The Tales Time Tells

I know that every place I go to and merge with my heart becomes an imperative piece of my path, and I know that i have always kindled specific dreams in my soul.

I know giving up those dreams would be settling, but sometimes my dreams conflict.

Everything is a choice. Even when we are called and convicted to a course, we choose whether or not to be free. I’ve held those dream gently in my hands and I’ve watched it sew and sliver into the earth of my skin for years. I’ve cradled this seed, not to see it slide through the spaces in my fingers like sands. 

I stand at a peaceful distance from dark and beautiful hands. I’ve only seen them emit light and work in perfect cohesion with precise words. And though the touch of those hands pulls me in as close as two people can come, i know that timing does not tell the same tale. 

All I can do is trust; trust that all is how it should be; trust that trusting in my dreams is trustworthy; and trust that time will pull this peaceful distance closer with a familiar touch of finger tips. Here and now it is peaceful… but painful.

I know that every person I merge with my heart becomes and imperative piece of my path, and I know that I have always kindled specific dreams in my soul. I trust in the direction of these dreams and the tales that time tells.


New Life



You can’t touch it, see it, grasp it, contain it, own it… but it touches you as it exists, changing and drifting in the air. We hear it for a time and are affected by its presence; maybe even changed, inspired- until it lingers and dwindles from our perception. And though we think it lags and fades, those melodies persist at vibrations we cannot understand. The energy, once begun, cannot be undone. It takes other shape and form but perseveres every storm. Untouched, it has lived and died a life we have heard, but remains; the energy brimming, ultimately unchanged, forever existing, and forever having transformed and impacted the heart that has heard it. New life of sound.

Human Life

The physical manifestation of spirit. The tangible representation of music. We live… and we can choose to be light. We can choose to be Love. And no matter who touches us, nothing and no one can keep us constant and contained. We change, we grow, we grow old, we linger, dwindle and drift. And though we seem to lag and fade, we persist in vibrations that we cannot understand. The energy- the essence- once begun, cannot be undone. We take other shape and form but persevere every storm. We live and die a life others have seen and participated in, but we remain. Everything is altered, but stays ultimately unchanged; brimming- forever existing and forever having transformed and been transformed, having impacted and been impacted, encountered and enhanced, embraced and then… erased?      No.      We’re with this life for a time and affected by its presence. The hearts that have heard, the hearts that have seen, have communicated with the heart that has left the scene… and it persists in vibrations we cannot understand. New life.




Every once in a while we have the opportunity to use the word, “life changing” to describe an experience. How very often do we take that chance? How keen are we to jump into challenge and search for our courage? How often do we see through it to the point of speaking these words. How often do we mean them? “Life changing….”

 I took part in an internship at Bronx Bethany Community Church of the Nazarene in Bronx NewYork through the college I recently graduated from, Eastern Nazarene College. The professors of this class told us we would be “helping kids express themselves through art with a focus on justice.” Looking at all of this now I can see that at the time this label was so attractive, yet such a sadly summarized piece of information to describe what would happen on this journey. Regardless though, I chose to pursue this way for reasons alluring, although unknown to me at the time, and I knew things would change and grow from this path, because don’t they always? I knew I was going in to love people and be in community with them, and I knew I’d form relationships that would shape me and my life, but I did not know just how profoundly I would be affected by the love that illuminates the hearts of people holding theirs open for others to share in. I didn’t have even the slightest understanding of what could become of this path. I had believed this internship was to teach transformation and power to little minds and bodies. We came to instill expression and impart a sense of justice in their little hearts. I had no idea the enormity of the lessons I’d soon encounter, and I couldn’t have understood the most truthful knowledge; just how powerful these children really are. This direction has been such a blessing. Wherever God directs me is my Home.

Transformation: from fear to love, dark to light, silence and reservation to laughter and those little moments which spark and expand to flame, music and names I would never have known without God. I wasn’t completely conscious to the fact that our calling was more than teaching and placing ourselves in new situations. We know that purpose is imperative, and we look for purpose as if it lives in the places we are too often told to find it, as if we are defined by the method in which we make our money. Our most pure purpose, though, lies in our living. It’s not so much about finding or defining ourselves, but simply “being” there. This is why the undefinable, in between, little moments mean so much. This is why people and their hearts are the most beautiful things. This is why people, through their giving of love, give life.

