Frost

its a cold october.

this awakens me.

not only to living, but to recognizing. I recognize the beauty that is in front of me. I recognize simplicity in quiet moments. And I recognize that I can't survive without help from another.

when my breath becomes visible i recognize its beauty, for i am living.

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gone

a week ago tonight my house caught fire.
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i awoke to what sounded like an explosion from the basement. i rushed around to the stairs to the basement saw a fireball engulfing what seemed to be the hot-water tank. Without further investigation, and a rise in alertness and adrenaline I awoke my roommate sleeping on the couch saying with much passion, "where on fire!"--as he jumped from the couch i ran to grab my phone, dialed 911, and within seven minutes eight fire trucks found their momentary home on our street.

--

it is extremely difficult to try and describe the amount of smoke that was billowing out of the house. the firemen had to brake windows in order for the smoke to escape faster. from the sound of glass being busted, to the sirens of the tanks of water, to the dogs barking in the distance, the whole moment and event seemed dream-like. it was cold. i wasn't wearing much. i had my cowboy boots on. i had pajama pants and a long shirt on. i was very cold.

standing there at my neighbors house, my roommate by my side, staring at my house and not fully knowing what was going on inside was absolutely amazing. amazing is the best word i can think of to describe such an event for the fact that it was just that, amazing.

this is the house where i found independence. this is the house where relationships were built. this is the house where music was created. this is where meals were shared. this is were moments and memories are irreplaceable. it was home. it was a place of comfort. a place of relaxation..a place of love. it will be incredibly difficult to find the amount of love and community that that house cultivated and possessed. it was a magical piece of property--the ground on which it stood will have memories that permeate the soil and dig down to the depths of the earth. much like the memories that are forever engraved into the depths of my and my roommates souls.

it was home.

my heart is still there.
--

the actual fire was contained and put out in the basement--where it had started. the damage that was done to the house was done by the fires' furious by-product: smoke. the smoke damage to the house itself, in vehicular terms, totaled it. the damage done by the smoke to my own property, as well to my roommates, was an absolute mess. smoke clung to the edges or everything. my clothes, the fourth of the wardrobe that is left, and after being washed nearly five times, still smells of sulfur. my computer and its' hardrive will forever be locked away in a grave of smoke. my guitar, the one on which i played my first song, the one that has traveled to the mountains with me, has found a companion: a layer of soot and smoke makes it completely and dishearteningly unplayable. and my books--the only collection of anything i owned--are still readable, however they have a stench, and the same soot that makes them undesirable to even hold in my hands.

--

despite the material life that was lost. i am fine. this past week has been a bit of a whirlwind--slowly settling down however.

i am still putting out the fire....

--

will

when the night becomes still
there you will be

when the day breaks away from it all
there you will be

in the darkness of sleep
there you will be

when its all gone
there you will be

Diggin

Being religious is silly.

Before you freak out and start defending what you feel like needs to be defended let me expand my simple little comment.

How personal can something be when others are around you prescribing or enhancing how it should feel? It seems a bit arbitrary if you ask me.

Now I grant that the idea and sense of community is a thing to be desired, but it also helps keep up the wall of facade. To act in community with one another can force someone not to actually dig inside oneself.

One may say, that I miss the fact that others can encourage one to keep looking inside oneself to 'figure it out'--but if that's the case, doesn't it sometime seem that the person doing the seeking will inevitably try to emulate the one dispensing the 'guidance...'--again, not really digging within oneself.

I guess it is easier to be religious once a week than dig everyday...maybe I'll start partaking in the fun.

immediacy

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tired
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eyes heavy
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heart slow to beat
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arms reaching
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feet firm
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waiting
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in need of rest.
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A Night Alive

before i crawl and nestle my way into the sheets in which i sleep, i want to say that i am lonely.

i am lonely not for a single person, not for a single thing, but just lonely. it's not depressing. it is not an uncomforting feeling, it is just, i guess, a certain vulnerability that i wish i was not exposed to.

i live in a house with four others. none of them are home, or, for that matter will probably sleep here tonight. this will make two out of the last three nights. at first glance, i find this to be a cause for great jubilation. however, there is a quiet comfort in knowing someone else is in my house along with me. tonight, that quiet comfort is disrupted by the clanking and monstrous sound of the furness. the wind slapping its cold frigid air against my window. and the rhythm of the cars and the music their horns as they pass on the street below.

despite being alone, i am very much surrounded.

A Brief Minute

good evening december.
i can see my breath.
why are you so cold?
indeed.you have made me cognizant of living.

and for that i am gracious.