infection detective

  There wasn't a drop of blood left in his body but the man continued on, or at least as it appeared, living. Existing. But there was no breath coming in or leaving his body; he appeared to be caught in a state of suspended animation, it seems.
  Not one scientist, doctor or other rational-minded individual present could explain the phenomena, though each one was viewing the spectacle with their own eyes, and so that it was actually happening, had happened, could not be refuted. Stunned, all anyone could do was sit and watch and wait, but for what no one rightly knew.
  Perhaps the man would fall over onto his side, all color having gone from his skin and close his eyes in the big sleep. Or maybe he would simply crumble and turn to dust before them; at this point, nothing was out of the question.

  Very little is known about the man, where he came from or how he came to be in such a state; throat opened neatly across, having spilled its contents over the front of the man, saturating him in a hideous red, sticky film, the blood having been dry for an indeterminate amount of time. It would seem he simply just materialized on the front steps leading to the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta.
  The place has gotten enough media attention having been in The Walking Dead, so that it was some sort of publicity stunt by some hardcore horror nut had not been overlooked. But, there was something different about this, not ominous in the least, though understandably unnerving; It seemed more akin to an intense demonstration of something, to show someone what they had not been seeing.


  That day, nothing was clear and answers were sparse but in the coming days and weeks and months, more information began to come out and shed some light on the strange occurrence and feed the public's insatiable curiosity.
 
  The body was of a 38- year old man of solid build who, at first, had appeared to be homeless, wearing dirty rags and looking quite disheveled, as there had been no forthcoming information on the subject (his age was determined through saliva samples) to that point. Eventually news broke of his identity as a former student of film and avid Hatha yogi, having left his studies early on to travel to India in order to pursue his true interest.
  Little is known of what or who he studied with while there but it has been a popular speculation in certain circles that the man was a true adept, and had reached the highest point of his practice in meditation and was no longer privy to our understanding of the natural world, or how things should function in it.  Further mumblings, later developed after having learned of the body's mysterious disappearance from the morgue it was taken to, reasoned that the man was not even there in the first place; that he was simply a projection of his celestial body, having turned back into the particulates of light that he, all of us, had manifested from originally.
 
  He returned to stardust, but whatever message he may have been trying to send had been lost in translation, pining over the physical details of the matter. I guess, in a way, he had gotten his message across though, in that there are things in this life one can never understand by looking outside with reasoning eyes.
 

early morning riser.

  I don't always wake up at 5 am like I like to but when I do, it seems the rest of the day goes easier from the start. Already I had my breakfast without having to rush to eat it, I got my Lumosity brain training in and will be able to enjoy some tunes on the drive in, again, without having to rush. It doesn't always go this way but it's nice when it does.

  For a while, I thought that I had to get up at 4 or 5 to do my yoga practice (ahem, asana practice) but I'm seeing it differently now: I'm seeing that I am doing it, every minute of every day, either consciously or unconsciously. That is only something that comes with practice and I'm far from ideal, at least in my mind. For now, friends, it shall do.

4:30 A.M. yoga thoughts

  It's not a typo. I am actually awake at this ungodly hour practicing yoga, and generally just shaking the dust from my bones before I start the day.

  It's not easy but it's what I need.

  To rise early before everyone else is empowering, and one can benefit greatly from the stillness of early morning. It's actually my favorite time of the day, un-constrained by the chaos each day brings; the calm before the storm.

  The discipline takes time but it's not for everyone; there's always something to be learned about yourself, no matter what time of day. Every moment is a chance to go deeper, to breathe into the pain and discomfort, to relax and let it go. And you don't have to be twisted like a pretzel, it can happen all on its own.

  Do the poses, or don't. Just keep breathing and the rest will work itself out.

 

 

 

drink your bliss

  I wish drinking was like meditation: I could sit there, glass in hand, just gazing out with soft eyes at the life that surrounds me.

  Most times I do.

  More times than not I don't.

  I stare hard at the glass, and feel as if the liquid inside of it needed to be somewhere yesterday. I drink with a purpose.

  Thanks, social anxiety.

  But sometimes, it's just that good. One tasty craft beer deserves another, after all; like potato chips or Pringles, you can't have just one.

