ghosting through the morning mist as day slips from gray to gold my stomach growls the road replies with a small cafe cradling coffee I watch him devouring a mountain of syrup dripping hotcakes he turns we smile nod fellow travelers men of the frontier last night rocketing into starry oblivion riding Cat Stevens’ peace train saluting the shadows of cacti sentinels marching in the moonlight roadtripping on the loose free again all those blue highways all those maps all those little country stores all those stops to buy a soda asking directions where the heck is Boggan’s Oasis? all those steps into the unknown into the magic of surprise moments wild horses splashing through a sea of purple sage golden eagles spiraling from heaven in their mating dance “Jeez! That’s a helluva rattlesnake.” sweating cresting the final ridge running diving plunging into sparkling turquoise water erupting into rainbows and sunshine screaming with frigid delight lost in steaming holy water alone on a desert ocean swaddled in eternity sky slowly slipping from gold to pink to gone so many Shangri-Las I will not travel these roads again but they will haunt my heart when once again Fall calls the vagabond to a season for adventuring tio stib You might also enjoy: A Wilderness Pill; Breaking Trail
Tag Archives: life journey
Blind Man on a Bench
a surprise lover
the cool breeze kisses my cheek
my body delights
in sunshine’s warm embrace
wavelets lap softly on the sand
the scent of seashore drifts into my nose
a fly buzzes by
birds surround me
honking across the water
“Good morning to you”
the footsteps fade
a blast of male perfume persists
I bite an apple
my lips pucker
immersed in a beautiful day
mind swimming in memories
a blind man on a bench
You might also enjoy: High on Gratitude, Hope
The Blind Side Parables 21 – Life is Like a Broken Egg
Yesterday I dropped an egg. Actually, I didn’t drop it. Being blind, I surmised it rolled unseen off the counter. I heard a noise near the floor. In a microsecond, my brain flashed through the possible sources of such a noise. At the same instant, 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 about, cleaning the shattered shell and its slimy contents from between my toes, I pondered the symbolic relevance of this event. Yes, I am easily drawn into metaphysical absurdities. 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. Oh 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. Really, 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 life goals 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. Time to get out the blender. Moral: If you think too much making breakfast, you may find the yolk is on you. tio stib You might also enjoy: Where the Sidewalk ends; The Blindside Parables 17 - Superman
Paddling a Submarine vs. Living an Authentic Life
Last night I dreamed I was paddling a canoe up a lake in the middle of the night. It was calm, I felt peaceful, yet there was one concern. The canoe was underwater. I was trying to paddle a submarine.
I’ve spent years listening to my dreams, paying attention to patterns, weighing the emotions of dreams with respect to my life at the moment. I believe larger forces speak to me in that unconscious world, forces that can guide me to awareness of deeper truths. This pushes me to wonder, why was I paddling a submarine?
I know there are many ways to interpret dreams, but ultimately, I tend to accept that my dreams are about me. Over the years, I’ve noticed that when I’m honest about how I feel in my dreams, they have given me clues to parts of me I needed to pay attention to.
Paddling a submarine. I feel this dream was about my need to live an authentic life. Paddling the canoe was me moving forward in life. My goal was to get to the end of the lake, to a state of inner peace, but I was struggling because I was keeping my emotions below the surface. If I would allow my feelings to express themselves above the water, I would have less resistance to life and my journey would be immensely easier.
I need to be genuine, original, true and trustworthy, and not be in fear of what the world may think of me in my many moments of smallness.
Authenticity means to be honest, to be vulnerable, to take risks. Authenticity is built one day, one choice, at a time. It is a process of continually stepping out of my comfort zone and engaging the world from a place of worthiness vs. shame.
Authenticity is a daily journey into the wilderness of being fully alive.
What’s the greater risk I ask myself? Living life based on what other people think, or being vibrantly alive based on how I feel, what I believe, and who I am?
This blog, “Travels with Tio, a blind writer’s path to happiness,” is my journey, my choice, to be all of me, fully alive. It is one way I will raise myself from paddling a submarine, to paddling a canoe, to perhaps even flying.
What does authenticity mean to you? How does it affect your life?
Please share your feelings on being the authentic “you”.
2013, 2017, 2018
Brene’ Brown recently gave a TED talk, “Listening to Shame,” in which she explores the challenges of authenticity. Brown believes authenticity is a process, a series of choices we make in our lives, choices made each day, in each moment, to be real…or not.
