perspective.

I have this theory that your eyes are the gateway into your soul. We've all heard this through the vines before. however, mine goes a bit deeper, as I venture to say that each and every "thing" we take in through our eyes shapes our being, our soul.


I tend to be told of my stunning eyes. I respond humbly, "it's because of the vast amounts of ocean, nature and sky I drink in."


I hold strong to this. The things I've seen, the magic I've helped to create, that I've witnessed, it's strung along in dangling white lights, thinking through the drapes of mine soul, shedding love and light onto those that have a sip from my fountain.


Soul foods fed, through living, experiences, beauty seen, love shared, moments had, grace, positivity and encompassing your world in the mindfulness of acquiring such surroundings, makes up the foundation of your-self. therefore, leaving you in overflow, fulfilled or lacking nature of the aforementioned extensions.


I choose to create a life that is centered around wholeness. through self awareness, truth, light, love. through creation. in sending out the vibrations and the outlines of what I seek to find in this world. what my soul desires as its true path to a conscious, fulfilled and contently divine existence.


So when my eyes twinkle in your gaze, it's proof I have loved. It is proof I have felt, in pain or compassion, I've felt the rawness of this life that knows no boundaries of consistency, for nothing in this life is static or in promise of its continued existence within the grasp of our existential breath. the proof that I have flowed. that life has scooped me up, ever so gently, by the strings of my being, chaperoning me as I ride the waves, ripple by ripple, each one having its diving place in the orchestration of some bigger picture unforetold to mankind. the universe. The single verse that is sung, by you, and I, the shared craft from source to sea.


So when you ask me what it is that makes mine eyes twinkle in the glow of this life, I will paint you a picture of the journey I've shared, from external to internal, that shapes my glare. for I see things now that have upset my current, and brushed my tides out of sync, leaving me abreast in the pixilated reality of what is before me. the lights are dimming as the gates slowly retreat, from the things once held in sight, feel vacant, vast. leaving. the things I have seen, they're still there, in the outskirts, where wanderlust passes startling sensitivity, joining her for mid arvo tea. where things are beautiful, possible. unique.


The moment will come where the music dances off my ears, where each flower sways me so deeply into the night. again. but for now, the lights have dimmed, the music dying softly, it trickles to the ocean floor, where twinkles have no face, no float, no foe.


Contorted in furrowing brows, eyes smeared in contrasting pantones, the discourse you see is what I see. through these, one, twinkling, eyes.

Things Unheard.

I’m sure you, like me, posed the “ would you rather be deaf or blind” scenario as a little kid, each of you engrossed in a mere seconds thought, weighing the pros and cons of walking a few miles in one versus the other , eventually coming to a definitive conclusion: deaf, or blind. My memory of this is different. Wavering back and forth, blind or deaf, plaguing me as I would verbalize my list of whys: to be blind meant no longer seeing horses, the sea, flowers, Mom, Dad, and  deaf on the other hand, meant wind would be void of sound, there would be no music, laughter, crunching leaves, familiar laughs. Vividly, I can recall a routine opting out of responding, or voting in favor to “none of the above”-safest to play by my own rules under these circumstances. To think that this scenario is to some degree, in our hands, is naive to say the least. Why? Because life happens.

Four days ago I was ‘diagnosed’ with sudden loss of auditory senses, literally deaf in my right ear. I woke to my right ear underwater, confused, but rooted in a state of  calmness. As the days passed, it only got worse. Trains whipping by, screeching whistles, television channels straining to tune, droning hum. Fear trickled into my presence; something wasn’t right. After a series of sound tests in a telephone booth gone pilot arrangement, the doc discloses “you’ve lost 80% hearing in your right eat.” Cue tears. I am 27 and legally deaf.

Swimming my way about these last days have been a mysterious blessing, frankly, guiding me through acquiring more commentary than the average person on the standard ear plug than I would ever have expected to gain. “I became deaf at the age of twelve,” said Phil, as we connected over mutual deafness at the market Saturday morning. He shared his plight of becoming deaf, showcasing his hearing aid, leaving me in high regards of his hearing contraption, “if I am on the market for one myself.”  Witnessing friends adapting their efforts, candidly,  to situate themselves on my “good side,” all the while being cognizant of noise levels in whatever environment we found ourselves  for their ninety-year old, ear plugged, Morghan. I have connected and had conversations with people never pondered, “my father has a hearing aid but prefers to keep it out-it’s too overstimulating to him to have it in now,”  bathed in stories of beloveds alike, opening my eyes to functioning in reality of this handicap.