  Maybe next time I should bring my cushion and sit lotus on the floor..

More or less..

  I call now to the witness stand my own inner aspirations, because there seems to be quite a lot of inner conflict going on these days...

  The trouble comes from feeling the need to do more versus needing the feeling of doing less i.e. relaxation. Real relaxation, not just sitting my ass in a chair for five minutes, I mean no phone, no computer, no nothing. I need space and nature and a total disconnect before re-connecting again. This argument comes on the coattails of questioning my own yoga practice and how it balances out with my many other fitness aspirations, and furthermore, what those even are.
 
  I like obstacle runs. Spartans, Tough Mudders, trail runs or just regular old mud runs; I like that challenge, and I like to feel challenged and pull through something I didn't think I could. Part of it is just primal, the other part largely ego-driven, I'm sure but nevertheless, it's important to stay active and in good overall physical health, right?
 
  Well, yes. And no.

  You see, keeping a challenging physical routine going is not bad in and of itself. What's perceived internally as being negative is the stress and pressure I pile on top of myself every day to do something, anything, because if I don't I must surely be a failure and am going to be overweight tomorrow. Yes, it's sickening.
  I'm 29, 5'8 and 151 pounds, so I don't have much to pinch and thanks to my diligence in the past I have a fairly sculpted physique; I'm not chiseled out of stone but I look and feel good. I have run a Tough Mudder, a Spartan Sprint this year, a bunch of other 7+ mile trail runs in winter and other foot races of varying lengths. I'd say I'm in pretty decent shape.

  But it's never enough. I want more and be harder and faster and stronger but all the while the cortisol builds and my nerves are constantly frazzled. I thought exercise was supposed to help decrease stress?

  So this got me to thinking: What am I doing? And more importantly, why?

  I'm still not quite sure of that answer but in the meantime, I've convinced myself that I'm not a super-athlete, nor do I wish to be, and it's ok to take a day off. It's probably more than ok, actually. You know, go meditate for ten minutes to clear your headspace, have a nice dinner with your family and enjoy a beer dammit, because you earned it.

  Less is more, and it's a continuous struggle to completely assimilate the teachings of that lesson but it's getting there; like all things, it's a work in progress. Cheers, friends.

 

8.13.13 (13 13..) 5:33 a.m.

 Lucky 13 strikes twice today, and so far it's a scattered start. Where is that clarity I felt yesterday? The sense of divine inspiration and driving purpose? Well, it's still there but it got temporary muddled by distractions. 

  

  You see this, this right here, is where it all comes into practice, all this bs I blabber on about every day about mindfulness and yoga and the like.. There is absolutely nothing different about this morning in comparison to yesterday. I may not have been so eager to get out of bed, because listening to a distant storm is pretty right-on in the wee hours before one needs to drag their corpse pose out of bed. 

  But, I did it. And at the same time too. Still have time to sip tea and write (blog), still got my stuff done I needed to; it FEELS different, though. Each day has a new feel to it, a new taste and texture and this one is no different but just what that is that is so different is anyone's guess. It's subtle, I know that much. Or, it could all just be a shift in perception; doesn't matter either way because the more you try and understand it, the less you do.

   Focus. Power through the mind chaos, you'll find clarity on the other side or, if you don't, at least you didn't just let yourself get stuck there and lost in your thoughts, not knowing which way to go. And this is just how it goes, ladies and gents: some days you have the talker on, some days you don't. Daily life is ever-changing in our hearts and minds, some days just find us a little lost. 

  

  There's tools at your disposal that help one center the mind, body and spirit and concentrate it on one direction, but you can make it through just fine without it; just keep that cool and never let yourself lose that awareness, of your breath and your actions/reactions. All you need is awareness.

  If you're lost or confused this day as I am, or any other, just accept it; put on your favorite song and crank it. Just ride the wave back into shore. It'll bring you back to yourself eventually. 

  It's not all sunshine and lollipops, and that is one huge misconception of the whole practice (of yoga/meditation), largely put on by our unrealistic societal expectations in seeking that "magic bullet" that is going to solve all our problems and make us happy and light and chipper every single day for the rest of our lives. YAY! Barf.