Here’s the link: http://www.cnn.com/2012/04/15/opinion/brown-authentic-self/index.html?hpt=op_bn2
You’ve seen them or if your eyes won’t open yet you’ve heard them buzzing into your life at 8 a.m. babbling about how great it is to be working anxious to charge into a new day morning people I groan who started the myth that 3 hours sleep can propel you through a new day it certainly wasn’t me Lifting an aching head from my desk I rub my eyes in disbelief when a morning person complete with bright smile and jogging shoes asks if I’d like to take a quick walk during break I groan head collapsing back onto desk thank god, it’s Friday I’ll have the weekend to recover from morning peoplitis tio stib You might also enjoy: Life is Like a Broken Egg; Control Freaking
Old Men Walking Dogs
I meet a lot of old men walking dogs sometimes we stop and talk a bit how’s it going? what’s your dog’s name Charlie Galahad Spook one guy is a poet who offers his daily verse I listen, smile, and pet Rocky continuing on, I wonder should I get a dog? do I need a dog? my daughter thinks so she’s always urging me you need a pet something to fill the hole in your life the emptiness from losing your wife yes, I concur there is a hole certainly an emptiness but there is also a deep, rich feeling of gratitude that I was blessed to have had even for a short time the bliss of perfect love I do like dogs have had a few over the course of years but these beautiful creatures require, yes need a certain kind of responsible care and you can’t just lay them off on your kids like grandchildren when you tire and can’t keep up your end of the deal so I do my morning walks alone greet the other old men passing by pet their dogs and walk on but I’m never alone love is always with me now tio stib You might also enjoy: Walking With My Lover’s Ghost; Life in reverse by George Carlin
Oh Treasured Sleep
after hours of insomniac hell I slipped off to sleeping bliss until a screaming blasphemy jerked me back to consciousness with no rational thought no lingering guilt I slammed the insolent alarm off! I’d paid my dues with lack of sleep and conscience free I snuggled deep ah-h-h I so love my sweet cocoon wake me with the next full moon tio stib You might also enjoy: Passwords: The Comfort of Complacency
The Blind Side Parables 17 – Timeman
Dan Chen was obsessed with two things. Time and numbers. When he discovered computers, he began to explore probabilities and statistics which led him to research the numbers associated with human lifetimes. Once we are born, how much time do we have to live? His research had brought acclaim in university and several insurance giants had offered him prestigious positions in their actuarial departments. But Dan had another idea, an idea that had made him a millionaire The LifeTime Watch, an innovative device that worn on one’s wrist, not only displayed the time of day, it also showed how long you had to live. Dan had created a program that integrated human body metrics such as pulse rates, body temperature, sleep time and stress levels, along with environmental sensors including air quality, temperature and humidity, as well as an active internet connection that monitored local and international weather, economic and political information. All this data was fed into a unique analysis program based on thousands of human life statistics to produce a current estimate of one’s actual lifetime expectancy. It had taken Dan years to perfect his program and then produce the prototype LifeTime Watch, which had been tested on real people for more than two years. And it worked. The LifeTime Watch was 97% accurate to years and months to live. Millions had been sold. He was nicknamed Timeman. But Dan’s obsession continued. Now he and a select group were beta testing a new model that would bring this same statistical accuracy down to days. Dan was checking the new Lifetime watch as he walked along a busy San Francisco sidewalk. He was troubled by the anomalies. What about the 3% who beat the odds. Did they have something in common? He stopped and looked around at the moving mass of humanity that had flooded outside for the rare summer sunshine in downtown San Fran. Who was going to live today? Who was going to die? He looked down at his watch. He shook his head, that couldn’t be right. He looked again. The display was filled with zeroes. Zero years. Zero months. Zero weeks. Zero days. Dan’s watch said his lifetime was… Failing to notice that the traffic light had changed, Dan had walked out into the busy street. He never saw the bus that hit him. Moral: Time stops for no man, and sometimes buses don’t either. tio stib You might also enjoy: Control Freaking; Life Journey Poems & Prose
Listen First to Understand
I want to help them give advice make them think I’m smart and nice but then I hear a wiser man listen first to understand I want to brag shout what I’ve done make them want to cheer me on but then that wiser man again listen first to understand no, I don’t always heed the rule neediness makes me play the fool but in the quiet of evening light I look back and know what’s right listen first to understand and I will be a loving man tio stib You might also enjoy: “If” by Rudyard Kipling; Life Journey Poems and Prose
I don’t see it in the clear blue sky romping gaily on my way no hints, no thoughts, no memories just a perfect day but then a shadow passes by and suddenly I give a sigh and darkness sweeps across my soul and loneliness exacts its toll tio stib You might also enjoy: Life Journey Poems & Prose; My Dementia Diary