fully alive. more than most.

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Paolo Nutini - Autumn (Live From Bush Studios)

Autumn leaves under frozen soles,
Hungry hands turning soft and old,
My hero cried as we stood out their in the cold,
Like these autumn leaves I don't have nothing to hold.

Handsome smiles wearing handsome shoes,
Too young to say, though I swear he knew,
And i hear him singing while he sits there in his chair,
Now these autumn leaves float around everywhere.

And I look at you, and I see me,
Making noise so restlessly,
But now it's quiet and I can hear you saying,
'My little fish dont cry, my little fish dont cry.'

Autumn leaves how faded now,
that smile that i've lost, well i've found some how,
Because you still live on in my fathers eyes,
These autumn leaves, oh these autumn leaves, oh these autumn leaves are yours tonight.

Autumn has become part of my being. The colors blends across the skyline like an artist’s palette. Reds and yellows mixed together for a more brilliant of orange than the mind can comprehend.  The feeling of family and comfort blows on the breeze, as thoughts of holidays approach.  Small children wearing small costumes with their imaginations bigger than the world.  Encouraged to be anything they can be, sad to think other days are not quite so filled with hope.  Images of turkeys dressed in delicious coverings, warm rolls pulled fresh from the oven.  Parades with carriages, cars and big dresses fill the tv screen. Families connect, retouch and replenish. The snow begins to fall and covers the grounds in a white glow.  Pine trees are viewed with a keen eye for how the ornaments might hang on them tonight.  Presents are bought, gifts are given, hearts are warmed.  The fire embers die late into the night.  Churches fill, carols are sung, History is remembered.

Autumn ends a season and waits for the new. The old falls away, but not silently but in a brilliant display of colors and magnificence.  The death of the old is celebrated and honored.  What is left behind is not mourned but brought alive by the contrast.  It is decorated in glory and richness.  As the leaves fall, as the cold wind arises, as the snow flows, life continues.  Life is enhanced, and brought back around.  What has past is gone under the daily crunch of the day.  Comfort is given in ways we have yet to experience.

There is something about Autumn that makes me glad to be alive.  There is something about Autumn that silences my soul and leaves it at peace.  There is something about Autumn that refreshes me.

These autumn leaves, oh these autumn leaves, oh these autumn leaves are Yours tonight.

We grasp our cellphones, we jump at the sound of an incoming text message, we need instant email notification.  The electronics that sit in front of us take precedence over the physical persons who sit beside us. Instead of silence, we turn our cellphones on vibrate, we check our email twenty times a day. We display our status online in vain hopes to place our emotions out on the line, in hopes maybe someone is listening, so we feel a little less isolated. We open instant messenger, we open online chats, so when we are by ourselves, we feel less alone.

Why is it we cant drive 10 minutes to work without the radio? Why is it we cant not turn off our cellphones? What are we searching for? What are we grasping for?

Connection, Relation, Compassion, Association, Attachment, Coupling, Neighborhood, Community.

Family.

We struggle for Sabbath. We fear isolation. We despise disconnection. We are human.

We have been blessed by the grace and comfort of an Absolute Being, one who is always thriving, always there, always within us, always around us. Who is never alone, as Three in One. He is the reason we can stop, we can embrace the silence, be in the quiet.

He is the love that whispers on the breeze. He is the peace the fills the song. He is the wisdom that encourages. He is the words that are unspoken. He is the hand that reaches out. He is the justice in times of distress. He is the reason I live.

I have no idea if anyone reads this. I place my words out there in the existence, in hopes someone might come across them, glean some meaning, some laughter, some thoughts from them, perchance a little inspiration or essence of a common ground. I have always been a writer, and yet recently my pages seem blank. I have lost the coordination with words, and this remains blank. My notebooks untouched, my mind eternally reeling because I have lost my outlet.

I seek to understand the lack of speech, the lack of the written word. I usually command the attention of words and while I seek to remain humble in as many ways as I can, I know I spin a pretty decent picture when it comes to the written word.