   It's also clever marketing. But it's false, and I'm telling you here not to buy in. Some days are just fucked, and while an ancient yogi would never tell it to you like that, this is the 21st century, and it's time to get real about things. 

  On a scattered note, I need to get going or MY day is going to be fucked. 

  Have a good one, and if you're not, just make the best of it, ok? ;)

8.12.13 20:28

  Same day, same place, different times, different space; head, that is. It seems a lot of my writing recently has been in the form of blog posts or scribbled notes, but not quite as much pen to paper contact as I'd like, not much journaling, either. I'm indifferent to it at this point but after reading Walden, by Henry David Thoreau the past few days, i can't help but wonder what that great American would think of this modern day.
  I mean, I honestly feel I'm about as rooted in classical literature as one could be, living in this day and age. I really think I was born two centuries late, as I'm much more at home in the 19th than this one. But that's not to say I completely abhor the modern world: I am more attached to my cell phone than I care to be, and would be lost without my MacBook Pro I'm writing you on now combined with WiFi.. and don't even TALK about how I'd get along without internet access.
  The whole of it is very bittersweet for me, and maybe for more than just myself, however, there seems to be a noticeable gap between our beliefs and our behavior, or at least just mine. In other words, I talk a lot of shit but at the end of the day, I still go home to my first world little house on the prarie existence, enjoying the finest things life has to offer. Do I feel guilty of this? Sure. But I'm also not gonna lie that I don't enjoy it.

  My guilt and feelings of discontent are philosophical, lacking a specific texture of emotion and it feels hollow sometimes. I feel guilty but would I give it all up willingly? It's doubtful, unless it was a catastrophic world event and shit was really starting to go down; then survival instinct kicks in and you act accordingly.
  I think about Christopher McCandless often, and especially now that I'm reading Walden, one of the many books he read before taking his journey. In case you don't know who the hell I'm talking about, look up Into The Wild.
  I envy Chris for what he did, for the courage and determination it must take to be a true soul rebel and go against the whole of society, to burn it all and leave no trace of yourself. You become a ghost, you cease to exist in exchange for the ability to truly live free, the way ( I can only surmise) we used to.
  It was stupid and careless and selfish, yes. He met a lot of kindred spirits along the way but died alone with slow poison flowing through his veins. Just another stupid kid. Or was he? I think he did what we all think of doing, wish we could actually pull off and do ourselves but that idea quickly gets dashed to pieces by what we call reality: Our job, our mortgage, etc.

  He took soul searching to the extreme, and I respect him for that but there is always a better way, and maybe not an easier way but a more practical one.

  Dislike it as I may, the real world is what we're stuck in, and it's what we have to deal with and make the best of. We do it every day, and maybe do not give ourselves enough credit. Some go home to escape it through their favorite tv show, some through drink or drugs, some through sweat and some through the mind. Whatever the means, the end is all the same, so, I guess that it once again all comes down to balance; that's all it ever is, a delicate balance and a power play between our hearts and our minds, our hopes and our fears and our setbacks and aspirations.
 
  The way out is through. Winston Churchill said "If you're going through hell, keep going", and that's about the long and short of it. What else can we do? I think a part of us all wants to return to a more natural state, my part wanting to have that homestead outside of the reach of humanity and its eternal ignorance and technology, let come what may and if I die, at least I first lived. But I'm not there, nor am I ready to be, and it's just not practical at this point. It is not impossible though; nothing is, and one day I hope that we all get to taste our own little slice of heaven on this mortal soil but until then, I guess you're stuck reading the words that I type and I'm stuck typing them, wishing for paper.

8.12.13 5:45 a.m.

  A morning spent with all the usual drudgery: alarm at 4:30, waking to turn that off, grabbing my phone and laying back down after I set the timer for 15 minutes, then awakening again to re-set it. It goes on like this all morning, usually until around 5:30, when I finally roll out of bed. Most mornings it works for me, others I can never seem to get ahead.
  I'm really not a morning person, suspect I never will be but I think it has to do more with the fact that my body is just not always ready to wake up so early; I make it wake up that early, so that I can do what I want and need to do in the mornings before work. Then, waking up early leads to the inevitable afternoon crash, which leads sometimes to a nap which leads to not being tired at the designated bed-time. It's a vicious cycle. Couple that with my insane desire to practice yoga this early and you have a recipe for failure, or at least grumpiness.
 
