My perfect view...

Falling forward, back into orbit...

This year has taught me the simple craft of belief. I believe in the things I've nurtured and built. Slowly but carefully. Such as understanding, knowledge, passion, strength; the hundreds of stories I've written, the books I've read and the miles I've run. The resolution to breathe, to meditate, to not harm my mind or body even when I've felt like it.

It's that time of year when we're supposed to finish off chapters and turn over a new leaf. Yet what if you aren't done with the path you've been on for the last year? Are you just supposed to continue, as if nothing actually changed? It's just an arbitrary date anyway; who's to say when something ends, and something new begins? It seems silly to worry about a made up moment some person long dead declared to be the conclusion of one year and the birth of another, as if our attempts to divide time into meaningful chunks actually mean anything. People wait for the countdown to tell them it's okay to believe in themselves again. They end each year with failure, but hope that when the clock strikes twelve, they can begin the new year with a clean slate. They tell themselves that this is the year things will happen, never realising that things are always happening; they're just happening without them. Not for me though - I march forward towards every dream I've ever hard. Despite failure ... or perhaps, because of it.

Lost in the in-between...

When I'm furthest from myself,

feeling closer to the stars.

I've been invaded by the dark,

trying to recognise myself when I feel I've been replaced.

I can feel a kick down in my soul,

and it's pulling me back to earth to let me know - 

I am not a slave, can't be contained,

so pick me from the dark and pull me from the grave.

I can feel a kick down in my soul...

Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelt of moss in your hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculite patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery. What if one happens to be possessed of a heart that can't be trusted? What if the heart, for its own unfathomable reasons, leads one wilfully and in a cloud of unspeakable radiance away from health, domesticity, civic responsibility and strong social connections and all the blandly-held common virtues and instead straight towards a beautiful flare of ruin, self-immolation, disaster.

Feeling closer to the stars...

Pull me from the grave...

Are you willing to stoop down and consider the needs and desires of little children; to remember the weaknesses and loneliness of people who are growing old; to stop asking how much your friends love you, and to ask yourself if you love them enough; to bear in mind the things that other people have to bear on their hearts; to trim your lamp so that it will give more light and less smoke, and to carry it in front so that your shadow will fall behind you; to make a grave for your ugly thougts and a garden for your kindly feelings, with the gate open? Are you willing to do these things for a day? Then you are ready to for Christmas.

Pick me from the dark...

I'm dancing with the trees...

Now it's the perfect season,

let's go for it this time,

we're dancing with the trees and

I've waited my whole life.

Every time it comes on,

I get this sweet desire -

I bloom just for you,

just for you.

Calling my spirit...

Who fixes broken people? Is it only other broken people, ones who've already been ruined? And do we need to be fixed? It was the messiness and hurt in our pasts that drove us, and that same hurt connected us at a subnormal level, the kind of scars written so deeply in your cells that you can't even see them anymore, only recognise them in someone else. And it is our wounds that create in us a desire to reach for miracles. But that's where the real work then begins. Because the fulfilment of such miracles depends on whether we let our wounds pull us down or lift us up towards our dreams. Towards our destiny.

Fall into time...

As I'm am bombarded by a hurricane of feedback, I have come to realize that people will react to you as a result of their own mindset, rather than as a reflection of your worth. Most people use others as mirrors for their own darkness. If you have been hurt by such people, perhaps you can use these experiences to become a different kind of person - one who reflects the light within others instead of using them as echos of their own soul. Maybe your experiences of pain can lead you to being a great leader, someone who lights up the world. Your most painful struggle is ripe with opportunity. One that I can't wait to fully explore.

Rewrite your history...

I've heard fate talked of. In great tales of heroism and defeat. I've heard it whispered among those considered to have reached beyond the mundane. Yet it's not a word I use often, because I think we make our own choices. I believe that how we live our lives is our own doing, and we cannot fully hope on dreams and stars. They can show us the way, though. Perhaps even act as a waypoint towards everything we ever wanted. And the heart's voice is a strong one. Always is. Your heart's voice is your true voice. It is easy to ignore, as sometimes it says what we'd rather it did not - and it is so hard to risk the things we have. But what life are we living, if we don't live by our hearts? Not a true one. And the person living it is not the true you.

Covered up with garden dirt...

Dragonfly out in the sun...

Birds flyin' high, you know how I feel.

Sun in the sky, you know how I feel.

Breeze driftin' on by, you know how I feel.

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me,

and I'm feelin' good.

At least this is a smash...

So this is for us. This is for us who sing, write, dance, act, study, run and love and this is for doing it even if no one will ever know because the beauty is in the act of doing it. Not what it can lead to. This is for the times I lose myself while writing, singing, playing and no one is around and they will never know but I will forever remember and that shines brighter than any praise or fame or glory I will ever have, and this is for you who write or play or read or sing by yourself with the light off and door closed when the world is asleep and the stars are aligned and maybe no one will ever hear it or read your words or know your thoughts but it doesn’t make it less glorious. It makes it ethereal. Mysterious. Infinite.

Time to simply listen and laugh...

I'll never meet the ground...

So here we are ... the final stretch. I can feel my body grasping for the strength to push through. What a year, for sure, and it's not nearly over yet. The countdown begins and as I sit back and ready myself for all of my choices to unfold, I cannot help but reminisce about the journey that led me here - the people I met along the way, those of you I lost ... all of it took a greater toll on me than I dare to admit, especially the losses. I know that life often forces us to say goodbye, and that each one of those goodbyes is meaningful and necessary for our growth, but I wonder still, if they could have somehow been avoided. If there was something more I could have said, could have done, could have forgiven.