What a long strang trip…

  Our journey to the sea has been met with… dance moves uncommon to the flat world in which they breath…styles that collide, grow and own the moment passing by… as well as stories yet told to jealous ones with burning ears and half empty glasses. The olio of warmth, laughter and experience pay the toll, encouraging the expression of elation to not only follow the leader but sway helplessly to the beat.  A hut, simple in nature, houses the roaming home, with grace fitting the twelfth month in which it resides. The call summoned dreamers, innovators, lovers, wishers, believers, surfers, jokesters, shakers, hipsters, groovers, writers, creators, bakers, movers and northerners and southerners alike, to gather… to toast a season, where the only currency accepted rhymes with dove and champions the night. 

We gather. We live. We laugh. We share. We dance. We inspire. We encourage. We unite. 

 The morn does not hold captive the rise of their days, for these beings illuminate a night,  accustomed to easy uncontested victory over tired bodies and apathetic souls. The lot chase seconds held apart with courage fitting the bravest knight and persistence true to only the boldest of vagabonds. The most important meal of the day's honor is recognized past the sun's arrival at midday and with a brooding perfection of comfort, rare to even the south. Beats bounce, rhythms run then return, while songs sung, common to the passing tribes' soul, surrender amidst the movement of love's mighty wake. Riding this specific yet unruly wave, beckons hearts full, to overflow freely, toting tomorrows' style with todays intent. Weather only encourages this group; wool gathered and worn evolves to meet winds unseasonably quiet and sweet. 

We share. We cook. We drink. We merry. We toast. We enjoy. We smile. We unite. 

These gypsy queens bow only to the maker of their breath, as lessons in friendship, the day's delight and dreamy revolutions are taught with grace real enough to hide behind yet uniquely bold to the flow. Free spirits, like these, entice even the darkest of days to forfeit the reigns of chances' outcome, while prevailing in communicating through a dead language… not yet asleep but awake… not heard but felt…not listened to but related with…not established in the now but rooted in memories tipping their steady tongues of instances long since passed. Dynamically bounding in potential, tastes the slice as well as the pie. Apart, character is hosted amongst strangers turned friends, kindling flames of heroines upon braving the glassy status quo. Ability, talent, beauty and depth lie just beneath a stillness rusted by heads down and teachers blind with limits. To be unleashed upon the world, would and is a hope worthy of any poem or picked daisy. To be unleashed upon the world is a prayer from the wise; looking to the half dozen to create anew the world they paint on a fresh daily refrain. These gypsy queens rule the day, flood the night and dance in-between. 

We gather. We live. We laugh. We share. We dance. We inspire. We encourage. We unite

Kings nomadically nurtured strut, side by side with the aforementioned pictures of hope, lending laughter in the face of chaos. Raw soaked emotion yawlps from deep within these leaders of daybreak towards quality understanding and highly coveted experiences. Their tread can be seen challenging the staunch traditions of mindlessness on a path blazed towards narrow's promise of eternity. Teachers, coaches, students of life's honors courses, their theories of God-sized living have proofs written in crayon and added, subtracted and multiplied with skips and jumps. Barbarians pursuing each other rather than the worlds' seemingly complete how to's, are a unruly  crash of content contemplation teamed with hunger for the unseen. Their pleasure includes service, which begs to wage war, and love, learned through intimacy with the wind. These kings bow as well as raise up like trees, shift the focus of mirrors and dream dreams worth pursuing. 

We share. We cook. We drink. We merry. We toast. We enjoy. We smile. We unite.

      Cardboard Emotions. 

       Today. I stood on the side of the road and held a cardboard sign. The sign simply said LOVE. As snow fell and my fingers became numb… smiles, honks and waves began to intercede as the chorus of today's song. Beautiful to experience really. With my bike stationed just behind the median, I raised my hand-made sign high above my head and smiled with my teeth. The font rivaled that of a Microsoft's Times New Roman and the size would most likely be numbered at, well, huge. So there I stood. Smiling. Waving. Holding. And the impact, of what I hoped to be a little ray of sunshine on a dreary wintery day like today, drove by into a future I could not see. Did it brighten a day? Just one? Or maybe ten? Did it paint a smile, where a frown once claimed supremacy? Was it a topic of conversation for those who drove by on their cell phones? Did it do anything? Anything at all?

Well. For me, the sign expressed what I was feeling. For me, the sign put into one word the thoughts that overwhelmed me after a morning filled to the brim with great conversation amongst friends and powerful words from a book. For me, the sign was my way to invite others into the gift that is today. For me, the sign was in a sense the very word it wore.  I think the reason I rode my bike…held my sign…and smiled so big… was because I not only yearn and crave love but have felt loved so much lately that I desire to share! 

Tree Home

My heart is full yet my body is weak following a weekend, that made up for the lack of sleep with profound questions and experiences, both true and real.  I am sold out for the movement of love and cannot help but dance daily in its wake. Deep conversations have become currency while experience is held as dear as the depth of thought behind it. An overflow of lives abounding in love and joy is eagerly apparent. Smiles accompany serving just as answers accompany our prayers. The year of the Lord's favor is clearly upon this group of believers, doers and dreamers and thus my heart is full.  Full of life. Full of thanks. Full. 

Teens are more aware than I have ever seen. The questions being asked are as intelligent and profound as the answers being sought after. This is a byproduct of so many and so much that have made the roots of this tree of life grow. Leaders devotion to prayer, service and love transcends numbness and ignorance to preach a gospel of invitation, acceptance and rebirth; in a way for the blind to see it and the deaf to hear it. How important a kind smile or encouraging text is from a person who is your biggest fan and loves you for who you are. And to have a group devoted to each other as well as four thousand others, not only rocks the boat of status quo but rains light into a darkness dimmed by the words of the songs they sing and hardened by the products and truths they are sold. In a society bankrupt of the real, these innovators preserver through the awkward and the sacrifices to reveal truth of identification. Truth of reality. Truth of something bigger. True

I am because we are. I am blessed. I am joyful. I am thankful. I am passionate. I am in love. We are. 

