Occasionally I have these beautiful moments of clarity. It is just so simple, but when the time, the sentiment and the wind all come together, suddenly you see something in a different light. An epiphany is few and far between, but this self advice, the realization is so powerful I truly think it is these times in life that we move mountains.
I had a moment of truth within myself several days ago. I find that I tend to get stuck in a rut, and get caught up in life's routine. I have to admit. I had become stagnant, I suddenly was still waters. No movement, no strength or flow which ultimately leads to a level of comfort that can usually be associated with fear. My biggest fear in life is reaching the end of my path having not experienced and achieved everything I had set out to accomplish. I guess you can say that for the last ten years I have been living out my bucket list. And frankly I have been doing a really good job. Hell, triathlon, Masters, Italy, Rock climbing, surfing, getting back on the bike, I mean, to me, these were big! And then looked around and realized I got caught not moving! In the last couple of years I have hit a couple of milestones and yet I felt tethered to the ground. I allowed myself to become stuck.
And then it hit me: I am not afraid. Sometimes I forget that I can do anything. I am not afraid. I can't believe I forgot! There are paths we must walk, relationships we must grow and develop and some that must be taken for what they are and sometimes left. But no matter how steep the hill, no matter how slippery the slop, no matter how unstable the earth, we must push forward. If we don't, we end our lives with 'I wishes,' 'should haves,' the worst of all, regret. And so I challenge you, to reevaluate, muddy the waters a bit, find your course and understand that still waters lead nowhere and to be honest, there is a world out there just waiting to be lived.
And so I leave you with this: Fear is a motivator, but it can break you down and keep you locked up. Do not fear this life, it is the only one you have. There is no fear when you take a chance and walk your path.
If you remember nothing, at least remember this:
A rolling stone gathers no moss.
Baci!
Friday, July 25, 2008
His Hands
He lets his hands fly across the keys. Hunched over, becoming one with the object. His rough good looks contorted into concentration, lost in his own world. In a complete rage and yet he is so controlled. And just as forceful as the masterpiece had begun, it is over abruptly.
****
They moved across the keys, his hands a painter’s brush, the canvas of black and white, an artist none the less. The notes produced lingered in the air almost the way his presence always shadows near. His hands wrote a story, each note another word, a brush stroke of beauty that always can be heard. He envisioned in his mind, the picture was so clear, he managed to tell his fingers which played music sweet and near. It is amazing the power in his hands; they held the keys with such light touch, the notes bowed and parted, his hands possessed so much. The hands of a genius, the hands of a poet, he wrote his own story, his life as we know it. The music is never ending, his hands never shall grow old, yet one story unfinished, his hands for a moment slowed. Kept us always guessing, his hands always know, but the soul of the person inside the hands shall always show. The keys of black and white when played upon by hands, colored the sky, our own world a brighter place because he and his hands can never be replaced.
****
He stretches his back, his hands rub his tense neck. He picks up his pen and scribbles notes on a piece of paper that constitutes his thoughts. His hands do not move with nearly the grace they had exhibited when they had embraced the keys. The sounds he produced continues to lingering in the air. The music that he created is his claim to fame.
He runs his fingers through that dark Italian hair. He never seems at a loss for words but at this moment, lost in his own thoughts, small compared to the black looming object that he sits before, he is silent. He stands up, his larger than life presence is suddenly engulfed by the room and the pieces that surround him.
****
Everything that she had just seen so clearly becomes blurred into the picture that had been etched on her mind. The picture of reality sets in and she no longer sees him. Just the room remains with its muted tones and picture frames of the faces that used to be. And then just a wall. A wall that greatness once stood before with strong hands and a light smile.
The room spins and comes what she knows it to be, a poor attempt to hide the sadness. She thought a coat of paint and new picture frames would erase the bad memories that she had, but they only seemed to disguise them. And now the room wore a mask just like she did. She kept that big black piano, its value more sentimental that anything else. Somewhere in the distance she hears his music, the way he could take any song and make it better, and how he could play any instrument.
