laugh yourself silly

I stumbled acoss this a week ago or so. I find myself chuckling at odd moments in the day thinking of the couple in this video. I am a loud laugher. I can’t help it. I love to laugh, uncontrollable, unruly, wild laughter. These two had me roaring five times over. What a pair. They are adorable and hilariously entertaining without even knowing it. Enjoy them.

x, cross, plus, t

We can all look at the same thing and see something different. Perhaps if we could shift our vantage point, even slightly, we could see what the other sees. To be in someone else's shoes...

red light run

My feet hit the pavement and ache. I want that ache. It reminds me of what I do, where I am, of being in the moment. The blisters on the soles of my toes retell of the stubborn details, of the determined stories, of my enduring lust-like relationship with running. I wait till nightfall. The night brings with it a calm, a layer of sweet ambiance, and the darkness is enigmatically my cloak of protection.

My feet begin. Slowly at first. I feel the crinkling of leaves underneath me, the sound of my breath sets my pace, and my mind frees. It sets to zero. I am just myself, pushing against myself. City running is not my first choice, but it has a lure all on its own. I weave in and out of streets, knowing their particular smells and sidewalk routine. If I traverse far enough some nights I end up on offroad trails that leave me muddy and itching for more countryside. Tonight the street lamps guide me for a while. Until they don't. I have indeed traversed far. The road turns desolate, black. I can barely see in front of me. I pick my feet up higher, hoping not to trip on roots. The air smells of murky water and wet grass. My eyes are trying to adjust, but it is just too black. My adrenaline is rushing and I am moving faster than I normally can. The music is singing loudly in my ears and suddenly my shadow appears from the flashing lights of an oncoming bike behind me. I try to race it. Sweat drips on my lip. My tongue licks its saltiness and I am satisfied. Other cars whiz past me from the other direction and my opponent is on my tail. There is a red light in the distance and I know I can take him. I dig deep, turn the volume up and pump my arms. The bike knows my intentions. He must. I run. I run as if this were the race. It is still red and he doesn't seem to be showing signs of breaking. I run. My feet move so quickly underneath me I feel as though I could trip, though my stride is wide, my arms pump and keep my pace just fast enough. In my mind I am challenging myself; I can do this, it is just me. The light turns green, and Mr. Bike doesn't hesitate. I am yards from the light, he speeds up and goes straight through leaving me in the dust, but I don't slow down. I make it to the light and then some with the same speed, turn the corner and just giggle a bit to myself. It was a fun little adventure.

My aches, my sweat, my adrenaline in the obscurity is all mine. I love it out here...the road, the dirt, my feet. My mind is clear. It's time to slow down. It's time to say goodbye for the night, to the night. I look to the stars, to the sky. They know they will see me again.

pathways

I got to thinking. Sometimes the proverbial path of life feels like a game of chicken with a speeding onrushing train. Other times it feel like a walk into the horizon of hope. Either way, I know it's a path that is laid down explicitly for me and I will follow it without hesitation. There is a romance and a peace and a beauty indescribable in that. Whomever and whatever crosses my path (and vice versa) will be part of a story, finding me along my winding, looping trail, culminating to lead me exactly where I am supposed to be. Where that may be? I just have to keep on keeping on, come what may.

jungle

A wink, a yawn, a dog trying to get his footing, an approving nod, blaring music to the left, the smell of coffee, the stink of armpit, the stench of second-day garlic breath masked by old-lady-perfume, an elbow to the gut ("oh you're fine"), a sweaty hand on mine (where is that purell?), a cough right to the face, an unabashed singer to the right, a blatant starer 3 people over, a whistler, another elbow to the spleen (not so fine this time), a kissy-face couple, a sleeping doctor, a giant backpack smooshed against my spine, an uncovered sneeze into the atmosphere, a size 12 sneaker on my toes (oouuch), is someone eating chinese (?), a girl taking it all in...

It's a jungle out there.

And I love it.

The metro.

Boston.

connect

It’s strange, this evolution.

One day the connection is intimate, elaborate, integral to one's own life, and then in just one moment, the fading process begins. Each day, one petal withering, then falling off, crumbling, wilting, until the entire flower just returns to earth. A memory, resurfacing annually, perennially...just like that.

Are human relationships so expendable?

fading away...not from my memory...but from waking life...

....struggling to hear every soft whisper until it withdraws into the tiniest murmur ears cannot make out...

slowing down

I WENT TO THE WOODS BECAUSE I WISHED TO LIVED DELIBERATELY, TO FRONT ONLY THE ESSENTIAL FACTS OF LIFE, AND SEE IF I COULD NOT LEARN WHAT IT HAD TO TEACH AND NOT, WHEN I CAME TO DIE, DISCOVER THAT I HAD NOT LIVED.

Kinda brilliant eh?

Walden pond is a gem. Thoreau had it right. Big time. This place screams of leave-your-material-life-at-the-gate. It just glows.

You can't help but smile when you're here.