My heart is full of ideas;
my mind is full of questions.

So many places I could be,
people I could become,
sights to be seen,
lives to be understood -

but I am here.

And is here
where I am intended to be? -
I think yes,
but a defying opinion
arises when I consider
the vast possibilities in life,
the potential that humans hold
to paint their existence
in whichever way they please.

Something is growing in me,
inspiring me to discover, to become,
and that something feels a lot like
a pull in the right direction.

But for now -
I am here;
and the present
is the only reality
that I know.

Quotes that have inspired me this week:

"Do all the good you can. 

By all the means you can. 

In all the ways you can. 

In all the places you can. 

At all the times you can. 

To all the people you can. 

As long as ever you can"

John Wesley 

“It is good to love many things, 

for therein lies the true strength, 

and whosoever loves much performs much, 

and can accomplish much, 

and what is done in love is well done.”

Vincent Van Gogh 

thoughts by the graveside 

How wonderful is it
to exist, to be alive,
to take breath,
to feel sunlight,
to feel wind.

How mysterious our existence -
how unfathomable
the world's creation.

And what tiny humans we are!
We think we have great knowledge,
yet our understanding
is so very small,
so very limited -

Yet each human carries
a specific purpose.
An allotted time and place
in history,
a personalized lifetime.


How beautiful and peculiar
the process of life.

July 11th, 2014

This being of me,
this strange existentialist feeling,
is often saturated with joy
when reminded
that the sun
is warm and free
and accessible
to us all.

rollerblading thoughts

1.)
Actualization of self -
fully realizing
who you are,
what defines you,
and the undeniable
significance of your soul -
is important.

2.)
I've discovered that the fuel
to love others
comes from loving myself,

which comes from
being in love with a God
that made me myself,

which comes from
loving the nature
of God Herself -
and all of Her
perfect, beautiful
creativity.

Thus,
the source of Love.

3.)
I think a lot of us are unintentionally ordinary.
We set out on a driven quest
to be known and appreciated for who we are,
but soon we sink into the pit of mediocrity.

4.)
Healing is a process.
Healing is feeling the sun.
Healing is feeling like everything's okay,
even if it's just for the moment.

clouds, clouds 

clouds, clouds,
sing to me;
reveal to me
your bubbly shape
and magnificent form
of swirling cotton,
tenderly soft, yet
tantalizingly beautiful.

A glance upward
exposes a beauty unmatched.
The confidence of love
paired with
simple, charming grace is
exposed in your wispy fringe.
A feathery vulnerability,
a lovely affair
is artfully painted
in these downy
white masses
that float in
the mystical beyond.


clouds, clouds,
tell me,
what is your secret?

There's something inside of me that is filled with hope - it cannot be ceased under any circumstance. I have seen tragedy, I have seen death (touched death), I have questioned my sanity, I have doubted my belief, I have fallen apart, I have been broken to pieces, reassembled, then broken again.

I am makeshift.

Yes, I am makeshift. Every day, every moment, I am changing, twisting, turning, building upon what I learn and know, becoming different, becoming new, morphing into myself.

There is an all-encompassing theme to who I am - a being filled with hope. A hope that there is more; there is more than me and my limited human experience. There is a creator of me, a creator of us all; a creator that isn't anything but madly in love with us. For all that we are - our broken pieces, our makeshift lives, our shittiness, our joyousness. We are a sum of love; built by love, broken by love, reassembled by love.

The creator fills the cracks where we've been broken and torn. In the midst of darkness enters the goodness, the fullness, of light. A shining, dazzling, beautiful glint of this feeling identified as hope - a feeling never fully depleted, for it is what gives us the faith to carry on.

one of the bad days 

How would I be capable
of explaining this life,
this series of events,
explaining the way it has
changed me, morphed me,
into a person I no longer know,
to any other soul?

I'm fully convinced
that no other would understand;
I don't feel comfortable in my
own skin, my own mind.

I feel foreign.
My feet travel forward,
immersing themselves in
the continuation of time,
of life, of activity,
but my mind protests.

Where do I belong now?
with a lost father, a lost faith -
at loss of any explanation,
any meaning behind the madness.

I am a lonely wayfarer
consumed with the brutality
of uncertainty.