The blowing wind outside catches her attention. She looks through the window that once held so many opportunities. The blue sky gives the impression that it is warm outside, but like her sunny exterior, it just a façade.
The wind picks up again disturbing her thoughts. She looks at the piano and sees his shadow on the keys, closes her eyes shakes the thought from her mind and walks out of the cold room. She walks to the kitchen and glances at the clock. She is not sure how an hour had passed. She waters the plant in the window and then closes it as a cold chill runs through her body. She turns on the tea kettle and the television hoping to get her mind off of him.
She looks at his picture; his sharp green eyes and loving smile, set in that handsome face. It is the picture she see every time she closes her eyes. Here and now seeing his face, she suddenly she feels better. How and why she doesn’t know. The wind blows outside making the wind chimes dance with a sweet melody. They sing a familiar song. She is not sure how, but it seems to be playing one of his songs. The last one he wrote. The tea kettle starts to scream, she quickly turns it and the TV off so she can listen to the song. She is afraid to look. Slowly she peeks her head around the corner to look out the big picture window. It provides a clear view into the back yard where the wind chimes are hanging. She swears it is his song.
And there, swinging in the wind, are the chimes, playing his notes. She feels warm despite the cold tile floor beneath her bare feet. She stands there just listening to the melody, praying it won’t stop, hoping the wind will continue to blow. She watches as the chimes sway, dancing to the song they play. And as the last note chimed, the wind stopped suddenly and the only noise was her heart beat. She realized she was holding her breath and exhales, unconsciously wipes the tears from her eyes and looks at his picture. He seems to smile brighter, a silly grin as if to say, don’t worry. She doesn’t dare move from the window in case it starts again. Amazed, she wonders if she is awake.
Silently she moves away and back into the kitchen. She takes a cup from the shelf above the stove. She smiles, thankful to be alive, thankful to have his memory, thankful to be able to see his face so clearly. She pours a cup of tea, warms her hands on the steaming mug and walks back to that room. The piano looms before her but it seems not quite so big. She sets down the cup of hot tea, and sits on the bench. She smiles at the worn keys, cold to touch as she runs her fingers over them as he had done so many times. She can feel him smiling down on her, watching from above, happy to see her genuinely smile for the first time in what seems like forever. Once again tears fall from her eyes. But this time as they fall, they trickle down her cheeks and on to her hands which embrace the keys. She sighs with relief and the satisfaction of knowing that he is forever safe and that he watches over her. She closes the lid to the piano and stands up. Picking up her cup she walks from the room, briefly pausing at the door. For the last time that day she lets her mind wonder and she hears him…
****
Close your eyes and see me, touch me, remember me. I am always with you, yet you can only see me in your dreams. I watch over you forever. I am in your mind and in your heart. I play for you to comfort and calm you, the notes that you know by heart and play in your head. Feel me, hear me, for I miss you as much as you miss me. But through your eyes I see, your hands I touch, your tears I shed, and your pain I feel. I laugh with you and remember like you. I know you know I am here beside you, walking, breathing, living. Listen for me, remember me and feel me, but most of all love me. Until your dreams…
****
“He lets his hands fly across the keys, hunched over, becoming one with the object.”
She opens her eyes and smiles, she had better let him work, he has masterpieces to create.
He lets his hands fly across the keys. Hunched over, becoming one with the object. His rough good looks contorted into concentration, lost in his own world. In a complete rage and yet he is so controlled. And just as forceful as the masterpiece had begun, it is over abruptly.
