Along the way, I lost track of time and rhythm and gave up the tune to toil away in social mixers and boyish indulgences. I thought at worst I could only betray myself, a pain I could live with or end easily, but, when you betray yourself, you betray those around you and they can capsize in your wake. Education claims its victims cruelly, the lessons are felt by all. I was addicted to learning the hard way, dedicated to understanding the depth and complexity of even my worst decisions.

The fog of thought was thick but not it could never consume or conquer that light that shines for us well beneath our conscience. The sweeping wave lit up my thoughts like a mirror, making abundantly clear, that it was time to leave the life of mad scientist behind me. I know many particular ways to live, the nature of suffering, tormenting thoughts and how to connect with people the wrong way, but I am left with only broad strokes and simple themes of light, awareness, simplicity, appreciation, and impermanence.

These brief beams are brilliant, playful creations of thick, bold imposto.  The light hits and connects with me. I am drawn to an entire world that exists between strokes, the subtleties of the colors dancing and disguising themselves in their union. The depth and significance I’ve searched years for finds me in perfect timing, absolute darkness and brink of collapse and ruin, that brings every man to his knees asking for help. Upon the asking is the admission, that there is something bigger than him, something he’ll never fully comprehend, life beyond boxes, categories and paint brush. In the admission is a humility that is rewarded in an instant.

I find a moment, however brief, of peace. The peace is only the beginning as I let fall the pillars of preconception. I fell to steps and am wandering up them, I am greeted by faces familiar to me in distant memory and secret dreams. His birds greet me and I knew in the yielding, I knew in the gift what is greater than myself. It is enough to be in awe of nature when greeted warmly by naked doves that rest naked shoulders and back walls that could make a man wish to fill his skies and ceilings to show his world the closest thing he knew to the divine. I know now why the old man lay on his back on the scaffolding for so long, haunting the chapel as he never grew past awe. May we never fool ourselves into thinking we have grown beyond awe. May awe never escape our landscapes and may she stay long enough to be real

I see it in the yielding, the humility, the awareness. I see in those the timing, tempo, rhythm and story. As if peeking around the corner to see the a direct line through every mountain and ocean to the source of that light on the horizon. I have a heading again, I know the way home, because I have a story again. All is too fragile though, the light different and changing quickly as it passes through a broken glass wind chime back onto page showing different colors entirely. I don’t know how far the distance before home but I feel its warmth and have the scents fresh in my head.

This could be the path home told from a dream, it has all the magnificent timing but all is too premature to tell. Timing and alignment are signs that rarely prove false- especially to a particular man such as myself. All we have left of things bigger than ourselves.

Lead on playful color and light- keep the songs coming and the clues obvious for a dimwitted novice to their meaning.