Cross country

greyhound-bus-logo

Anticipation
It makes my heart beat
With an intensity I have not felt before
What is this feeling
The insatiable longing to be where I am not

The silver box
Adorned with a race dog upon the side
Sidles up to the curb
The doors open
An invitation I cannot
I will not refuse

Seconds turn
To minutes
To hours
As the music draws me closer
Our song is playing

I feel like I am moving backwards
Away from my destination
Instead of towards it
I cannot arrive soon enough

The plethora of people
Waiting at my destination
Packed into such a small space
Like sardines in a can
Some anxious, some sad, most indifferent

My heart beats even faster
As if to send out a homing beacon to her
Staring back at me
From the sea of people
With unconditional love
Her innocent and genuine smile
Allows my heartbeat to subside
I am at peace
When I see a refined reflection of myself
My beautiful daughter

We all travel great distances cross-country to reach the next stop on our personal journey. Sometimes, the destination we arrive at is not what we expected when we initially set out – much like I hoped to convey in this poem about a father and his daughter. When I began my journey with writing on this blog, I never even imagined that I would be composing the words in this next sentence.

My first self-published e-book is now available on Amazon. It is a short compilation of four previously released short stories on this blog (Rescue, Open Book, Little Things, and Unspoken Voice). Included is the original story along with a short passage that provides a peek inside the mind of the author – my personal source of inspiration behind the idea for each story.

From today, Wednesday, May 6, 2015 through Sunday, May 10, 2015, you can download the Kindle book for free. Thank you to each and every person who has chosen to read and comment on my humble offerings. You have each helped, encouraged, motivated, and inspired me to take this next step on my writing journey. I hope to be able to pass on a bit of that inspiration to others. Inspire and be inspired.

Visit and download Inspiraction from the the Amazon Kindle Store today 🙂

Hope

nations-capitalAuthor’s Note: This is the fifth chapter of a six part story. If you would like to read the previous chapters, please visit Chapter 1 – The key, Chapter 2 – Plus one, Chapter 3 – The seed, and Chapter 4 – Step by step.

Although difficult to sleep with anticipation of another day filled to the brim with adventure and uncertain discoveries, the physical and emotional demands of the day allowed Damon, Jo, and Gryffin to receive a modicum of rest before the sun rose again on the following morning. At the crack of dawn, they were headed north towards the nation’s capital.

Jo had responded to the entire situation with the homeless man like it was completely natural. Damon always felt he was a benevolent and altruistic individual. And yet, he walked right by someone who was obviously in need. Maybe his perception of self was askew. He had wrestled with it in his mind in the moments right before falling asleep the previous night. About an hour into their trek north, Damon broached the subject engrossing his mind. “That was very kind of you, what you did for that guy at the gas station last night,” he offered.

“It’s something I’ve always done,” replied Jo. “Learning about the history of my ancestors, especially my great grandfather who took such a firm stand against slavery, it has sorta become a part of me. I seem to always look out for others in need and do what I can to help them.”

Damon was consumed with a feeling of hope – not for finding some profound meaning in the completion of this quest he was on, nor for the wish that his professional endeavors would take a turn for the better. No, he was feeling hope for humanity, that there were still individuals in society who genuinely cared for one another, who realized that we are all in this together, and who didn’t feel compelled to vie for the last piece of pie. There was plenty of love and happiness in this world to go around – when we choose to share it. One of those rare individuals who embodied this very essence was sitting next to him, and Damon suddenly felt fortunate to have been blessed by her presence.

Damon did some mental math and realized that he would need to adopt a heavier foot on the accelerator pedal in order to reach their destination before closing time. Fortunate to avoid rush hour traffic through the heart of D.C., they arrived at the library with a mere thirty minutes to spare. Racing up to the entrance, they were stopped by the security guard at the front door.

“Sorry sir, no pets permitted in the library.” Damon looked quizzically at Gryffin and then Jo, trying to figure out a solution that would work out for everyone involved. Jo chimed in, “You go ahead, I can hang here with Gryffin. You can fill us all in when you figure it out.”

public-library-dc“But …” began Damon. Jo cut him off before he could continue any further, “Get in there and figure this thing out. Gryffin and I will be right here waiting for you.” Realizing that resistance was going to be futile, and because he was running out of time with every passing second, Damon agreed, “Okay, I’ll be right back.” As he plunged into the depths of the library in search of his destination, Damon mentally refreshed his memory with the important inscription – 811 E42F 26. Upon reaching the dark corridors of poetry in section 811, Damon quickly began to comb each shelf in search of the desired volume. Running his index finger over the spine of each book, he could almost feel the energy of the poetry within each book, yearning to be heard. More than likely, however, his feeling was one of hope in finding a book with the call number E42F. With head tilted sideways to better read the print, Damon finally discovered what he had been looking for – The Four Quartets by T.S. Eliot.

Glancing down at his watch, he had less than ten minutes before the front doors of the library would be locked. He figured it would take them at least twice that much time to actually find him in these dark recesses of the library where far too few souls roam. Flipping the book open and fanning to page 26, Damon could almost smell the age of this book published more than a half century ago. There on the page was an unmistakable message that he knew was meant to be seen by his eyes. From the poem Little Gidding, the highlighted passage read:

We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.

four-quartetsScribbled in the margin was another set of numbers. Damon knew that his next destination would be the final one on this journey. He wasn’t quite sure how the adventure would conclude, but he was quite certain that he would be enlightened by whatever was ultimately revealed – his recent history had proven that fact to be true. With less than five minutes until the doors locked for the evening, Damon reached the front entrance of the library, greeted by an anxious face and a wagging tail that were clearly discernible, even in the diminishing sunlight. He couldn’t wait to share his findings. Partly for the information itself, more so for the person he would be sharing it with.

