Once Upon A Time

Why wouldn't your eight-year-old self time travel here to give you a hand?  You're obviously in trouble.  He could straighten you out!

From The Movie, The Kid

We all grow up, but not always in the ways we should.

Many of us take pride in the fact that we have become independent; there is assurance in knowing that we can do things on our own; we glory in our abilities to be logical and realistic.  Having entered the realm of the giants, we reward ourselves by securing a place in their world.  It was a long road getting here and we never want to go back to the way things were.  And who would?  We now stand toe-to-toe with those who have it all figured out.

We'll never again sit at the children's table.

Upon venturing forth, little by little, we build our lives, many of us unsure as to what we're building or if it'll even go on standing.  But we build anyway and then we build some more.  And when uncertainty inevitably creeps in like it does, we begin to doubt our place in this new world.  Questions about life and purpose begin to surface.

"How did I get here?" we asked ourselves. "Is this really what I want?"

We realize that what we'd given ourselves to wasn't of our own creativity or concern.  We had simply examined the patterns of those around us and followed suit.  But our reasons for doing so are hazy.  Our why is unclear.  What is clear, however, is that most everything we had built so far - our life in this new land - was devoid of passion or imagination or intrigue.

We just did it; we got the job done.

We labored not through the lens of a child but something else, entirely.  And thus, we proceeded forth with great caution, never traversing too far beyond the residents of reason and sensibility (the wisest in the land).  For if we did, and if we failed in our attempts, well, we'd be mocked or devalued in some way by the giants.  Or worse, we may be removed altogether from the ever-so-desired-kingdom, never to be taken seriously again.  And so we stayed close to home and continued on like all the others.

And just like that, we took yet another step away from the children we once were.

I'm speaking of that little boy or girl who once imagined and dreamed and believed in things that were not.  The one who was unguarded and free, innocent and curious.  The child who dared greatly and fought dragons and knew that love was true.  The darling who warmed hearts with a smile.  The explorer who discovered new things.

That small, little heart which overflowed with forgiveness and excitement and wonder... 

... the child who still there now, somewhere inside of you.

I fear that for many of us, we've succumb to the temptation to no longer be child-like in our interactions with the world.  We each have our reasons for doing so and some of us can recount the moments that led us here...

* At work, only the strong survive and so I became strong *
* My quirks made me look weird and so I turned 'em down a notch (or three) *
* I used to laugh a lot more, but it seemed to annoy people *

* I knew my heart would never be the same after the way he ended the relationship *
* When my father made fun of the way I danced, I wondered what was wrong with me *
* After she'd broken my confidence, it became difficult to trust people like that again *

What are your defining moments & how have they shaped you?

* Fill In The Blank: __________________ *

At one time or another, we've all found ourselves scrambling to survive in this world.  And the further we journeyed, the more guarded we became.  The land was foreign and the dangers were real.  But we pressed on.  We adapted.  We got the job done.  And somewhere in haziness of it all, and sometimes without our knowing, something special was lost.

And it was valuable.

Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again

C. S. Lewis
* * *

Note From The Author

Thank you for reading this post!  One way that I try to remain child-like in my interactions with the world is through music.  I compose songs and use my imagination to release something unique into each of them.  A song entitled "Wonderment" is the closest I've come to capturing what I feel the mind of a happy child might sound like.  You can have a listen here if you'd like.  Enjoy!

For more like this post, here are some other great resources:

The Power Of Vulnerability
Scary Close

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Whispers From China

Something strange happened tonight...

While at work here in the States, I heard someone call my name.  And the voice was oh, so familiar.  It was the voice of a friend.  And there was a bit of excitement in the way they called to me.  It was the voice of someone I knew in China – a neighbor of mine.

I turned to see who was there, knowing deep down that my friend wouldn't be (but wishing so badly they were).  But there was no one.  In fact, no one had called out to me at all.  And I just stood there for a moment, wondering what had just happened.  I felt disappointed and a little sad.  I tried my best to suppress my feelings and continue on with work.  But I couldn’t (not completely).  Longing had already settled in and I was left wondering if I had made the right decision to leave China in the first place.

What followed was a flood of memories and questions and doubts.  Some of my best years were spent in that place and with some of my truest friends.  It’s difficult to imagine my life without them.  China was so much more than just a fun time and it felt as if I was being drawn back in to it all again.  And it felt good.  It felt right.

It was as if I was connected again.  As if, somehow, I was back in China and all that I knew had not yet come to an end.  But it had and I was no longer there.  And neither was my friend.

If you haven’t yet had the chance, please read the story of my moving to China.  It's one of the most intriguing stories from my life!  Click here to do so.

