We choose our joys and sorrows long before we experience them.

–Khalil Gibran

It seems I’ve been in a bit of a writing rut again. Many, many dreams have come to me over the last few months, and yet I cannot find the words to do them justice or give them waking life. I suppose too, that there’s a certain theme that is running through my day to day right now. There are so many things I want to share, to say, especially to those I love, but the words die on my tongue before they are ever spoken. I’m getting bored with myself over it honestly.

I’ve been trying so hard to heal so many, myself included, and it seems that must go on for a while longer. That may be part of my block. But I keep on hoping for miracles and happier, sun-kissed days to come.

I do have a post in progress about an absolutely wild ride of a dream that will hopefully be out soon. But until then, another dream of time and space…

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Mourning Sound

5 years. I can’t really believe that, or take it all in.

That first March 4th; I never thought a sunrise could be a view so cruel. In the stinging light of that new day, all I could feel was your absence with such aching. Such a careless thing, that morning.

Doesn’t time know to stop, out of respect? Just for a moment.

A moment where you can still be here, and we can laugh and speak of hopes and dreams. Swap pictures of kids and pets, and argue over politics. A moment where you’re in the world again and the world is better for it.

There have been 5 of these mornings now, always so sunny, and you’re not here. How dare there be such light on a day without you? And yet that’s all you would have wanted anyway.

There is such cruelty in the continuity of a world without you. I speak of you to others who have never heard your name, who will never truly know the mark you made on my world, on so many worlds.

But you are very much still with me. In my words, my actions, my heart.

So I’m left behind, keeping you in heartbeats. And now I’m blowing off steam to try and lessen the pain.

Tomorrow, the sun will rise as if you were never here at all.

But you were.

And you always will be.

-For Jonathan


There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception.

–Aldous Huxley

It’s been a while. In all honesty, I have 12 drafts written and yet I can never seem to hit the “publish” button. I’m hoping to break that streak tonight as I write of a door, of all things, that has come to me a few times now.

The first time I dreamt of this door was a few weeks ago, on a lovely trip to Georgetown. That trip deserves its own post, and will get one eventually when the time is right. In that first dream of this door, I was in a field of green grass at dusk. The door, just a typical wooden frame and old style door that you could find in any old house, was placed directly in the middle of this clearing. And the closer I got to the door, the more foreboding it became. It throbbed and seemed to contort my field of view as I approached, menacing and hot with malicious energy. I was too afraid to open it the first time I saw it.

Too afraid then, and the next time, and the next. I believe I’ve dreamed of this door 3 times now.

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February Song Challenge

Continuing my monthly challenge of learning and playing one song per month. This month’s song was not my first choice, but in the spirit of not giving up and moving forward, I pressed on with an old song that is near and dear to my heart. Hopefully next month, I will have a new microphone setup as well as a more complex song! I hope you enjoy my cover of Cat Power’s cover of Velvet Underground’s “I Found a Reason”.

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Mourning in the Digital Age (pt. 1/3)

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.  Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

–Edna St. Vincent Millay, Dirge Without Music

Winter has always been a season of loss for me. The three most impactful deaths in my life all occurred in winter, after all. On a historical and spiritual level, the season is inherently tied to death to begin with, given that for our ancestors, a harsh winter could spell doom. So I suppose it’s only natural. Lately, as I think back to those three I’ve lost, something has struck me in how I’ve processed each one, and how the digital age has changed how I’ve mourned them.

My first exposure to death, true death, was the loss of my cousin Sammy at the age of nine. I know that prior to his death, there were a couple of pets here and there that had crossed the bridge, but my grandmother and mother kept me insulated from what death truly was. It was an abstract concept to my child’s mind. People and animals lived, and then they went away. Less a feeling of loss, and more an absence, and I was already used to people being absent in my life. In that hopeful, childlike way, I thought little about the difference, and overlooked that while absent people may return, the dead do not. At least not in any conventional way…

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Where Does Paper Come From?

“If aliens visit us, the outcome would be much as when Columbus landed in America, which didn’t turn out well for the Native Americans.”

— Stephen Hawking

Though I have had vivid dreams for my entire life, writing them down was not commonplace for me until recently. Occasionally, however, a dream would be so epic in scope that I would take the time to jot it down. Such is the case of the first dream I ever wrote out, at age 21. This was also the first dream wherein I experienced actual pain. I guess the saying “pinch me, I’m dreaming!” must not be applicable to all dreams…

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