I have much to write about. So many new things have occurred in my life, whether anyone around me has noticed, I do not dare to guess nor wonder. The changes have come from within, and my personal growth I hope is displayed in how I interact with people, by my smile, my eyes, my spirit.

But the page remains blank. The slate still wiped clean. For days, weeks on end. I seek to tell you how I witnessed people proclaiming a New Love in a baptism held in a parking garage, through the ultimate personal endurance and determination I recently have witnessed in a friend, to my 25th birthday of which I can only begin to describe the compassion and friendship I felt. Let me not forget the breathtaking honor of being asked to stand by incredible friends in three different weddings within the next year.  The kind, encouraging words of those around me speaking to the testiment of the personal journey I have begun. The feel of mud tossed up from the Appalachian trial as I track out and stare in awe at the Smokey Mountains. The absolutely overwhelming joy and excitement I feel every Sunday evening as I stand and sing presumably too loud and too much edging on being tone deaf. The hours spent dreaming and believing in a entire community wide event, of which I bear a huge responsibility for, but knowing for certain I am not alone in this endeavor.

The page is blank. The words are empty sounding. I cannot weave the correct, right image. Justice is not upheld.

For I am speechless, in the Most Beautiful and Humbling way.

I love spending $70 on pizza for 8 people.

For which I expect not a penny in return.

It is the impromto trip to Finlay Park after work, where I change from my work scrubs into shorts. I tuck my bright pink socks into my shoes as so no one will notice I just grabbed the first pair of socks in my drawer. It is the bouncing hop slash run to my friends throwing frisbee in the park. The sarcastic smile from a friend with a true hugging embrace. Its for the laughter that carries on the wind as high as the sole black kite that seemingly comes from nowhere. The two frisbees I try to throw at once, but land two feet in front. Or the frisbee I throw that lands in front of not the person I told I was trying for. Its for new friends who show up, and laugh while I fall to the ground in an attempt to throw a perfect spiral with the nerf football. It is for the refined throw that goes directly to who I point to, but I must toss my entire body in the effort to throw such a pass.  It is for the moment when I catch my shadow and the toss is interrupted.  The touchdown dance.  It is for the nonstop talk about the 80s prom I will attend on Thursday, and just exactly how "awesome" my outfit will be. It is for the conversation over dinner of soulmates, guitars, crossword puzzles and karoke tv channels. The dancing in the middle of the restaurant. It is for the story behind the nickname "The Blackhole." The pretend rapping outside of the restaurant. The embarassed smiles and teasing words.

Could $70 be the return for true friendship? For faith in friends, for strength in others, for enpowerment in knowing I am loved and not alone. For the laughter that rings in my ears. For the excitement of when we will visit together again. What is this worth? Surely I can only pretend tossing $70 to the dinner bill makes any difference. It is worth so much more, and I am forever grateful that bill has already been paid.

Sometimes I feel like I speak in the language of silence, for I speak and I do not think you hear. The mask of invisibility falls over my face, for I stand beside you but you do not notice. The cloak of forgetfulness hangs over my shoulders as you walk away without turning back. But I fight to brace myself in the wisdom of my faith as so I know your reaction to me is not what matters most, but in the arms of the One who is and who will come, I am much more. I am accepted. I am loved. I am whole. I am new. The clothes I wear for you are not what He sees, and that is what I choose to wear.

There may be a time in your life when your breath might seem to come thru the lungs of another, when your heart beats deep in the chest of someone else, your blood flows thru another man's veins. When life ceased to be selfishly driven, but beaten down the path in which four, now two feet stumble. The footprints blend, and time passes slowly, and yet all the same too quick to remember from whence you came and for where you now go. As the clock ticks on, any emotions is surely passed thru hand to hand. His joy makes you smile and when he cries, tears fall down a softer lighter feminine cheek. His anger enraptures your soul and your fists tighten. The reflex of one being performed by another.