My time in China was full of laughter, exploration, friendship, and purpose.  It was full of new foods and writing and my favorite sports.  There existed both the familiar and the unfamiliar.  There were sad goodbyes and happy hellos.  There were long hours of teaching and treasured moments spent with students outside of class.

On a weekly basis, I found myself enjoying everything from volleyball and motorcycle excursions to culture shock and hilarious misunderstandings…. from missing home and broken Internet connections to exploring abandoned buildings and rooftop conversations high above the university campus…. from food street and Hot Pot to performing before large audiences and messing it up because you can’t dance…

... from “Coffee Mornings” with Van and “The Finer Things Club” with next door neighbors to making music and writing stories… from orphanage work and travel to strolls down the old railroad and lighting off fireworks for the whole university to see… from late night walks through the park to running from park security with my closest Chinese friends because we weren't sure what the penalty was for joyriding around on some random bicycle-wagon thing we'd found.

 These are those friends

It was all there.  And it didn’t take long to realize that we had begun to build something beautiful together, little by little and bit by bit.  There was purpose because there was connection.  There was meaning because there was intention.

We had so much freedom in our schedule to spend time doing the things we actually wanted to do.  We’d teach for a bit and then it was off to whatever you so desired (and as you may have noticed, I desired a lot).  But none of it would’ve been worth it without the people I shared it all with.  And really, that's why it was so special.  My experience of China was spent within a community of wonderful people, journeying together.  And that’s why there was meaning and purpose.

As each year passed, I found myself thinking, “How will I ever leave this place?  That will truly be a sad day.” The thought had sadden me even though I hadn't left yet.  But then I’d jump right back into all the craziness and things were okay.  That day did finally come, though.  And you know what?  For whatever reason, I was ready to go.  It wasn't that it was any less sad, but my time there felt complete.

But when the voice of my friend had called out to me, and when it said my name, I questioned my departing from such a place.

And I just hope with all hope that I made the right decision.

But Life Didn't End There...
Click Here To See What Else I've Been Up To!

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When This Hand Writes: A Winter Piece

This creative writing piece will conclude my poetry series, although it in itself is not a poem.  It is, however, the most dear to my heart of any of them...

W I N T E R S  O F  L O N G  A G O

I remember spending mornings by a window, huddled over a vent.  Upon a stair I’d sit with outstretched arms and socks as hot as logs.  The ground outside was covered in white and so were the towering pines.  I recall admiring the color green that shown through them and the contrast thereof.

Our home was special as my father had also spent formidable years there.  It was as if, long before my arrival, this quaint, little resting place had been designed especially for me.  And so there I’d sit, gazing into winter’s grand display of timeless beauty.  It was all so perfect that I find it difficult to recount a flaw… unless, I suppose, that we were usually off to school moments later.  But with humor aside, it was there at the window that I'd been befriended by Captivation, and there we'd join together.

 When the blizzards blew in, flurrying with whistles like they do, our land really did become a wonderland.  And such feelings of enchantment would arise as I peered, curiously, into what seemed like new territory to explore.  Out there, anything could happen!  There was no telling what adventures awaited your discovery.

There was sledding to be had, beauties to be rescued, and igloos to be built.  There were lands to traverse, snowballs to gather, and fierce icicles to fight.  It was snowfalls great invitation into a scene of the most wonderful kind – a world filled with mystery, danger, and passion.

But as you can imagine, not all my time was spent in dreams there at the vent.  You could say that’s where they were formed, though, and then longed for.  It was a magical time for a boy like me to be alive.  And to this day, I still find myself visiting that window through a longing that thrills my soul.

For there I was with the cold just beyond and my very own flame below, enjoying what would one day be a young boy’s winter of long ago.

<Poetry (e.)

Copyright © 2016 Wrightings and more. All rights reserved.
 

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When This Hand Writes: If The World Ends Tomorrow

On this page, I will explore creative writing through poetry

What We Crave
Every Last Coal
If The World Ends Tomorrow
The Shampoo Conspiracy

W H A T  W E  C R A V E

We crave for what we do not have

Gold, adventure, strangers in masks

With all our lusting, we’ve lost sight

Of what’s before us, shining bright

One man’s hunger watered his mouth

Led him into the deepest South

Will we return or venture forth?