  But grumpiness is not what yoga is about; it's really counter-productive, actually. So now I'm starting to ease up off myself a little for not being totally ok with killing myself to get up super early and practice pre-sunrise yoga like all the sages of yesteryear. Maybe it just doesn't work for me. This morning gave me some insight into all this:  I woke the same as I always do, at 4:30. Proceeded with the alarm symphony but only set one this time, and woke up, for good, at quarter to five, nearly 45 minutes ahead of schedule.
  I got up, sat there for a bit and did some neck rolls, got my lungs used to me controlling their breathing patterns again and did some other stretches that felt necessary. Tied my hair back, cleaned the sleep from my eyes and went to the kitchen for the rest of my routine: hot water pot set to boil, let the pup out, get lunch and breakfast ready, feed the pup, make tea, shower, leave.
  Well, I had 15 extra minutes doing all this, so I decided to write. This might not seem like a big deal but it is immense, believe me. The morning is my favorite and most reflective time, and just being awake in it, alone, with only my thoughts and stillness, it is the perfect atmosphere for meditation, be it formal or informal. This morning I chose the informal route, and just considered the peace I felt within me and the rest of the slumbering world around me and soaked all that up. This is what it's all about, really. Postures, breathing, all that is just a means to an end. I got right to the core of it this morning, and I didn't even try to, and that's the key.
  The practice isn't lost on me, though; I'll come home and do my practice as usual but these 15 minutes I took to go into myself will set the tone and carry with me throughout the day today. I feel refreshed, and awake. I feel alive. Time to join the rest of humanity.

  Good Morning.

cookie.

  You want to be something you’re not. There’s always more you can do, a look you could pull off better if only you worked a little harder and spent a little more money on this or that; then you’d be complete.

  Reality tells you that some people just have good genetics. It also tells you most others have no life outside of the gym and have to count calories every single second of the day, to fit into their designer clothes and earn a paycheck. Reality goes even further to say that your time of external beauty is finite, and the window is shrinking every day.

  I don’t know when I started easing up on the reins a little bit but I’m pretty sure it was around the time that I started practicing yoga. Don’t worry, this isn’t a ‘this is why you should practice yoga’ thing, there’s already plenty of them and better written ones to get you on your way if that’s what you so desire; I’m simply relating a story. When I say you I mean I, but you may be able to relate.

So I like to run now. I picked up this habit trying to kick cigarettes, and it was effective. In many ways, I went from one addiction to another. I never knew I loved running and the freedom it gives one, not to mention the personal sense of accomplishment upon completing races.

  Two years ago, I started with a mile or two now I’m doing a race nearly every month, with two half-marathons and two Spartan races on deck, a Tough Mudder, five trail runs of varying lengths but none below 7 miles and I can’t believe this is still the same person who used to enjoy Chicken McNuggets and appeared to be allergic to anything green.

  By all outward appearances, one would think that I’m pretty healthy, pretty accomplished and driven. All of these are true but I still have some nasty habits I’m trying to kick. Like my ego and trying to control everything. You research prana and pranayama extensively and you work on your control issues by controlling your breathing. It’s funny, you can laugh. No one can say anything to me I haven’t already thought myself, and I’m painfully aware of my own contradictions so take your best shot. I probably still won’t be mad. Impressed, rather, for you noticing something I overlooked.

  Before I got on the yoga tip, I did what many other spiritually and philosophically-attuned young individuals do and I experimented with psychedelics; Mushrooms, to be exact. I’m not here to go over the finer points of their usefulness or go off the deep end of drugged out euphoria though, so let me just say that they made me aware of certain things.It might be more accurate to say it allowed me to become aware of certain things, like my own negative aspects i.e. the things you really don’t like about yourself and try to cover up or control through some other means or validation. Me? I’m a little obsessive about my health so even when I did smoke, I still exercised regular and ate whole foods.

  It’s a little humorous, in a darkly kind of cynical way, that I never saw the forest for the trees. All these healthy things I was doing for myself just became an addiction of their own. When does health food become unhealthy? When you begin to stress yourself out over whether or not you should eat something and you begin to dread eating because you’re so confused as to what’s even good for you anymore.

