Life Lessons

"A good life plan is to have adventure, make a buck, kiss girls as often and deeply as possible, love life, dance, protect the weak, learn every day, keep a journal, laugh, sing, create, listen to old people, try and make peace, forgive, be generous with what you have, spend time enjoying what you encounter. decide on a mission at some point... an expedition or a goal and move a little bit in that direction every day and before long...bingo!

Taxes, bills, death, sickness, loss, injury, misfortune happen. Accept it.

Love, fun, beauty, goodness, kindness, growth, happiness, camaraderie.... these things happen too. Pay more attention to these.

Take care of the most important old person in your life when you are young.. That would be YOU when you are old. Save some, be healthy, build a loving community around yourself. You are responsible for your happiness and security as an old person. Get cracking!

Did i mention the girl kissing part? all the magic in the world comes from love, I think. Don't lose sight of the magic."

Tin Man

He stood there taking it all in. Waves crashing on to the moonlit beach and the cold sea breeze tearing at his skin.

The piercing cold soothed the painful emptiness he felt.

For the first time in his life he found himself depleted. The constant unrequited love drained him. He lost faith in hope and hated love. It broke him and extinguished his soul. He felt nothing and the cold numbed him.

Without a soul, he became a machine. A tin-man searching for his heart.

Roses smelled like shit. Dorthy became dull and annoying. He no longer wanted to take the piss-yellow road and instead headed towards the dark depths of the sea. 

The ocean started to rust his skin and before it enveloped him, he caught a shimmer from the moon. 

Fate had other plans for him. 

SS

“It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high. Some people, perhaps, would say that there was little to choose between the two ways, but Dumbledore knew — and so do I, thought Harry, with a rush of fierce pride, and so did my parents — that there was all the difference in the world.”

Tucked In

2:00am
John criticized himself for not being strong enough. Most days, he held his head high and smiles radiated from him but today he found himself looking at his shoes. 

The whole day was against him. Long lines stood wherever he went and every traffic light flipped red to mock him. He was good with turning negatives into positives, but today negative won. 

     Knock, Knock. 

     "Sorry Mr. Kim but I have to check your vitals." 

The night nurse rolled the blood pressure machine into the room and quietly checked John's Dad's blood pressure and temperature. 

     "Everything good. Goodnight Mr. Kim"

John, sitting at the other end of the room, kept watch the whole time. He saw the door close and laid back down on the couch.  

Out in the darkness he heard  

     "Water"  
          "Water", his Dad rasped. 

He helped his father sit up and held out a cup for him to drink. 

His Dad, once strong and full of life, now struggled to sit up. It broke his heart to see his father wither and become frail in three years. Chemo and radiation ate away at his body and left taking payment. He tucked his father into bed; an act of love that he thought was years away. He felt his eyes water, and quickly turned his face to blink it away. 

He had to stay strong; he had to be positive; lives depended on it. 

Then he said to himself, 
     "tomorrow is a new day." and went to bed. 

SS

Silver Lake Blvd

She sat relaxed, legs crossed, staring out the window of Silver Lake Blvd. She let her world blur and mused at her thoughts. Her fingers curled around her hair and pulled them through the crevices of her hand. The gentle tug of her hair felt cool and her tea sat on the table, vanishing in a wisp.

Thoughts poured in and she scribbled the words that shot by. She held her page down, wrestling it away from her pen. A give and take. She was a veteran writer. The pen, her weapon, and the paper, her war zone. The most intimate battles that defined her spilled out in black ink. There was danger of exposing herself on paper. The vulnerability thrilled her and edged her to keep the pen down. Continue murder.. 

The paper screamed for mercy but the pen was relentless until every tick was marked.  

She paused and took a sip from her tea. A cyclist whirled by. Jazz hung in the air and saxophone rhythm filled her void. The flame from the candle gleamed and danced. She exuberated grace and there she sat relaxed, legs crossed, staring out the window of Silver Lake Blvd. 

SS