Your kingdom awaits, just up North

E V E R Y  L A S T  C O A L

My anger comes and then it goes

The longings of my soul it knows

Once it secured itself to me

I lost myself; I fell asleep

This happened, oh, some great time ago

And I welcomed it, I said, “Hello”

I could be deaf or something much worse

For when it speaks, there comes such a curse

And then my world turns upside down

All that I love cannot be found

Yes, maybe deaf or even dumb

I built it a home filled with crumbs

I’m desperate to severe it from my soul

All of it, completely... every last coal

And should it leave scars, that’ll be just fine

At least then I’ll be rid of the foul swine!

If I fail to never see what it truly is

I may just forget that I had seen the abyss

It had taken me there once and told me some lies

And I believed what it said, to my sad surprise

But not any longer, it stops today!

For I cannot afford to walk that way

One thing is sure: I’m destined to be free!

From anger’s lies, both to and about me

I F  T H E  W O R L D  E N D S  T O M O R R O W

If the world ends tomorrow

Will you have done all you could?

Will you have said all you should?

Will you have loved?

If the world ends tomorrow

What will have been your history?

Will you have discovered the mystery?

Will your passion be intact?

If the world ends tomorrow

Will it all have been worth it?

Will your time have had its moments?

Will your memories be noble?

If the world ends tomorrow

What will you leave behind?

Will you seek to press rewind?

Will you be fulfilled?

If the world ends tomorrow

What if another awaits?

What if there’s more at stake?

Will you be surprised?

If the world does not end tomorrow

Does that mean it never will?

Should we go on living merrily, still?

The answer is no

T H E  S H A M P O O  C O N S P I R A C Y

I don’t quite understand this game

Of shampoo and conditioner, and then more of the same

Put the poo in your hair and then let it abound

It should cover all, not just your crown!

Some buy all sorts treatments and cures

But isn’t it funny that they never endure?

And if that’s you, something may be wrong

I’m as clean as a whistle and have been all along

But all I do is use shampoo

A little here, a little there and I’m just like new

So instead of these words, maybe I’ll sell this stuff

That’s what they do and you never have enough!

<Poetry (d.)   
 Poetry (f.)>

Copyright © 2016 Wrightings and more. All rights reserved.

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When This Hand Writes: I Long To See Alaska

On this page, I will explore creative writing through poetry

If Clouds Were Mountains
Errors in my writing & the Insecurity it brings
The Story of a Boy
I Long To See Alaska

I F  C L O U D S  W E R E  M O U N T A I N S

If clouds were like mountains, I’d climb them
Closing my eyes, I can see the view
When the sky was bright or even dim
Up I’d go if I couldn’t fall through

I’d hope that some could be bounced upon
And send me flying into the sky
I’d jump all day until it was dawn
From one to the other I would fly

But just think if you could drop below
Into one that would catch your great fall
And if it was soft (and it’d be so!)
How fun would it be to try them all?

Imagine a life with clouds like this
And consider just what we could do
If you close your eyes and see the mist
You can jump from the fluff of the dew

E R R O R S  I N  M Y  W R I T I N G  &  T H E  I N S E C U R I T Y  I T  B R I N G S

often times, when I reread my work, I find mistakes
And upon such findings, my creative genes begin to shake

They wobble and they wooble and soon, I'm afraid
My curiosity of what you think becomes too heavy a wait

And if I can’t enjoy just being creatively true
Then what comes to be will only be me trying too please you

So if it’s okay, I’m just gonna mess up a whole, real lot
I’m no professional and what I record was never taught

Therefore, everything you see here is just me having fun
And I hope that that shows when you read the works I've done,

T H E  S T O R Y  O F  A  B O Y

In the days of my innocence
I was true to the boy inside
I knew nothing of relevance
Life had color; I was alive

This was me in all my glory
Young and wild and curious
Just a boy playing in the trees
So free and quite oblivious

But not for long! Darkness did come
“Hello,” it said and so did I
And soon that boy had become numb
There was no more life in his eyes

It wasn’t long before I’d ask
If this was the life I wanted…
A friend with the man in the mask
Or with the boy that he’d faulted?

But then came one and he knew me
In him was color, bright and bold
He spoke to the boy through story
Redeeming thoughts, secrets untold

And before long, I knew the truth
His words, like thunder, would break in
We reminisced above the roofs
And my heart was reawakened

I  L O N G  T O  S E E  A L A S K A

I long to see Alaska and to walk amongst its beauty
Just to hide away for a while, making forts in the trees
Surely, to roam free like the animals would be the best way
Or even better as a child, if it were possible

I could use some seclusion as I explore its quiet breath
And, likewise, a little danger (for I know that it lives there)
To play in the rivers and to stand on the boulders above
To daydream in lush, grassy meadows, soft to the touch and kind

I’d awake to the smells of the forest - to its piercing calm
At night I’d fall asleep in wonder as passion allures me
There’s no telling what adventures might come in a given day
One can only imagine the mystery of such a place

While I fail to know the reason, there’s wonder inside my heart
It’s been there since as long as I can remember, just waiting
A curiosity that I just may let overtake me
For I long to see Alaska… the Alaska that I see 

<Poetry (c.)  
  Poetry (e.)>

Copyright © 2016 Wrightings and more. All rights reserved.