  You take other people’s opinions in account over your own. Your opinions are now a reflection of their own and you don’t know who you are or what you even believe in.

I think this is a common problem, especially among the more neurotic of us, the chronic worry-warts and do-goods. It’s ok. What is not, however, is letting our own bad behaviors keep beating ourselves over the head. Awareness is the start but to really start feeling a difference you need to lighten up a little. Know and accept that there’s a lot of f’d up things in the world that you won’t be able to do much about.

  People suck most days. Again, can’t change this but we can learn to live with it better when we let ourselves realize that maybe the whole world is just having a bad day and how does that affect us? There are obvious exceptions; I mean, I don’t know how calm the Buddha would be if he were actively taking a nose dive in a plane about to kiss the ground at terminal velocity but supposedly he would be ok with it. I’m not there yet, nor do I think 90% of us ever will be, realistically speaking.

  For now, let’s just start with accepting the little things about us we may not like but are a part of us, regardless and see where it goes from there. The note in my fortune cookie reads: “You cannot run away from yourself, you’re always right behind you.”

  That’s one smart cookie.

8.9.13

  I've been sick, or something like it, the past few days. I actually came home from work because the feeling shitty-ness overcame me and it wasn't worth the self-torture to myself or anyone in my vicinity. Took some much needed time on the couch to do absolutely nothing but listen to music and feel like a train wreck physically.
 
  I don't like being sick. No one does. And I usually don't get sick but i'm usually good for one or two good ones a year; I guess that's not a terrible track record. Be patient, I am going somewhere with all this.

  I felt miserable and just couldn't get comfortable but I had some movies to catch up on, one being Evil Dead (the new re-done, re-envisioned, regurgitated or whatever-you-wish-to-call-it one), the other was Django Unchained, a Tarantino flick.
  I'm about as art snobby as art snobs get, and try as I might to deny or downplay this fact, I simply cannot and my critical nature gets the best of me. I was watching Evil Dead and all I could think of is how terrible this is; it's like every new-school horror movie to come out in the past 5-10 years. They all have a lot of gore and camera effects/CGI for enhancement purposes and for the sake of being "shocking". Add into that the recent trend of popularity in demonic possession movies and you have another cinematic abortion of what was once a fiercely original (and hilarious) film. See, I say 'film' instead of movie.. proof of my snobbery.
 
  Now. Even with all that said, with the lack of off-beat humor from the original, lack of charismatic lead men and grandiose scare tactics, my rejection of it was almost visceral; it just really put me in a bad place after watching it. I texted my best friend and felt the need to debate about it. I wanted to pick a fight.
 
  Why?

  He was getting a little perturbed with me, I could tell, as my contrarian nature can be pretty frustrating to deal with at times (especially when it comes to debates on artistic merit or quality), and he finally just said, "It's just a movie and you're a tough critic". Then changed the subject. It was a tasteful slap in the face, which I could do nothing else but laugh at, and I whole heartedly agreed with him.
 
  It is just a movie, and I am a tough critic. On myself, on everyone else, holding the world up on its unattainable pedestal always, forever looking up the skirt of my own ridiculous ideals which I'll never touch myself. I'm on a quest for the holy grail, and I will die many deaths along the way until one day I finally learn that it doesn't exist. It's just another myth, a legend made by the hopeless to give hope to life, or at least some greater sense of meaning and purpose. That it can always be better or different than what it is, that somewhere out there something is holding all the answers I've been continuously seeking.
  This is a bit of a far stretch to go on after just talking about a movie but it's really not, in my mind. It's very much one in the same. Instead of just watching it and appreciating (or not appreciating_ it for what it is, I went on this mythical mental quest for its perfection, and all the ways it didn't add up to that for me. Thankfully, Scott inspired me to pull my head out of my ass by calling me out on my nonsense.

  What's the moral? Chill the fuck out, and if you're sick and feeling shitty wanting to critique something, turn that spotlight on yourself instead: Look at all your negative habits and find ways to turn them into positives that work for everyone, call yourself out on your bullshit and stop it before it starts.
  I also want to simply show how even such a small and seemingly innocuous occurrence of every day life can be such a huge and meaningful personal revelation. We need these daily revelations to keep evolving and re-inventing ourselves, so don't sweat the small stuff but do take it into account. It could be your next big revelation.


p.s. I watched Django Unchained later and loved the shit out of it. But, would I have loved it as much if I watched it earlier when I was still in my mood? Before I got  a reality check and got over myself? Ponder that.