Community is built upon the bricks of people's lives and erected through the hammering of conversations and memories made. This home I have found myself in is richly placed on a base strong enough to withstand any storm of circumstance and crisis. By placing belief that relationships create the most suitable concrete for pouring and friendships yield planks both strong and sturdy, a home becomes solidified for a long life of tradition, interaction and life lived in full. Our. The word means more to me now than ever before. To be apart of something bigger, a movement on the tips of toes, a community submerged in the dance of life, an adventure worth telling stories about, a courting of truth…that is why I am here. Because love is here. Because truth is here. Because hope is here. Because God is here.  

Home is the tree house that we have made. All are welcome. All are invited to play. 

Meetings...

I am surrounded by meetings about meetings about money. Conversation splashes in the puddle of its depth while numbness wins the night and begins to recruit the day. Caffeine allows us to do nothing more and technology commands isolation in this quest.

(being aware of my surroundings at a coffee shop)

Mornings like this.

 The sun is lazily creeping into the cloudless sky on a morning plagued by the chills yet bounding in promise. Rays flirts with the courageous leaves still hanging and ignite belief that today is in fact a gift. Headphones block out needless distractions while supplementing my a.m. experience with the fitting soundtrack. Melodies are loaded with slow rhythms. Lyrics seem to hold more than syllables and commas. Natural acoustics go hand-in-hand with mornings like this. Listening moves to hearing as emotions are linked to the brisk awareness that fall is fading fast and winter's chill will soon overtake the resistance. Coffee has logged long hours to solidify its position of comfort, warmth and hug like status. So. On days like this. Their services are requested and reputation is not only solidify but becomes legend. The perfect blend of tradition, familiarity and taste. One sip reminds you that bitterness is as temporary as the passing of the twelfth month and hopelessness is a casual hint that we need each other to get through. 

Wind I cannot see moves the slender trees, whose fall dieting and shedding, leave them open to the flowing force. A dance ensues. Gusts take the lead and branches follow suit. Swaying with perfect lines honed from their rehearsal of years and years. A love story unfolds. I watch and wonder why we are often to busy to realize that this is where it all began. Where love taught us to dream. Where laughter taught us to move. Where life began its pursuit. 

The window through which I look is not entirely clean yet the little imperfections warrant truth. I peer through it as if to gaze into another world. I am inside yet aware that my soul craves to feel the story this window is telling. My soul longs to be apart of a love story. It yearns for partners to dance with and to be thrown into a story worth telling. This window separates me from the outside world but my mind easily connects what I know to be true about the suns waning presence and understands life is lived on the other side of the glass. Life is lived where wind blows, trees dance and songs are sung. 

            DEEP ROOTS

Lazy as a leaf whose adventure is not his own

            Ambitious as a vine whose sight soar always up

Simple as a yes whose answer does condone

            Optimistic as a kid who’s as full as his cup

Today marks the start of it all

            Time passes yet moments linger with hope

Hearts gather to honor their call

            Dreams flirt, dance, cuddle and elope

You and me and her and him

            A group unruly related only in time

Without the other the world fashions grim

            Fight back and love claims a witty rhyme

One,  two…three four seven

            Gaggles, herds, schools, flocks

Artistically adding to get eleven

            The movement of the grandfather as it tocks

Green enough to grow with ease

            The wind carries feelings of home

Dirt covered blue jeans from working bent knees

            Explorers unite to where their roots will sew.

Staring Contest

I got in a staring contest with a dog today. I was walking. He was sitting. I say he only because I believe his name was Aaron.  And a better description than sitting would be staying put. I contemplate freedom only when I see someone that lacks it. Aaron lacks it. So I thought about being able to go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I like freedom.

Aaron was probably thinking the opposite.  If Aaron were a human being he would be that old gray haired man with spectacles on the tip of his nose. He would only wear wool; on his upper body and his feet.  People would say things like “that Aaron can really tell a story” and “ Aaron is so smart.” But Aaron is a dog.

Aaron has lost his bite. Or at least I think he has.  He did not bark at me. He did not run about disregarding the leash around his neck. Aaron stays put. “Has he lost his excitement for being alive or is he tired of being a dog?”

With a sigh, which I saw with my eyes rather than hearing with my ears, Aaron reached out to me. Aaron must have had one of those mornings. I have had a lot of those.  Or maybe one of those weeks. Or maybe one of those doggie years. Dogs think way more than we think they do. Dogs are way smarter than cats. But not as smart as horses. Horses are really smart.

I stare. He stares back. I keep walking. He stays put. I keep staring. He keeps staring back. I feel sorry for Aaron. He stares back. He has a gray goatee. I keep walking and staring. He stares back. Aaron is the best at this game. I am playing a game. I do not think Aaron is playing.

I wander what Aaron is doing right now. Probably staying put. Probably just staring. Aaron is a dog. 

I pray.

I sit. I kneel. I wait here.

I listen. I pause. I listen more.

I see. I wonder. I make believe.

I repeat. I rehearse. I give thanks.

I ask. I wish. I hope for.

I indulge.

I ponder.

I wrestle with.

I am. I waver. I am not?

I read. I think. I draw thoughtlessly.

I breathe. I smell. I sigh deeply.

I acknowledge. I slow. I reflect upon.

I swear. I praise. I live aware.

I pray.