In almost the same manner as to how quick you stepped into the path together, the footprints seem to spread further in distance. Two footprints begin to show of four. Your hands are no longer entwined. It happens, and as you let it occur in the first place, maybe just as easily you let it fall. Time spreads and when out of sight, you know its out of mind. But truth be told, when haphazardly you cross paths again, the pain is passed again between like electricity thru water. Shocking your heart and heating your soul. You breath and notice he exhales. The bond is never purely broken, despite your desperate attempts to do so....

Ask anyone who plays the lottery. They carefully and cautiously select the numbers they want to play. The numbers come from personal experiences. Their great aunt Ruth's birthday minus one. The day their beloved pet dog died. The day their first son was born. The number of red socks they own. Random numbers that seemed to "speak" to them on the drive to the gas station that day. With great exhilaration, they sit in front of the tv that night, never taking their eyes off the screen. One number right, two numbers right! Oh, and we missed the third. But the fourth was close, missing by only 10! When that day's numbers are up and they missed the money by maybe 2 numbers or all numbers. They frown for a bit. Maybe fold the ticket in half and toss it nonchalantly away.

And tomorrow they are right there again at that gas station. Today's definitely going to be the day. They just feel it! Yesterday's numbers were not right, but today they've got 'em.

Just like those who play the lottery, so will I continue to look and hope for the best in people. I will keep trying with each person I meet. I will not let it destroy me when I am disheartened by what I thought was the best, when it turned out to only be the worst. I will keep trying until that day I am pleasantly rewarded, and what I thought to be the best, turns out to be just that.

I stand at the window. My eyes are surely playing tricks on me. The billowing smoke and red fire flicker as if in a dream. No, I do say a nightmare. In a moment's rush, I run outside with my two friends as our minds begin to comprehend the terror unfolding before us. Across the yard, it seems like miles away yet it is right next door. The neighbor's house is engulfed in flames. The flames lap vigorously at the next house and soon before our eyes this house is caught up in the violent game. The fire sirens sound in the distance as we watch fearful and helpless.  Embers fall and the dry grass pants as the fire spreads.

Like in a movie, my mind flashes back to memories I do not have, but have been told. A young girl runs from the house, barefoot and in her nightgown. She stands and watches as her own house falls to the flames. In my mind, I see the photographs curl under the heat. Vanished. The edges burn in a sadistic manner. My mother but has one childhood picture. It hangs in our living room. Black and white, she stands with a short page boy haircut in a short dress. My mother still shakes when she smells fire.

We rush across the yard with buckets. In a desparate attempt, we dump water on the fire as it threatens to escape unnoticed further down the grass. Quickly the flames are gone, but the smell of smoke floats on through us. Smoke hangs heavy in the air and in my lungs. I close my eyes and I still see the flames grasping at the house. I still hear the cracking and popping.

I pray no one was there. No one was hurt. Everyone safe. But I still cannot get the image out of my mind. I cried today for selfish reasons. Before the fire, I sat and wallowed in my own self dissatisfaction. And here, I watch a family lose all they have here on earth. Well we should not treasure earthly things, I cannot help but imagine the photographs as they curl under the heat.  

What word defines you?

Some say I am laughter, seeking for a moment's joy, afraid to hear the silence, delighting in the presence of smiles.

Some say I am sorrow, looking deep within an event's pain, striving to honor the grief and give mourning where desired.

Some say I am knowledge, pursuing academics beyond where some would stop, toeing the line of life, wanting wisdom.

Some say I am lost, not knowing where to go, unaware of what is next, feeling inadequate.

Some say I am strength, working towards coming up from the depths, pushing to the point of regrowth, looking for renewal.

Some say I am weak, feeble to keep going by myself, falling into loneliness, and wishing I had someone with me.

Some say I am joy, Some say I am peace.

Some say I am comfort, Some say I am inpatient.

Some say I am weary, Some say I am ungrateful.

Some say I am wrong, Some say I am right.

Some say I am alone, Some say I am in good company.

If I am one word, I am every word. If I am everyone, I am no one.

What defines you?