, where I almost stepped on an alligator).

February 2, 2018

Tiny typewriter for a tiny camper

Finally! A tiny typewriter fer a tiny camper! After much hunting around, found this baby. It’s an Italian made Antares portable typewriter. These kind of analog things can be very rooting and meditative. Looking forward to banging letters, postcards, poetry, etc. out on it. If you happen to hear a clacking way out in the woods, you’ll know…

January 31, 2018

Haunting sunset view from Joshua Tree

Haunting sunset view over Orocopia Mountain from my campsite near the “gateway” of Joshua Tree in California. This was a free boondocking site that almost always delivers spectacular sunsets with a beautiful desert in the backyard.

January 30, 2018

Soul nourishment

My little girl was sick so I brought soup and such over to her flat. We ate, we talked (boyfriends, weird professors, work issues, shows to binge, life, etc.), we laughed, and we hugged. Those kind of soul nourishing moments become forever memories of a forever love.❤️

January 29, 2018

Vermont countryside

It’s been a rainy and overcasty past few days, time to pretend this Vermont countryside is my window view (note tiny house on far left and farmhouse on far right.