Walk in the Woods
Abstract: Amazing Creation
I have no loyalty to concrete and steel,
the monuments to ambition.
I have no loyalty to concrete and steel,
the monuments to ambition.
My devotion is to the trees— older than my country,
the restless oceans,
and wild life hidden in them.
These are the creations worth guarding,
deserving love.
Living grace— gifts of God to every person in each generation.
Abstract: A Fox In The Field
At the edge of the field,
to the left of a lone black oak,
I saw him.
At the edge of the field,
to the left of a lone black oak,
I saw him.
His ears were sharp,
and beneath them, his long nose sniffed the early morning air.
I remained motionless,
to prolong this moment to its full potential.
I studied his long tail,
tipped white as you would expect.
His black paws like Sunday church socks.
A beat later, a slight breeze at my back,
and the encounter was over.
All my stillness is no match for a shift in the wind,
and the smeller of a fox.
He circled to look at me,
then began to retreat into the woods.
Before he ducked behind a manzanita bush,
He looked back at me.
I could tell he was curious,
but his instinct led him onward.
Back to safety, he slipped.
I hope we meet again.
Abstract: Race
The path twists up the mountain and through the wood,
the running herd thins as each person finds their stride,
the echoes of love fade to silence.
A crowd gathers at the starting line,
runners and onlookers alike,
eager to run and cheer.
The gun marks the moment of truth,
as competitors sprint down the path,
and final encouragements shouted.
The path twists up the mountain and through the wood,
the running herd thins as each person finds their stride,
the echoes of love fade to silence.
For the remainder of the race,
each runner must now focus on the trail,
the challenge unfolding step-by-step.
Some quit as soon as they venture out of earshot,
Others turn aside as the mountain trail climbs,
While the rest push on.
Slowly the path turns back,
to the start,
where praise and accomplishment meet.
Life is like a race.
Fans and love at the start,
comfort and praise at the end.
What happens in between— where and how far we venture- is up to us.
Abstract: Power of Love
The Bible is the story of God’s attempt to love us.
And the biggest sin isn’t rape or murder,
it’s separation from Him.
There is one Law above all others,
upon which all the Law depends,
and the prophets,
and faith.
This edict comes from the Messiah on high,
to Love the Lord with every ounce of life force we’ve got,
then to do the same do our neighbors and enemies.
Jesus called this Perfect Love,
as the Father does.
What if sin is similar,
one sin to rule them all…
The beginning of destruction and death.
It would have to be simple, ignorable and painless,
easy to justify and carry out,
Routine even…
Sunday school taught us the story of original sin:
A snake slithered into the idyllic garden,
Eve, then Adam disobeyed orders from the bearded God,
All of humanity doomed in a moment of desire,
by a choice.
What if Sunday school is wrong?
What if the sin wasn’t disobedience,
but the cover-up?
Like guilty children, they hid in the closet,
waiting for punishment and condemnation.
Their eyes opened to the fragility of life,
and the consequence of separation.
We do not know if indeed this was the first sin.
Who’s to say Adam and Eve sinned before this moment?
But, it was handled in a different way.
Unburdened by shame, Adam might announce his lie to the Father,
Eve her theft.
Then like a good Father, He corrected their mistakes,
no punishment, no tears.
Humans learning how to love each other.
The Bible is the story of God’s attempt to love us.
And the biggest sin isn’t rape or murder,
it’s separation from Him.
Cut-off from Him,
any terrible crime is possible,
The Holocaust, Jim Crow,
greed and war.
No one, who chooses to behold the glory of God,
on a daily, committed basis,
can stand the sight or sounds of violence,
or shame.
We offer poor help to those in need,
the ones stuck in cycles of self-destruction and sorrow.
We tell them to “stop sinning.”
When the answer is to “Love Jesus.”
If our days are full of meetings and routines,
disappointments, little pleasures, and hope,
but we do not have the Lord,
we are dead.
We are props to be used.
In Him is all life.
The ability to create,
Space to grow,
and the endurance to Love as commanded.
More than that, there is no sin,
not because sin is absent,
but because its power is cut-off and nullified,
Forever void.
This is the power of His Love.
Abstract: Doodles
A doodle is not a doodle,
rather a link in the chain,
from here to there,
from scared to active.
Why don’t I draw more?
What am I waiting for?
I’m waiting on a giant missile,
to destroy my apathy,
and energize my vision,
a sudden burst of eternal motivation and drive.
I know now it’s not coming.
There will be no grand reveal or impartation,
no, not for me.
My success, the completion of my race,
is in the little efforts made,
the daily grind of a small drawing,
intentional marks on the page.
A doodle is not a doodle,
rather a link in the chain,
from here to there,
from scared to active.
I want to create things,
that hit people in the chest,
and melt their battered minds,
but first, I must be content to draw shoes, and birds,
and the trees outside my window.
Abstract: Fighting For Better
Who of us hasn’t felt incomplete and unqualified,
destined to toil away as bush-leaguer?
This is one of the most human conditions,
shared by everyone fighting for better.
The days I don’t want to write,
when I don’t feel smart or clever,
when all the air is out of my balloon,
these are days for writing too.
Who of us hasn’t felt incomplete and unqualified,
destined to toil away as bush-leaguer?
This is one of the most human conditions,
shared by everyone fighting for better.
Abstract: Enjoy The Grind
I’m one of the lucky ones, blessed to live without obligations to a wife or children.
I can take risks and change direction midstream.
As I have.
I realize my advantage, and I will honor it.
It seems to me, for the people who love what they do,
they love the grind of the process and as a result the process demands little of them.