Author’s Note: This is the fifth part of a six part “not-so-short” short story about self-discovery. A new segment has now been published on each Wednesday in December. The final chapter of this story will be published here on Wednesday, January 7, 2015. Thank you for taking the time to read and comment – best wishes for an inspired day and new year!

Imagine

blue-sky-clouds

Supported by a thousand blades of grass

Eyes directed towards the heavens

The water droplets are coalescing

Arranging themselves twice

Against the blue canvas overhead

Then in the infinite dimensions of my mind

A dragon soars across the sky

His spiny tail whipping to and fro

And in the next instant

The violent apparition has morphed

Into a trail of steam from a soothing cup of tea

The capacity of our imaginative mind

Unfathomable

Without it we are not human

With it we become something beyond human form

Able to do anything

Go anywhere

Be anyone

All this courtesy of a passing cloud

A fleeting thought

And an imagination that we take for granted

Imagine that

Superpower

superhero-superman

Perched on the ledge of indecision

My cape is absent

Watching other creatures of our species rise to the challenge

Herculean strength exerted against the throngs of evil

I take a step back from the precipice

I am not worthy of this inflated status

Reserved for the exceptional ones

I am but a mere mortal

With no extraordinary powers to differentiate me from the masses

But then a thought strikes

Like a lightning bolt filled with electricity

Energy coursing through my veins

My subconscious unveils a secret force

The courage, the tenacity, the unequivocal resolve

To leap into the chasm of darkness unknown

That is what sets me apart

And validates my worthiness

To enter into this otherworldly universe of possibility

Whether I fall into the abyss or learn to fly

It is in making this choice and accepting my fate

That a seed of superpower capability is born

Transforming far-fetched dreams

Into an undeniable reality

No cape required

 

 

 

Alphabet soup

alphabet-soupI looked forward to the steaming bowl of soup placed in front of me on those cold winter days, even though I really didn’t like the way it tasted. Vegetables were not at the top of my favorite food list in my adolescent days. What did attract me to that otherwise mediocre meal offering was the sea of letters floating before me, swimming among the green beans, carrots, and tomatoes in search of their rightful place in my bowl.

Only twenty-six letters in the English alphabet, and yet the breadth and depth of emotions and meaning that can be conveyed through the precise arrangement of them is utterly confounding. Over the course of my life, I have used those symbols of communication to write checks, to solve mathematical equations, to compose book reports, to tell stories, and to share the philosophical musings in my mind.

There is one form of written communication that has always eluded me. My brain has never fully wrapped its metaphorical arms around poetry. I have consumed the words of the most respected poets, but my mind stumbles upon the words, like mental hiccups interrupting the flow of thought. Perhaps, like anything else, the appreciation of poetry takes patience and practice.

I realize that much of the predisposition to these sentiments is due to the less than fruitful experiences as a student in elementary, middle, and high school. Aside from the various renditions of the ‘roses are red’ poems tossed out on the playground among friends, my exposure to poetry up until this point in my life has been very limited. I recall the rigid rules associated with the haiku form, the free-flowing thoughts in my mind being constrained because it didn’t fit into the prescribed syllabic pattern.

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words. ~Robert Frost

All my writing to date has been characterized by authenticity, vulnerability, and the conveyance of emotion. It is these three characteristics that light a fire inside me and allow me to exercise self-expression in the best way I know how. I have given poetry a bad rap, an unfair preconceived notion, and I don’t want that to be. It deserves an honest chance to find its way into my soul.

Gone are the restrictions, the rules, and the prescribed manner of composing these twenty-six letters of our native language. Instead, I turn my focus to the words of Robert Frost. I feel the emotion. I allow it to find its thought. I allow that thought to find words and pour out of my fingertips and on to the page. It may not be pretty. It may not be cohesive. But, it will be me. And therefore, it will be right.

I’m still not a huge fan of alphabet soup, at least not in the palatable form. I have, however, decided to compose a twenty-six line poem with each line beginning with the next letter in our alphabet, a different type of alphabet soup that provides nourishment for the soul. The thoughts buried deep inside are waiting for their opportunity to present themselves. Swirl your spoon in the sea of alphabet soup that comprise your daily life. Allow the letters to wade where they may. Allow the emotions to form and be carried on the coat tails of the venting steam rising from within.

Always wondering
Believing that good prevails
Caught in a tangled web
Dangling by a thread
Everything hanging in the balance
Forget what has happened in the past
Go forward into the future
Happy to part ways with the norm
Inside it feels right
Just following my soul’s whisper
Kicking bad habits to the curb
Laughing away past misfortunes
Meeting my destiny for the first time
Never looking back
Open my eyes
Place faith in the beating of my heart
Quit quitting on the voice from inside
Remove all inhibitions
Sip from the chalice of wild dreams
Turn them into a drunken reality
Under an enchanted spell
Villainous voices vanquished
Walking one foot in front of the other
X marks the next spot on my journey
Yearning for inner peace and fulfillment
Zero chance of failure, success is guaranteed