This path is lit with love and coercing me that it is the only way. The only true way to live, to step up, to love. God blesses us when we have the courage to walk with him where his feet hit sand- beyond our comfort zone and easy land. If I had allowed fear to cause me to back down, I would have missed knowing what it feels like to love every single second of life. I would have missed what it feels like to know I am meant to be in this very place at this very moment. I would have no idea what I was missing.

 The dancing, playing, singing, conversations, field trips, peanut butter and jelly, friendships, and millions of hugs, whether sweetly served or simply attacked, will forever hum with a permanent refrain of intricate construction in my heart. It’s about the small things we’ll never forget. It’s about the most tangible, shapeless and senseless things; joy, peace and love. It’s about the action of loving that emanates life.

            True Joy is when we allow ourselves to be lifted from our stationary titles; to be bold, open and new; when we act without caution and respond without question. When we are strong in uncertainty because of our assurity in the spirit that is directing thee, all life is renewed.

            This is the life of following my one true love. It is brilliantly beautiful beyond description, and it is constantly challenging and giving. Everything: our strengths, our weaknesses, our gifts, our insecurities, our pride, our definitions, our knowledge, our ability and capacity to love; to love deeply and be loved- to know through this love… everything is challenged and everything is strengthened. When we let courage filter in through the empty spaces of our inadequacies, we have to trust in the decision to follow God’s plan before even acknowledging fear, and we then see the beauty that we could never create for ourselves.

God wants to walk with us, but he will not walk in our comfort zones, so if we want to walk with God, we must leave our comfort zones to join his footpath. There we find everything we’d ever wanted but maybe weren’t willing to wait for before. There, wherever He directs us, we find our home.


“The Great Spirit directs me.” – Young Chief Cayuse

Lord thank you for this day.

Thank you for the messages you portray through everything I’m seeing, hearing
everything I’m sharing, feeling, all your bringing into light, healing. Thank you for transforming everything I’m fearing, all that is overbearing and could be tearing hearts and worlds apart. I thank you lord for art and for love, for without these I wouldn’t know to leave For the trees that stretch above. I thank you for words, the birds that dance among them. I thank you for music, the language of their communication. I thank you for opening doors, opening hearts and opening mouths. I thank you God for life and for the lives you bring to life through love and lives lived for you. And Lord, I thank you even for the pain and the names that refrain in the spaces that occupy our veins and chain each of us together. Thank you for that tether, for whether we wonder, whisper, wail, wait or watch, We will not let fear cause us to question gawking and walking in awe of you and your direction- the path where your inflection persists in sliding into the silence somewhere in this room filled with  your voice. It reminds us that responsibility is evident, but relationships are everything.

Thank you for your attention in breaking through the noise and extensions of what I had once believed to be a filled heart- where pieces and parts that darted from “thou art” started to realize the risk of your loving intention. Thank you for searing the treason that told me the reason everything was okay as long as certain people would stay and say “one day.” Thank you for teaching me to pray- for the prayers that stare into the glare of where the flawed reasons claw in seasons of doubt and decay. Lord thank you- again- for THIS very day. This ONE DAY NOW. How I’m finding as I follow you here, outside comfort and alongside fear- that “now..” is the most sincere. You hear and allow the shallow to disappear, recasting in the script so clear, that YOU have become my rightful reason.

God you give me so very much, but I am still not enough. I am too small to do and make change that I wish could sustain everything. I break and I freeze, I melt and I bleed. I heave for healing and hold the heavy heart of behaving as if it is my fault when there isn’t. I just hardly.. have a sense of hope. You show me that my responsibility is not to be Everything, but just.. to BE. To be all that I Can be. To be here NOW. To be love NOW. To be somewhere else tomorrow. I thought it was all responsibility that you are trusting in me, but it is Love. ALL Love. Love when I come. Love when I go. Wherever you direct me is my home.

