walking through a cloud of grey
the beginning of a quiet day
I felt a tickle on my face
a soft caress, a moment’s grace
as I was gently kissed
by the tender morning mist
to sleeping earth
forgive your past
in love’s eternity
down the face
of my soul
2014, 2019, 2020
in the muck of news’ day platitudes
I’ve lost my cheery attitude
midst hate and anger screamed and spewed
what happened to beatitudes
but past these ugly, mindless feuds
beyond behavior simply rude
there is another world that can be viewed
in Nature’s holy latitude
in this world outside our doors
flowers dance, birds sing, and oceans roar
a world that heeds not human news
where souls soar high on gratitude
2016, 2019, 2020
most think the challenge of climbing mountains
is reaching the top
pushing past fear
step by step
to finally stand victorious
in the rare air
above the clouds of ordinary being
surrounded by distant views
of unclaimed summits
with each descending step
the real work begins
returning to the valley of everyday existence
the spirit begins to shrink
for it can no longer be fed
by ordinary life
the real challenge of climbing mountains
is never surrendering the summits of our dreams
to stand alone
bold and free
with only mountaintops
2016, 2019, 2020
Commitment, like love, is a verb.” Commitment does not exist without action.
I offer the following thoughts on “Commitment,” as much to re-inspire myself as to inspire you-
“Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back– Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth that ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way.”
-W.H. Murray, Scottish Himalyan Expedition, 1951
“Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.”
-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe?
GO FOR IT!
walk with me
I hear her softly plead
walk with me
and so I rise and go
take the hand that isn’t there
feel the joy in her smile
the smile only my heart can see
hear the memory of her gleeful calls
her waves to passing children
as she scampers to greet them
faces glowing in the morning sun
a gentle breeze caresses us
sitting on our seaside bench
I kiss her tenderly
taste the love upon her lips
inhale the sweet scent of her soul
embrace the grace that made us one
touching the emptiness beside me
tears slide down my cheeks
walk with me
and I rise again
walking with my lover’s ghost
Some are vanilla,
always the same
Some are exotic
sherbets with fireworks lives
to check others’ eyes
then the specials
like bubblegum treat
Yes, chocolate, strawberry,
and rocky road too
friends of all flavors
some licked and
like ice cream
I taste them
each one of a kind
then off on their way
they melt in my mind
Yet over the years
a few friends remain
these flavors I savor
2014, 2016, 2018, 2020
As I had for many mournful months I sat at ocean’s edge alone lost in stillness mesmerized by the tranquility of wavelets lapping up the silent sand the sun reached down and stroked my hand warm, soft, strong much as her touch once comforted my starving soul then memories blinded tearful eyes the darkened day turned cold but then I heard the sounds of joy the sounds of life renewed children laughing singing, screaming a songbird flitting by and I heard it the voice within at last, there is hope again
tio stib You might also enjoy: <a href="https://travelswithtio.com/2018/02/22/blind-man-on-a-bench/">Blind Man on a Bench</a>, <a href="https://travelswithtio.com/life-journey-thoughts/">Life Journey Poems and Prose</a></p>
Yesterday I dropped an egg. Actually, I didn’t drop it, I surmise it rolled unseen off the counter. I heard a noise near the floor. In a microsecond, my brain flashed through the possible causes of such a noise. At about the same time, my brain reached another conclusion. The toes on my right foot were also sending signals to my sensory center. Something gooey was down there.
A broken egg!
As I groped around cleaning the shattered shell from the floor and then its contents from my foot, I pondered the symbolic relevance of this event in my life.
Yes, I tend to get lost in my own world at times.
Perhaps, I wondered, my life is like a broken egg. Here I am, marching along unseen by most of the world and then, crash! I splat into eternity, possibly making a mess for someone else to clean up as I exit.
That’s one possibility.
My mind drifted off in other directions. I remembered a structures class where we dropped eggs in specially designed containers from a third story balcony. The object, of course, was to preserve the integrity of the egg. The challenge was to do this with as little material as possible. It’s no problem to put an egg in a big box of bubble wrap and drop it unfazed onto the floor below. The trick is to drop the egg, mostly naked, with the same result. Similarly in life, I thought, there’d been times I’d insulated myself with such things as work and selfish interest so that the rest of the world couldn’t touch me, and I couldn’t touch the people who cared about me because I was too closed off from them.
There have been naked opposite times when I was raw and open, times when I felt that life had run me over and left me for roadkill. Going bankrupt and watching friends die come to mind.
My lesson from these experiences: Sometimes it’s good to overprotect. Sometimes it’s good to hurt. The pain reminds me of happier times.
All this you may say, from simply having an egg hit the floor? Yes, and there’s more.
What if I’m like an egg? A hard, durable shell on the outside and a soft sticky mess inside. My outside, that part of me I show the world, is a lot like the shell of an egg. It’s quite resistant to general pressures, quite strong when grasped firmly. But, the shell has its weak points. It doesn’t do well with pressure applied to a single point. Yes, I have my buttons. I hate cleaning up other people’s messes, such as wiping up their broken eggs. I have no tolerance for fools, which is why politics disgusts me. The egg shell is also brittle. It doesn’t do well when landing on sharp objects. I explode when subject to sharp noises, and am even more violent when subject to the sound of barking chihuahuas.
All this from a broken egg.
My last thoughts on this surprisingly deep self-dialog. How do you crack an egg? I use two hands. Even so, I often make a mess of this simple action, sometimes striking a nearby surface so hard that the shell cracks open and leaves a trail of egg goo from there to the frying pan. (This is a clue to what I usually do with eggs, hinting at my limited cooking repertoire). Sometimes, when my mind is somewhere else such as now, I fail to hit the egg hard enough,it doesn’t crack, waking me from my reverie to initiate another strike on the shell. This usually results in the previously mentioned egg goo trail.
What does this say about my life? I tend to be overly cautious and conservative. Do I lack faith in my creative abilities to expand my egg cuisine? Maybe I’m just lazy.
One of my goals for the New Year is to learn how to crack an egg with one hand. I think this may take quite a few eggs. I’ve heard that gin fizzes are a good use for egg whites and an easy way to forget about life’s deeper concerns.
Like how my life is like a broken egg.
2014, 2016, 2018, 2020
First published in January, 2014, but since I haven’t mastered the one handed egg crack yet, I decided to publish this again to remind myself of goals I’ve yet to attain.