Post-Existential Uninhabit(at).

  Time is not our enemy friends, it's the perceived importance we've placed on it that is. Indeed, our entire culture would likely crumble into the dirt if suddenly there were no such things as 'time' or 'money' but would it be such a bad thing? What one sees as chaos or anarchy, another views as a return to a more natural order; the way things ought to be.
  We did it to ourselves, though; we always do. A novel idea becomes a crutch, a necessity of every day life but more like a slow cancer, in reality.

  Time ceased to exist long ago, it means nothing now: It's just numbers we stress out over fitting our days around. We make up rules and consequences for not abiding by this, for being "late". How ridiculous! If time, if money, if your precious schedule or the material items you own don't mean a pinch of shit when you're dead, then why should we think any differently of it when we're alive?
  This is our one chance, and we have to waste it slaving away to make money for someone else while all ours is being taken away?

  I normally don't voice my opinion of such things publicly. When I do, I'm already prepared to hear grumbles and scoffs and "that's life". Fuck you. We've forgotten how to live. Worse yet, we've never even been taught how to, we have to find this out later in life once we've blown the better part of it making all the wrong choices or none at all.

  You either decay actively or lethargically: choose wisely. 

  
  I was feeding the fish tonight, and it struck me that this is how life should be, this is as good as it gets and it's really all it's about. We used to build gardens, now we build cities. There used to be farms but now it's apartment complexes. It makes me sad only momentarily. What it makes me is angry. Furious, more accurately, and it should make you feel the same, god dammit.
  Trading resources natural to this Earth we inhabit, that all are entitled to but only the select few own the title to with glorified monopoly money. Ink on paper. It means something because we made it that way. There is no meaning to anything save for what we put on it, and we put meaning to the most meaningless things. 

  Wake up. Count your blessings. If you can do that, it means you're still alive and sucking air and there's still a chance for the whole wretched lot of us. Stop putting the control in someone else's hands and take it for yourself, for us all.

The Yoga of Ink

Imbued with this feeling of gratitude shining forth from my chest that’s nearly ready to burst with the goodness of it all…

I didn’t tip my tattoo artist.

I didn’t know I was supposed to—it was an entirely new experience for me and I learned as I went. Two sessions. The first session was for the initial consult and I was scared shitless. Yet I was invigorated to show someone my art, which I wanted permanently displayed on my skin.

It’s not so much a piece of art as a coat of arms. It says something about a person, and mine seems to inspire questions and wonder in those who gaze upon it, so I feel that’s fitting for me.

But I have a problem with exchanging money for such a positive and enlightening experience as I had there, and I’m not exaggerating one minute amount to say it was life-altering. Definitely affirming. I wanted to do something. Hippies don’t exchange money, but hugs only go so far

A basket filled with hand-picked organic fruits and vegetables, preferably local, is what I decided on. Also, some other vegetarian and vegan staples—lentils, quinoa, nuts, seeds—clean food.

To my mind, me picking these items out by hand, and with only the best and most positive intentions is the only true way to show someone how much you really do appreciate their efforts. I paid cash for the work itself, but I want to repay the artist with heart and soul. I want her to feel what I could not even hope to put into words or express in artwork. Some would call it paying it forward. The semantics of it are unimportant, all that matters is the expression itself.

How can you put a dollar amount to sitting sunken in to a well-worn couch, waiting patiently and unhurriedly for your tattoo artist to arrive, who is 30 minutes late, when the owner of the shop walks in the front door locking eyes with you in a split second of complete spiritual knowledge?

You just know where each other are coming from without any formal exchange of words. This is the reason you chose this place, you say. Nice work, he says. A simple thank you, and he goes off to begin his own work.

You still sit there, completely content and having not a care in the world. You simply thrive in that space and time, caught between moments of past and future.

Later, when your artist arrives and is actively scratching ink into your skin, he says how he knew something awesome would happen today, not only for the amazing piece of art on your arm, but also for the complete calm you exuded in waiting. Total acceptance. He says you were just being. Being. I could have cried and in fact did feel a slight sting in my tear ducts. Happiness.