****
They moved across the keys, his hands a painter’s brush, the canvas of black and white, an artist none the less. The notes produced lingered in the air almost the way his presence always shadows near. His hands wrote a story, each note another word, a brush stroke of beauty that always can be heard. He envisioned in his mind, the picture was so clear, he managed to tell his fingers which played music sweet and near. It is amazing the power in his hands; they held the keys with such light touch, the notes bowed and parted, his hands possessed so much. The hands of a genius, the hands of a poet, he wrote his own story, his life as we know it. The music is never ending, his hands never shall grow old, yet one story unfinished, his hands for a moment slowed. Kept us always guessing, his hands always know, but the soul of the person inside the hands shall always show. The keys of black and white when played upon by hands, colored the sky, our own world a brighter place because he and his hands can never be replaced.
****
He stretches his back, his hands rub his tense neck. He picks up his pen and scribbles notes on a piece of paper that constitutes his thoughts. His hands do not move with nearly the grace they had exhibited when they had embraced the keys. The sounds he produced continues to lingering in the air. The music that he created is his claim to fame.
He runs his fingers through that dark Italian hair. He never seems at a loss for words but at this moment, lost in his own thoughts, small compared to the black looming object that he sits before, he is silent. He stands up, his larger than life presence is suddenly engulfed by the room and the pieces that surround him.
****
Everything that she had just seen so clearly becomes blurred into the picture that had been etched on her mind. The picture of reality sets in and she no longer sees him. Just the room remains with its muted tones and picture frames of the faces that used to be. And then just a wall. A wall that greatness once stood before with strong hands and a light smile.
The room spins and comes what she knows it to be, a poor attempt to hide the sadness. She thought a coat of paint and new picture frames would erase the bad memories that she had, but they only seemed to disguise them. And now the room wore a mask just like she did. She kept that big black piano, its value more sentimental that anything else. Somewhere in the distance she hears his music, the way he could take any song and make it better, and how he could play any instrument.
The blowing wind outside catches her attention. She looks through the window that once held so many opportunities. The blue sky gives the impression that it is warm outside, but like her sunny exterior, it just a façade.
The wind picks up again disturbing her thoughts. She looks at the piano and sees his shadow on the keys, closes her eyes shakes the thought from her mind and walks out of the cold room. She walks to the kitchen and glances at the clock. She is not sure how an hour had passed. She waters the plant in the window and then closes it as a cold chill runs through her body. She turns on the tea kettle and the television hoping to get her mind off of him.
She looks at his picture; his sharp green eyes and loving smile, set in that handsome face. It is the picture she see every time she closes her eyes. Here and now seeing his face, she suddenly she feels better. How and why she doesn’t know. The wind blows outside making the wind chimes dance with a sweet melody. They sing a familiar song. She is not sure how, but it seems to be playing one of his songs. The last one he wrote. The tea kettle starts to scream, she quickly turns it and the TV off so she can listen to the song. She is afraid to look. Slowly she peeks her head around the corner to look out the big picture window. It provides a clear view into the back yard where the wind chimes are hanging. She swears it is his song.
And there, swinging in the wind, are the chimes, playing his notes. She feels warm despite the cold tile floor beneath her bare feet. She stands there just listening to the melody, praying it won’t stop, hoping the wind will continue to blow. She watches as the chimes sway, dancing to the song they play. And as the last note chimed, the wind stopped suddenly and the only noise was her heart beat. She realized she was holding her breath and exhales, unconsciously wipes the tears from her eyes and looks at his picture. He seems to smile brighter, a silly grin as if to say, don’t worry. She doesn’t dare move from the window in case it starts again. Amazed, she wonders if she is awake.