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When This Hand Writes: Through and Through

On this page, I will explore creative writing through poetry

Through & Though

Distant Lands

A Calm Less Sea

A Poem or Two

T H R O U G H  &  T H R O U G H

Pierce me now, through and through 

All the way until my attention is yours

Search my heart in solitude

And then again when it's busy with chores

If I am not known, fully and true

I’ll never be rid of this protective shell

And if that day never comes, what will I do?

I’m alone in here and it smells of hell

But I do not only want to be known

I seek to know the one who awoke me!

I’ve heard his voice and know its tone

But then it was gone in a hurry 

Or did I go and leave you there?

Off on your own in some other place

If that’s what happened, please tell me where!

I’ll go this minute and plead my case

Until I’m walking everyday with you

I cannot be known, fully and true

And until I’m fully known by you

Pierce me again, through and through

D I S T A N T  L A N D S

I'm off without a master plan

To the grounds of a different sand

The people of another man

I'm off into a distant land

(Note: If you'd like to read the story behind the poem, click here)

A  C A L M  L E S S  S E A

Out on a calm less sea

A man was destined to go

He cursed in disbelief

At waters he did not know 

She took him into her home

And made him to believe 

That when waters can be blown

Man must sleep the great sleep

A  P O E M  O R  T W O

I cannot stop this writing 

It flows like a river still

The more I let it take me

The less that I’ve had my fill

First, a poem or two here

Then a poem or two there

And soon, I'd trespassed beyond

Into a new world, I’d fared

But what of the one I know?

Shall I exit the river?

I fear the repercussions

I long to be a giver!

To give away what I see

And to show the world my life

Through words with special meaning

To let you peak through these eyes

If joy is found in giving

Then in the river I’ll stay

To new worlds it will take me

And I’ll give it all away

Yes, I'll give it all away!

<Poetry (b.)  

  Poetry (d.)>

Copyright © 2016 Wrightings and more. All rights reserved.

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When This Hand Writes: Into A Dark Forest

On this page, I will explore creative writing through poetry

Into A Dark Forest
My One, True Friend

When Bullets Miss

Just What I Needed

I N T O  A  D A R K  F O R E S T

One thing that’s sure is the uncertainty of the fog  

And when it surrounds, I wonder what’s awry

 It speaks to my nerves and leads them astray

Into a dark forest with no other way

But once it’s gone, I desire its tension

And the feelings that stir at its very mention 

Is it only me or be there others, too?

Who feel the same way when it comes to hover?

The closer it gets, the more I’m drawn

Into its wrongful embrace, its seductive yawn 

I just might let it take me away

To wherever it resides, there I will stay

And then we’d be together, the two of us, finally!

And never again will I doubt its intentions 

The next time it comes I will follow it home

Into a dark forest with no other way

 
M Y  O N E  T R U E  F R I E N D

I love when my owner packs me around

For a walk in the woods or into town 

I hold all his things wherever he goes

 And it’s my pleasure!  It’s all that I know

  

Sometimes I’m hung on the branches of trees

As he takes pictures of me and the leaves

And I say, “cheese!” but he never responds

I think he’s a mute, but I could be wrong

  

But that doesn’t matter; I know we’re close

I hug him real tight wherever he goes!

W H E N  B U L L E T S  M I S S

When bullets miss there are second chances

And an accuser is given the same

What will you do with the chances you’re given

When the gun of your mouth is seeking to maim?

When wounds heal there are second chances

And a victim is given the same

What will you do with the chances you’re given

When the wounds of your skin are seeking to blame?

J U S T  W H A T  I  N E E D E D

By the wood I split, I made a fire 

Just right in size for me to admire
With the coffee I had, I brewed a cup 

Just to my liking; it was enough

With the night before me, I listened and heard 

The sound of the forest and the wood as it burned
With the night before me, I sipped and explored 

My love for coffee with thoughts in accord

Then I listened once more and this is what I learned 

The song of the night forest completes that of the birds 

And it was just what I needed
(and perhaps a bit more)

<Poetry (a.)  
  Poetry (c.)>

Copyright © 2016 Wrightings and more. All rights reserved.

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