Little moments like that just validate your whole goddamn existence, they do, and the beauty is overwhelming to me. Words really fail at times like that, but no positive action falls on deaf ears. Your every fiber of being seems to remind you, so you don’t forget and soon you feel compelled to do something good yourself, for someone else. Good decisions that lead to more good decisions by others.

After much spiritual and philosophical conversation, all of it meaningful and with purpose, he shares a glass of kombucha he brewed himself, a direct exchange of life and love from one organism to another. Let food be thy medicine, and so shall be my gift to my artist.

It won’t be fancy but it will mean something. It won’t pay your bills but it will nurture your body and spirit.

Sadly, we miss this experience anymore. Shopping complexes only complicate matters.

Live simply, live well. Most of all, live with a goddamn purpose—a meaning, and make it good.

Buy two of something and share it with your neighbor—spreading your joy even if they don’t offer anything in return. The gesture, though not reciprocated instantly, will not easily be forgotten and maybe one day, at your funeral, they will speak up about the time you did something really nice for them and that they never forgot it and this speech will sparkle in the hearts and minds of all in attendance, and it will inspire someone there to do something nice, just because.

It all comes back around, the good and bad.

There will always be those that tell me I’m going to regret getting this, because it’ll be with me for the rest of my life and what it might look like when I get older, but I really don’t care. I’m not there yet, am I? Even if I were, I would still never regret it because it was something I waited to do for years, patiently waiting for the right time and place and person to translate it to my skin for me.

It’s symbolic of why you shouldn’t rush things, and it reminds me that things will almost always work out somehow, some way, even if it’s not exactly what you thought you had in mind.

I look in the mirror and I see life reflected back at me, I can see the love in it, the peace and tranquility and see it bristling with positive affirmations.

To most, it will always just be a lot of ink on my arm. Permanently.

I’ve never been one to enjoy life inside the box, though, and I will never regret this experience because it found me truly feeling this moment.

Permanently.

Presence.

  Quite possibly the hardest thing for me to deal with has always been my lack of ability to stay focused on what is present, what is right in front of me. It's only too often that I'm off in my head somewhere ahead of or behind where I am right now, where I should be, and this has always been a source of internal and external contention for me in my life.
  One could possibly try and make an argument that social media lets us embrace staying on top of the present with a multitude of posts and 'likes' but this is not even remotely close to the same, because it gives one no further control or insight into their minds' own ramblings, and why you do what you do.
Be careful with that control word, though; it can give you a whole other set of problems.

  Jealousy, bitterness, rage.. all these come from that neurotic place inside us we don't stop and check in with enough. Some call it meditation, others call it a power nap and still others go for a walk; truthfully, it really doesn't matter what you do to tap back into yourself and disconnect from the rest of the world for a few minutes, just that you do it.
  It can be as easy as standing in line at the grocery store. Obviously, this is where our Western impatience comes into play, as we all have somewhere to be like 20 minutes ago but just stand there. Don't peruse the gossip rags, don't start critiquing peoples' fashion sense and what ever you do, DO NOT play along with your mind's little games; it's a bored puppy that wants to grab the toilet paper roll and drag it around the house so you chase it and get all agitated and late.
  STOP.
  BREATHE. A little slower now, and deeper. Nice and easy, one after the other. Now focus on that, and how good it feels to fill your lungs with oxygenated tranquility. Feel your anxiety from only seconds ago melt away with each deepening breath until you realize you were so lost in it that you're next to check out and people are now glaring at you. Then smile at them and say, "Oh, I'm sorry, I was just caught up in the present".

In stillness

I restricted myself from the computer tonight. I've been slacking on my no electronics after 9 rule, and my yoga practice is suffering because of it. 

You give an inch, they take a mile.. They being myself, in this case. 

It's nice to just relax in silence before bed to wind down from the day, listening to the distant noise from the highway and my ceiling fan droning on.

Silence and stillness is very precious in this day and age. Even if there is no beautiful nature left to escape to, we can always escape into ourselves. If we can't do that, where could we ever possibly hope to escape?

Yes, I needed this.