Silently she moves away and back into the kitchen. She takes a cup from the shelf above the stove. She smiles, thankful to be alive, thankful to have his memory, thankful to be able to see his face so clearly. She pours a cup of tea, warms her hands on the steaming mug and walks back to that room. The piano looms before her but it seems not quite so big. She sets down the cup of hot tea, and sits on the bench. She smiles at the worn keys, cold to touch as she runs her fingers over them as he had done so many times. She can feel him smiling down on her, watching from above, happy to see her genuinely smile for the first time in what seems like forever. Once again tears fall from her eyes. But this time as they fall, they trickle down her cheeks and on to her hands which embrace the keys. She sighs with relief and the satisfaction of knowing that he is forever safe and that he watches over her. She closes the lid to the piano and stands up. Picking up her cup she walks from the room, briefly pausing at the door. For the last time that day she lets her mind wonder and she hears him…
****
Close your eyes and see me, touch me, remember me. I am always with you, yet you can only see me in your dreams. I watch over you forever. I am in your mind and in your heart. I play for you to comfort and calm you, the notes that you know by heart and play in your head. Feel me, hear me, for I miss you as much as you miss me. But through your eyes I see, your hands I touch, your tears I shed, and your pain I feel. I laugh with you and remember like you. I know you know I am here beside you, walking, breathing, living. Listen for me, remember me and feel me, but most of all love me. Until your dreams…
****
“He lets his hands fly across the keys, hunched over, becoming one with the object.”
She opens her eyes and smiles, she had better let him work, he has masterpieces to create.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
She Ran
And in the fading darkness of the day, she ran. She left her thoughts behind and focused on how far she could go and how fast. She couldn’t let anyone down there but herself, she could not disappoint or discourage, and she could just move, accelerated and quiet. Pure noise in her head put her thoughts out of sight and more importantly out of mind as she had the instant gratification of moving further away from her point of origin. Now she was accomplishing something, a completed task with a beginning and an end, success at last as she silently chased the sun into setting. How far could she get before those shafts of light no longer shed day through the peaks of the mountains. Despite the pain radiating in her shoulders and legs, despite the block constantly in her mind, she pushed forward, too stubborn to look back and implying confidence with a raised head, a focused stare and an determined eye towards the horizon. She raced away against time, the pressures of her life, the negativity of the day and the heat of the moment. She saw the world start to look brighter despite the fading sunshine the farther away she got. She was nobody’s problem here, there was no one to point here, no one to live up to, no one to knock her down here, and the faster she moved, the farther she got. And the farther she got the more she needed to get away.She couldn’t run forever, at some point she knew she had to stop, let the world catch up with her, let her life seep back in and her thoughts return, she knew she would have to turn around. But still she pushed further, she moved faster, she avoided longer. She knew better than to escape the pressures forever, even though her acceleration away from her life was the better choice, you can only run for so long. Because she always did the right thing despite how much her heart was broken she knew the running had to stop. And so, just before the sun touched the end of the world, she turned and let the fading light push her back…
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Good Morning!
Hi! Well I am new to this whole blog, posting thing, but I am going to give it a try! I am finishing up my Masters Degree (6 weeks actually!) and I love to do anything out doors, travel, workout, and try new exciting adventures! I have been and athlete and student my whole life and every now and then I like to shake things up.
My biggest fear in life is reaching the end of this journey without fulling live up to life's potental. I have made it a goal to accomplish anything and everything I have set my mind to, not fall to fear and to make sure that some day when I no longer walk this earth, I will not leave regrets of things I wanted to do but didn't.
We must learn to take chances, be honest with ourselves and with others and know that love truly can conquer all. Take a deep breath... and take a leap!
I realize this is not all that interesting, but I hope to keep you interested. I would like to post things I have written, places I have been, moments of success and my thoughts. Please comment, read, and enjoy.
My biggest fear in life is reaching the end of this journey without fulling live up to life's potental. I have made it a goal to accomplish anything and everything I have set my mind to, not fall to fear and to make sure that some day when I no longer walk this earth, I will not leave regrets of things I wanted to do but didn't.
We must learn to take chances, be honest with ourselves and with others and know that love truly can conquer all. Take a deep breath... and take a leap!
I realize this is not all that interesting, but I hope to keep you interested. I would like to post things I have written, places I have been, moments of success and my thoughts. Please comment, read, and enjoy.
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