I feel blessed.

Leaving my right brains in a constant state of meditation , my left, blundering through the world, overstimulated and shocked by all experienced in one day,  in one moment. I’ve been forced to go inside, a 24 hour mediation if you will, navigating the inner trappings of my existence. Here I have found peace, contentment, silence, love. It is if I have arrived home, tossing my shoes off, and kicking back into the billowing fluff, that adorn this space. I find myself opting to plug up my other ear, yearning for solitude within my own being, whilst functioning in this life.

After ten days logged with 80% hearing loss, she came knocking at my door, graciously, I let her in. Sensitive, delayed, static, gray, muddled, weak. The light has shone at the end of this tunnel. The fear and confusion that gripped so tightly washed away like ocean waves tickling the shore line, it seems paradoxical that delight wouldn’t be the overshadowing emotion. An intruder, stealing me out of my meditation, these sounds foreign languages to my new land.

Blind or deaf? I choose none of the above. I’ve walked a few miles in the latter shoe, gaining a peace and experience I had no control over, never welcomed either. I have emerged in wake of heightened understanding, compassion, and love. I have walked a few miles in this shoe, but it’s sole is worn, tattered.


 It’s job here is done.

That one time I was supposed to be productive...oh wait...

You get old.

You start thinking too “inside the box. 

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Friends, family, your dog...they’ll all judge the shit out of everything you’re doing. You don’t come home ONE night and the first speculation is that you’re having a mid life crisis. So then the cycle begins. You tell yourself you should be more mature, more organized, and no, the dog cannot (unfortunately, damnit) cross his legs and hold his wee for the morning…or the next twelve days.

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The ideals of our squared society speak in high esteem of hitching up in a relationship after you’ve gotten that golden ticket of a job-but wait, you have a zillion and a half dollars to pay off your college debt, so therefore, you’re just acquiring a title of “massively in debt marketing person.” Good job.

Really. Great job...

Now you’ve got the relationship, the debt and the title. What’s next? Obviously you’re going to look for a place because you can sense a wedding proposal nearing (frankly, all your friends are doing it so DUH you’re next).  

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You find a place. 

Post to Facebook now you own some silly house and half of North America “likes” your status. You feel successful and a broad grin takes over your face. Somewhere in there you get proposed to. That shit is posted everywhere, so don't fret, the world knows what's up. Someone probably tape recorded it as they were trying to document their child taking their first steps, but don't worry, you didn't fuck it up. You're more important than a first step. Haha.

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So then you become boring and have to plan the shit out of everything. you. do. Get a notebook. Your typical "talkings" are centered around the price of toilet paper and buying a new couch that’s just a bit too big to fit into your main doorway. That conversation goes on for far fucking too long. Just get a different couch or smash your door down. Easy. 

Wait, is this turning into an article of how I will never grow up and become this human, a lame ass square, or is this about lack of spontaneity. Now I’ve even got myself confused! Oh man.

***Alert: I'm not being a dick or judgmental. Do not take this personally. If you are a square, I'm sorry. If you are living this life, congrats. I don't hate you. 

Why Timing is Bullshit.

Usually it’s because I’m always too late. Because I am never present enough to realize that the only such time we can take advantage of anything is in this moment. This moment. When frankly, most of the time, I am not present because I’m too busy in another time, another moment, thinking about what I am missing or what else I should be doing because if timing is everything then damnit, I need to be there too. I need to make sure that I am in all of the places so to not miss beat for when the right time comes along, I can be ‘oh so present. ‘

Alas I’ve missed all the moments. Every time. The present, the past, future. What is this moment? What is the notion of “being present” anyhow? Isn’t is all just ideals put in place so we can keep ourselves organized, sans spontaneity, boxed into some sort of safe zone of control  in a world that is a cluster of a...

i like your brain

i love when unexpected meetings happen

when life throws you a curve ball

and you have to dig deep, with your strongest shovel 

into the stubborn roots of your soul

to flip that frown upside down

and open your heart, warding off 

soldier after soldier that showed up

fully armed

i have never been more fluent 

in the dancing that unfolds in that space 

in the gap between connect and disconnect

this is not to say that it has become my first language

as it is far from that

and only when i can actually catch myself

flowing it it's dance

can i tell you what i've been told 

in the space that is created when humans 

come together in a space where

one like mind can become nsync with the other

through the electrical currents of brain waves, 

glittering lights, flashing up and down 

a mysterious corridor

where the words 'i like your brain' can be 

uttered into the grey area of a connection

where masks, and armor are truly a sell out

where the heart stamps itself on sleeves 

abiding in vulnerability

it's in this gap where the soul soars high

healing itself through understanding 

sans expections of any return on investment

where "i understand you" is enough 

to bring you to your knees

perhaps forever

it's in this space 

where i have learnt a new language

that i can truly say "i like your brain"

dare me to further say, 

we are riding one single wave

i believe.