Thank you. Thank you for passion. Thank you for dreams. Thank you for instilling in me these gifts that are a rarity- the courage to choose to believe even when it seems insensible and unrealistic to sensible society. Thank you for the CHANGE that YOU and I, YOU and THEM, THEM and ME- WE can arrange and retrieve from emptiness and earth. Thank you for the strange strength and surfacing skill, your will, and the careful process of uncovering clarity that is deemed as the quest of history- the will that was, will be and IS this: simply, this very moment. This one day NOW.

Thank you God for the opportunity to love all people, the mystery of how to do so properly, and the challenge to charge anonymity with facing faces, filling spaces and sharing graces. Thank you God for different places, varied oases of home. Thank you for every trial, every lesson, every circumstance that turns us toward truth, announces that we are not alone, and ultimately reminds us- wherever we are- that the challenges are always simultaneously hard and extremely beautiful, scary every second but worth every minute, that the things we fear most are the doorways to the things we want most, the very things we dream, the things we strive to define by our lives and relish in their life. (Joy. Peace. Love.) Thank you for reassuring me that I am enough. Thank you for always directing me home. And thank you God, for this Very Beautiful Day.


The Pessimistic Cliche’s of Life Gone Silly

Everything is silly.

Plain and simple.

We take everything seriously and later we look back on it and laugh. We feel paralyzing pain, and when the train has left the station, we can finally smile like we mean it. But while we wince, cold shoulders cut like a knife and we cannot feel anything but our high hopes as they hang us out to dry.

 After a long hard day of work without a honey to come home to, we take the long haul home with a pocket full of sunshine we can’t see. We fail to see this silly because we see life as a long chain of events instead of Polaroid pictures in full focus. We see ourselves as the main character, the tragic hero, and every set back is the climax and epic downfall sending us back in the saddle to beat a dead horse.

 Every person that leaves us was the one, nothing ever gets done or goes our way, and we’re always saying “One day…” When life doesn’t burn your bridges, it’s too good to be true and we fall off the wagon. But we can’t be the judge of that when we jump that bandwagon to be asleep at the wheel, driving the narrow path from first person perspective choosing only to see what we want to see.  

Life knocks on our door, gives us bad hair days, is the backseat driver and backstabber and we’re back to square one. We trip over our tongues to be tried and true, but instead of being tickled pink; we’re thrown for a loop and thrown to the wolves by the hair of our chinny chin chin.

Still we’re dreaming of a white Christmas or twist of fate to get our ducks in a row. We’d give our right arm to grasp a glimmer of hope, but when we go out on a limb we also go belly up. Go figure. We are the bull in a china shop dressed to kill, while the kid in the candy store takes the cake and throws stones at our baker’s dozen. There’s plenty of fish in the sea but we wish we could pull a rabbit out of a hat and bend over backwards to bring back the days when we fought like cats and dogs. We put a box under our bed with a lid on our hopes and dreams because the object of desire is always one in a million and takes off running.

We’re all on the same page; poor as a church mouse preaching to the choir about how everything takes a toll on us and leaves us without a penny in our pocket, but happens for a reason. We’d like to appear fit as a fiddle and believe its all fine and dandy being blind mice.

Though, while we wince and while we wait for life to begin, life begins to wait for us to laugh at its silly. Life wishes we would allow ourselves to let our hair down, kick back, relax, put on a happy face, throw our hands in the air like we just don’t care, be free to make mistakes,  take the knuckle sandwiches with a grain of salt and take the road less traveled, challenge our fears and take failure as a lesson. Still, we fail to see the silly and we’re clenching our fists in shapes that can’t fit in our pockets to feel it.

Why so serious?


At a fixed position by a tiny fence, a stilt with hands eases its grip on a thin tether. In slow motion she bobs upon invisible stairs to reach closer the translucent stars- to tug continuously on her string. The figure below sways indecisively on the green like a fleck or a happy fly, guiding her glaze. She sturdily flounces to and fro in senseless direction, eternally chasing infinity, escorted by restriction- a small set of hands below. Other free spirits float next to her, fugitives withal. I am among these noiseless bees. We fly but cannot be free. Apathetic, we’ve lost our fight, speaking only in flapping wind upon our shoulders, with a style of dance fluent to marionettes, spiraling when our strings tangle. 

