Rebirth

Today is a new day, and I am a new man.

By the sweat of my brow, I shall work; not for others, but for myself. Life is an adventure, and it is one I cannot wait to experience. 

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul. 

I Find Comfort in the Slowness

Time is a strange concept. I have struggled with its passage for most of my life. 

I remember as a young kid, not more than five or six years old, being slightly annoyed by how slowly time crawled. Dad could never get home from work soon enough. Only how many more minutes until Sesame Street came on? And summers. Good Lord. They were endless. I remember soaking in the sun on the back stoop of the house we grew up on down on Wortman in Claremore, just waiting. For what, I can never remember. Maybe for my sister to get home from visiting her friends. Maybe I was waiting for the mail to arrive, and maybe there would be a new Lego catalog. Maybe I was waiting for the newspaper, so I could check the baseball box scores. Maybe I was waiting for my cousin to come visit. I'd just sit there by the sandbox, and let the sun beat down. I'd feel it soak into the back of my neck. I'd feel the warmth of the sun through the bottom of my feet as I rested them on the concrete stoop. Just waiting...and basking in the sun.

Somewhere along the way, time began to betray me. I don't remember when. Yesterday? Two months ago? Two decades ago? I don't know. Time is funny out here on the frontier. But, I look up, and too much time has passed. The sun has risen and set more times than I care to count. It makes me uneasy.

At least it is something I notice. In the evenings, I take comfort in the slowness. I sit, and I let time creep by, much in the same ways I once did when I was young. I sit, and I pretend that the mailman is coming with a Lego catalog. I pretend that I am waiting on the newspaper to see how the Indians did yesterday. I sit, and I soak up the sun. I watch it paint a masterpiece across the sky. The sun leaves me each evening as it sets in the west. But, I know it will be back again. It will rise in the morning, and bring a sunrise that is more beautiful than I might think possible. It always has. I find comfort in that.

I find comfort in the slowness. 

#EverythingisOK

I used to love to draw. It was a little bit therapeutic for me when I was growing up. No matter how "hard" life was, I could always escape to my room, and let my brain sort through things as I started to create something. I expressed myself to no one in particular; I created for an audience of me.

I was still pretty young when I stopped, though. I wasn't more than twelve or thirteen. I am afflicted by a belief that "I'm not good enough." It is a lie, of course. But, that doesn't make it any less real to a twelve-year-old boy. They can believe anything, especially what they tell themselves. At some point, that kid took notice of other talented artists, and convinced himself he wasn't good enough. So, he abandoned something he loved.

I haven't drawn anything really since I was about twelve. Today, I decided that I needed to get to know that little boy that still lives deep inside of me; that little boy who is hurt and never believes in himself. And, that little boy hasn't drawn anything for almost twenty years. His skills, whatever they once were, were rusty.

It was good to spend the evening with that boy. I tried to tell him everything is OK. I hope he understands. I hope.

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I will chase the sun for the rest of my days. It is the only thing that makes me whole. Wherever it wanders, I will seek it out. I need it.

Wandering the Frontier

Sometimes, when you have a hard journey ahead of you, it's best to keep your head down. There is nothing out there to see, anyway. Hope fades.

I haven't seen the sun for weeks. I miss it. I miss the warmth. I miss the consistency of its path in the sky. It was my direction. It's so easy to get lost when you don't have the sun to guide you. I hope to see it again soon. God, I hope.

Hope. There it is again. Damnit. It mocks me from afar, but I know it is the only thing that keeps me moving. So, I'll keep my head down, and trudge on. My journey seemed so clear when I started. I've found a few things along the way. But, I feel more lost than when I started.

I've gone too far now. I have to keep going. I have to finish this journey. I have to make it to the mountains, where there is water--where there is healing. Maybe I will be able to see the sun from the mountains. Maybe it was hiding behind them all along, just waiting for me. I hope.

The Frontier is Cold without the Sun

I always knew the frontier to be a cold and lonely place. I was reminded of that today. Maybe I had forgotten, or maybe I had ceased to care.

Lately, I have been basking in the sun. I allowed the warmth to penetrate my body and touch my soul. My soul...God, it needed it. It drank it in and licked it up like rain in a desert. But, every sun sets, I suppose.

My mind knows that the sun will rise again soon. The warmth will return as the sun begins to paint it's existence into the sky. But, my heart doesn't care. It hates the night. It doesn't understand that the day turns to night, the night into day. My mind tries to tell my heart that the night isn't eternal. But, sometimes I feel like my heart knows better. It screams out, "We only know the sun will rise again because it always has!"

A sunset is a promise of a sunrise. At least I hope it is. I watched the sun set today, and I wept. The sun left the sky, leaving me cold and alone. My heart cried out, "Don't let it go! Chase the sun until you cannot run anymore, then run a little further!" I told my heart to be still. That is something I regret.

A sunrise is not a guarantee. It is something we take for granted. We only see sunrises when we make it through the cold, lonely night. We have hope to guide us. A hope that the sun will rise again.

But, what if it doesn't?

God, it's so cold.

The Frontier: a Constant Frustration, a Constant Struggle

The frontier is something to be explored, but I don't know if it is a place to live.

The frontier forces us to adapt to our environment, but I don't know if it is always best for us.

The frontier is hard, but I don't know if I should be, too.

Frustrations are common here. The frontier is reality. Whether we like it or not, it is what looms in the distance, it is what surrounds us, and it is what beats us to hell. We are drawn out in to it by a nagging feeling that everything will be better out here, for some reason. It calls to us, and we answer with all of who we are; we answer with our lives. We can explore it, and some can live with it. But, some can't. I hope I can. I think I will.

Whatever drew us out here doesn't matter anymore. It's not important once you get away from everything. Things change. We change. I suppose we have to adapt in some way, if we plan to keep on like we have. I hope I can. I think I will.

Yes, things are hard out here. I know that now. Maybe I always knew it, and I just didn't want to admit it. Things seemed brighter for some reason. They always seem brighter when you want them to be. Maybe I should adapt; maybe I should change. If I am not as hard as the frontier, I will not be a part of it. I must be, or I won't be. To what end, I don't know. I will be hard. I know it.