i believe in crazy
i believe in doing everything which i'm told not

i believe in what doesn't make sense
i believe in the darkness that comes with the light

i believe in the rawness of feelings
i believe in telling all but listening to none

i believe in taking chances, risks, leaps
i believe in connection

i believe that we create our world, every thought, word, day
i believe that the only crazy is what is not done, for fear, or flight

i believe that in this one life, we shouldn't think about tomorrow
i believe in the mysterious trust in letting go to allow for the greater flow

i believe in today and that feeling that makes no sense
i believe that you should listen to your inner guidance, your wisdom

i believe in being crazy today, following feelings, darkness and flow
because if tomorrow never comes, then how else will i know?

this life.

When did I even have time to come back to you lately? To sit here and to think. To stare into your peaks and dips, and wait until the next rip tide flows over my skin?

No time.

I’ve found myself in the shackles of too much, more, seeking, wanting, pushing, and not honoring my own sacred temple. Not resting and enjoy all of the intuition and beauty that I have inside of me. I find that when I take the time to let it shine it GLOWS out of me, through every pour of my being.

The things that I seemingly find in the breaks of my being, hidden far away in the darkest corners only come when it is safe and quiet enough to become vulnerable.

What is this tug of war with joy, connection and slinkling away into the shadows? I’ve finally found the magnifying glass to assess these tendencies through. It’s as though I don’t want anyone too close to be able to feel joy. But is that real? There is the flip side of that that is allowing people to have all of my time, all of my quiet and all of my words. That’s not right either. Yes, when saying yes you will always have an enjoyable time if you change your attitude to say that ‘whatever my decision may be, I will be ok with the outcome.’ I am not trying to get anywhere, just enjoying the journey-to some degree of it.

Mines a struggle in the giving, patience, the waiting, the organizing, the planning, the vulnerability, the being scared to make a decision so I sit and I wait and then anxiety and feelings of emptiness, unfulfillment take decisions place. I have been here before, each and every one of these places has seen my face before. we have said hello and been courteous to one another even though the anger that is bubbling up inside of me could nix their existence. Why am I back? What things haven’t I sorted that need sorting?

All.

Being busy for busy sake, not finding my creative quiet time, always having to listen to the clock and be somewhere-for someone or something. never saying no. feeling bad when I do say no so I sit in angst until I finally tire and sleep takes over my fragile body.

Do I run because I cannot deal with the pressures of being present, having to show up and connecting to the world around me? Is it all too much? I feel like I’m going to break, often, then my strength picks me back up. Can’t you just let me crumble like the last cookie in the sleeve? At least it would still taste sweet.

So I find you in the shadows, in the moments when nothing else seemed to work out, or did it? does joy make me feel out of control? Does it spin me in a way that only a child understands freedom, love, laughter, and lighteness? Does that scare me? Is it too hard to handle? Where do you compartmentalize something of such?

Press play and you’ll see the orchestra of life take their seats, the bells and whistles in line as the ducks are forced into a line because somebody somewhere heard that that’s how they like to be-have we ever asked them how they fancy arrangements?

Then you’ll grow old, teathered and grey, your skin soft, worn down from love and light dancing upon the ballroom of your cheeks and brow. You did it all right, the stories you tell, from tears to joy to a life lived full. When you tell me this, I see something else, there’s this sparkle, the twinkle, or is it a tear? As I see you scan back through tht efiles of your mind, what didn’t you do? What did you not say when you needed to say it most? If you would have stepped into your own path, what would the webs you weaved looked like?

I know you won’t say, these things that I see when I look into your eyes, as I drown on your river, that runs ever so deep. So hold back, just like you have, for the years have passed, you’ll say through tears. “I have to be thankful, for those that I had, I can’t ask for more, who do I expect I am?”

The things that I see, that not a one of them will say, hides deep in my soul, the cracks and the  folds, for it is only when I take the time to be with you, that it feels safe enough to peak out for one fresh gulp of salty filled ocean air.