A life of a Kite is not so terrible when we swing like birds on strings.
We lust for wind to thrust us through space un-chased
We are followed with haste til were tossed in a cold room and called a thing
Our spines bend, our wings crunch and hole punch, our tails twist
I look down at this child, a blissful and free runner, young and untied
Its ignorance is my bliss as the unraveling meets its end and FREE i finally fly.

Ocean Hands

If my heart could unfurl like ocean hands with accordion pages
And envelope the heat it simultaneously creates and chases,
It would then be full.
Warm and spinning webs to weave those hands in mine,
But the pursuit continues

Eyes meet
Eyes are gone,
And never I think of those eyes again
I wait, expectant, sitting until they see

A concise cull carries pieces painfully out of place
And I hold this heart in ocean hands.
The waves soothe its burn
But still i look for that fire.
Nowhere to be seen

Only to be felt is a heart’s hint
And it’s always a futile search for something that is a secret.
Patience is the temperance its wasted whispers press into my temples,
And temper-like whiplash tells me tender lies

If my heart were to unfurl like ocean hands with accordion pages
If it were to open and speak of its temperature as a torrent to be withstood,
We’d type a manuscript that meets water,
Easily unscathed with words of war worth waiting.

Instruments/ Sound Garden

Peach Clouds
Seeping Stones
My Footpath Is A Piano

I can be called a Painter because I find meaning in creation, while meaning travels many paths.
It’s words, that wire me til I write them or lose them between  my eyelids, easily astray.
The wind that night wasn’t tapping on what we call “home,” but blustering outside what she calls “cage.” A barred box where each plink of raindrop and bruft of wind creates a cacophony of comfort, coaxes then carries us away, asleep in a boat, drifting in the current of dream doors. This roaring sound garden pushes us forth into silence. It plays its symphony as we construct several anew, easily lost. 
I’ll see you in a plinking sea where comfort of the world, noises and sound, shake our stability. I’ll see you under chandeliers as notes wander the arched ceiling, where applause like rain clatter rings in complete darkness. It fills your ears til thunder breaks and the floor pours like the river we ride- a sweet simple glaze like the white shine of a penny, if it could make a sound.
When the river meets mud and the boat slides still, we step onto the land where the echoes we’ve dreamed take life in visuals, face to face. 

Peach Clouds
Seeping Stones
Our Footpath Is A Piano

Who Am I
I Am Here
Our Footpaths Are Instruments

We Followed the Wind's Message

We followed the wind’s message- of luring safety and life breath. Alive when the rest of the world asleep, we discovered that trees like the wind. It is their well known language. These sighs connect each swaying stalk, each branch and leaf. This wind decides nights to determine which messages and memories to send to people, to entrance and entrap them in. It blusters outside open windows and whispers in comforting curtains, “You are safe.” It lures the thrilled spirit to journey in it’s wet and windy, in its trilling mist and opportunistic air that shapes circles and orbital flowers above our heads. It calls us, “Come outside and play.” It reassures us, “You are safe. Tonight this world is open for awe,” as we dance and marvel at its spinning paint, tossing the hair of trees, in the wind’s singing. How high buildings loom. How tall trees stand, so willing for wind to help them dance with us, to speak to us and through us, as softest jaws open to weeds of words so unconfined. It longs for as long as it can to rest on our warm skin, cooling our cheeks and then suddenly closing our eyes like well read books and settling in our bones to take chance to appear in some of our dreams. It whistles in the holes of our walls as we fall into sleep, listing a last lingering string of easy consolation. World, we play and revel in your magic, we run through your sheets of pouring leaves, we follow your wind’s message. we go to sleep because this night has been too perfect.

This World…

This world…
This world is an entirety and a piece. It is mountains and wind and words without worry. It is music and thrill and cold kissed cheeks. This world is themes interweaving, deceiving, alluring and amazing. A bird flies over this world with assured strength and accuracy. Its heart is poignant, pulsing and propelling. Its wings are air and silver hairs and it sings a song sweetly long forgotten to this world. Beauty soars above and circles this world. It speaks in passion and breathless enthusiasm. A thrumming massages its wings as it dives cavernously and dangerously back down to this world to sleep and breathe in a nice warm place.

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