There's beauty in broken things.

There's promise in the breaking.

There's wistfulness when it's deep.

There's hunger upon the waking.

There's faltering and wavering,

Doubting and delaying,

Then brashness and surity,

And finally quiet understanding.

A rare token is the climb and the rise.

A reward to be highly valued.

It's in the fall and on the way down

That we learn the sadness of silence.

There's beauty in broken things,

So be tender and strong and aware,

It's a full and lonely land,

We'll all see each other there.

The Thing We Call Passion: Restlesness

This thing that screams. With a scream so restless and urgent. The tone of it enough that you beg to be shattered.

It's the uncontrolled desire to be lost. To forget and be forgotten. It's eager and greedy for adventure and loneliness. But not the lonely part of loneliness, the solid part.

Being ravenous for the unknown but reluctant to learn, for the things you know you hate. It will not be pacified.

Living dead center in your chest. It takes you hostage. With lenses that show, you despise the things you thought you loved. The only promise of release...a new place.

And so you leave. Knowing the thing will be pacified. Lulled into satisfied slumber at the expense of your life.

You begin to build your kingdom. Piece by piece, until they fit, each part snug against the next. And you smile and release your held breath.

And in the silence between your exhale and the next breath you breathe. This wild thing awakes and you discover, with equal parts excitement and despair, that the keystone to your kingdom is in the hands of the beast.

The Thing We Call Passion: Melancholy

There are moments, there are days, there are weeks when I am filled with the deepest melancholy. As if the only feeling my simple soul recognizes is the tender sadness that floats among the quiet.

The wild thing inside of me, with the flowing hair and eyes deep as an ancient well, hungers and demands to be fed. Only satiated by the most tragic and heart-bending tales and whispers.  

It can be exhausting. Exposed and turned about by this wild thing. Every whim and request carefully examined for the thread of self-destruction it so very likely holds.

But alas, there is nothing that can be done. Except to surrender and feed the thing what it so desperately craves. Crying hot tears of sorrow to placate, if only momentarily.

And you're left feeling spent. The wild thing all consuming until it's gone. Leaving you hollowed out and not unpleasantly empty. And you can proceed, albeit cautiously. For you do not know, and it is never expected, when this wild thing will raise it's beautiful head, hungry.

It's the moment you realize that everybody is just a little bit broken. We're all hurting somewhere. And in that moment it seems impossibly sad. Disappointment so deep it carves a hole in you. So you take a deep breath of the crisp autumn air and you drink in the reds and oranges, and you remind yourself that there is joy to be had. Not just in the simple pleasures of today but right around the corner. Waiting for you to find and exclaim    "I didn't know I could ever be this happy"       and you'll hold on to it when the skies are grey and the pain is real and you've pretended happiness for so long you're afraid you've forgotten what true happiness actually feels like. And on some unexpected day in some unexplainable moment you'll realize you're happier than your last happy moment. Something new to hold on to. So keep your head up and your eyes clear, because it's just around the corner.

The barn was so old it appeared as if it had grown from the ground. A product of Mother Nature herself. But the memories it held. Of hard work and sacrifice, love and loss, habit and ritual, life and death. The thick earth-and-sunshine smell of hay and alfalfa and oats. Horses warm like the safest most natural place in the world. With an innocence only creatures of instinct carry. Living and breathing exactly the way they were meant to live and breathe. The quiet settling over you as if you were the only person in the world, but without the loneliness solitude can bring. A blissfully heavy awareness of your existence and that no matter the scars from the past or the troubles of the future, every little thing will find a place and that place will be perfect. It's faith. That old barn and those horses were trust and faith and truth and acceptance in their most comforting forms. And she loved every heavenly moment of it. This place fit her. She settled right in. Some deep part of her, maybe it was her heart or soul. But maybe even deeper than that, to the very depths of her being she fit here. The sunrises, the stars, the gravel roads and wild blackberry bushes. The blue jays and deer, the cattle and sheep. Even the run down houses and pathetic convenience stores settled with her. If you find a place like that. A place so full of everything that is the deepest part of you. You'll never leave. You'll stay and become a part of the earth like she was your very own mother. When you never even knew or guessed you could.

Well..today was a milestone. Or at least I'd like it to be. For those of you who know me and my restless wanderings around this beautiful country I hope you can pause and breathe in the seriousness of this moment.  I've planted myself and I think for the first time I'll start to throw out a few roots. While I have been known to promise similar commitments before, either in person or through this blog, I really mean it this time. The proof is in the pudding right? (whatever that means) Well here's your proof. I've officially unpacked all of my belongings. And even further than that...I have, as of just a moment ago, thrown away my packing boxes. All of them. Except for one..(but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it). And to further prove my point, these weren't just cardboard moving boxes I picked up from the local grocery store. These were solid plastic bins and containers. They cost money...and I just threw them away. To be totally honest, only time will tell if I can make good on my statement of stability.. but like I said.. I think today was a milestone. :)

And another thing. My mom wasn't one of those mothers that was super strict about making your bed.. in fact I remember my mom teaching me how to make a bed, but I don't remember actually using that skill in my childhood. Or now that I think about it.. ever using it. But since I moved into my new place I've made my bed every single day, Coming up on two months. (That's a life record) I'm not sure if that's a sign of my growing maturity.. or if maybe I'm just proud of my space. Either way I feel just a little bit more grown up.

My blog up to this point, has been primarily creative writing pieces or poems or short thoughts based mostly on heartbreak, or sadness or simply feeling lost. That's pretty much because those are the things that inspire me. I've always struggled with writing about things that make me happy, and I've put a lot of thought into why that might be. A thought came to me this morning on that particular topic.. I think it's because in the last several years, I haven't had much that made me so profoundly happy that I was stirred to write about it. The strongest emotions bring out the most beautiful work, and my strongest emotions have been laced with bitterness and melancholy.
But! Today, as I look around at my new sweet little bedroom, as I look out my window at my quiet tree lined street, as I feel the ceiling fan mixed with the breeze through the window bringing me scents of trees and fresh cut grass, as I think about my new job and the joy I feel at bringing new life to those in need I feel deep and distinct joy. I look forward to the future with a happiness in my heart that I barely recognize. While there are still troubles and stress, I can't help but think about the check I wrote yesterday. My first month's rent. The biggest check I've ever written and I smile because I know it'll go through and I won't have to eat noodles and rice until my next paycheck.
I think what I'm trying to say is, for the first time, in a long time.. I'm proud of the choices I've made that got me here. I feel strong and confident. I feel emotionally stable enough to handle anything. And that means everything to me right now.