It’s not work- they soul-sucking kind—if you enjoy it.
It’s why every single job has someone who is happy and many who are not.
None of us were born to file files, write emails, or organize shelves.
No child has yet to answer “I wanna be a customer service representative for a shitty cable company” when they grow up.
High school kids are not prepared to punch a clock simply to wait for the day to end.
No mid-level manager is thrilled by presentations or report computations.
I’m one of the lucky ones, blessed to live without obligations to a wife or children.
I can take risks and change direction midstream.
As I have.
I realize my advantage, and I will honor it.
My task is to find what I will enjoy, even in the grind.
Abstract: Cooking Is Easy
There was a day when I was a boy,
I covered raw chicken wings in mustard, ketchup, and grated parmesan cheese.
In my mind, I was halfway to culinary perfection,
as I shoved the concoction into the microwave with ease.
There was a day when I was a boy,
I covered raw chicken wings in mustard, ketchup, and grated parmesan cheese.
In my mind, I was halfway to culinary perfection,
as I shoved the concoction into the microwave with ease.
After the ding, I inspected my monster,
to find a watery, half-cooked mess.
It was my first cooking lesson,
the beginning of a life-long quest.
That moment, 30 years ago,
remains fresh in my mind.
An eager child learned a cruel truth,
cooking is not simple or kind.
As a man, I can sear, sous vide, and grind,
chop, clean, and brine.
I know salt causes amino acid chains to unwind,
and great veggies are hard to find.
My pantry holds sesame seeds and yeast flakes,
my fridge- sriracha and miso paste.
I own dog-eared cookbooks from China, Thailand, and Italy,
of all them full of tasty treats.
I started as the worst and most unintuitive of cooks,
one who tried to fry chicken in vinegar and cooked ham on a kerosene heater.
So why do I doubt my ability to learn or do anything?
Why do I cry when I draw or doubt my mind?
It’s worth a laugh and an eye roll to consider.
I am what I believe I am,
Whether it’s a lie or legitimate.
So on this day,
Late in May,
I will finish my cheesy pros and say,
I learned to cook, and now I’ll learn to create.
Abstract: Learn to Walk
It’s one of the hallmarks of being human,
the ability to walk,
and yet a skill very few remember,
once learned.
Before we learn to speak, add, or subtract,
and years before we are burdened with knowledge,
or the tyranny of opinion,
the first lesson we learn is how to rise from our failure (even more so for those without the use of their legs.)
It’s one of the hallmarks of being human,
the ability to walk,
and yet a skill very few remember,
once learned.
It’s a cold irony too,
the most important of human wisdom,
used and forgotten so quickly,
to be learned once more at another time- if at all.
But, let my words serve your ears,
if you exist,
if you hope,
you have the ability to rise too.
You did it once before,
and more than that,
You can rise again,
each one of us a born champion.
Abstract: To Be Honest
It’s a silly notion,
to question the placement of honesty,
based on the reaction of the receivers,
who merely want to be part of the discussion.
What is honesty?
How does it work?
Indeed, does it work?
By work, I intend when does honesty provide value, and where is it limited?
The classic answer is honesty is the best policy,
a liberating sentiment for the preacher,
our minds unburdened by fake reality,
and its imaginary details.
But what if honesty bring unwanted attention,
discussions thrust upon the author,
to rehash topics and words,
left behind.
It’s a silly notion,
to question the placement of honesty,
based on the reaction of the receivers,
who merely want to be part of the discussion.
As truth tellers,
it is incumbent on us,
to continue to speak the truth,
and hone our ability to communicate it.
If you don’t like the feedback,
don’t yell at the audience,
rather see it as the opportunity it is,
a moment to grow and expand our reach.
For, there is a difference between speaking the truth and how we say it,
tone, words, phrasing, and pace,
all contribute to how our truth is received.
Abstract: Believe
You are a winner, a champion,
your soul tested by life,
and found to be in excess of resolve and grit.
Believe in that Nik.
Believe in you.
Question: What if I crash into the ground?
A spectacular blaze of incompetence and foolishness.
Answer: I will likely survive the ordeal.
Embarrassed, tired, and yet aching to move onward.
Last Question: Why do I plan to fail?
Obsessed with the worst of outcome.
Answer: Because, I judge myself.
I don’t believe I will succeed.
Ah. This is our problem.
with an obvious fix.
Believe in you Nik,
to fight,
to scrape,
to get back up after a fall.
How many times do you need to do it- your pattern of rising from defeat,
before you see it as the mark of success?
You are a winner, a champion,
your soul tested by life,
and found to be in excess of resolve and grit.
Believe in that Nik.
Believe in you.
Abstract: Better In Person
The glass cannot describe the smell of the ballpark,
of beer, cheap meat, and Tuckahoe bluegrass,
Or fill my ears with the low hum of optimistic tension,
proud fans ready to for the show.
Disconnected by distance and electricity,
the game moves too slow to endure.
A sponsored narrative and quick cuts,
switch my attention without my permission.
The glass cannot describe the smell of the ballpark,
of beer, cheap meat, and Tuckahoe bluegrass,
Or fill my ears with the low hum of optimistic tension,
proud fans ready to for the show.
No.
Baseball was meant to be a sensory experience,
bathed in anticipation,
each pitch a separate act,
of an untimed play.
The catcher and pitcher conspire to fool the batter,
(who- if he be a wise batter- has scouted his enemy,
and is prepared for the attack,)
knowing a mistake can be fatal.
Each pitch changes the dynamic of act,
and the result is never sure,
until the last pitch from the last pitcher and the last batter,
lands safely in a glove or on the grass.