No Leap

This is a reminder that your life is yours even when it least feels like it. When every problem swirls around you in a storm of heat sapping the air from your lungs is when it is most important to remember. If the time that has been rotting since you woke up this morning makes you feel dirty you can still scrub yourself clean, put on fresh work clothes, and try to grow something from the compost.

Hold the cool hands upon your blue heart and make a move that’ll quell the monsters a bit. The small steps forward can be easily overlooked in the shadow of the lunges backward. While obvious and unfair, life will never let you forget how bad you fail in front of it.

I do not know how to strengthen the trembling fingers that return anew seemingly on a weekly basis to hold on to home. The wind rolls in like a tidal wave and washes me away every time. Crawling back never gets easier; holding on never gets less difficult.


I want to keep coming back though. I just wish it didn’t take all my strength just to try and find what is weak footing at best.


Courage is not the absences of fear but the ability to act in spite of it. This sentiment feels like the kind of idea that is supposed to be insightful but is really just a second layer waiting underneath the shallow idea that courage means “without fear”. Deeper understandings feel like personal luxuries in our lives, though we have taken up to flaunting our insights to anyone who even glances in our direction. Social media is a hive of bees all bringing and sharing these kind of messages, and more qualified people than myself point to the idea that this behaviour is for self-validity. Ironically, when you are holding up an image of your self in an international crowd of others doing the exact thing you are more likely to find similar shades of the colour you are. Worse is that those colours may seem vibrant or more pleasing than your own. Maybe you even seem dull. It is interesting how these kinds of vacuums suck people in by their hopes and ideals only to berate them with the ugliness they were trying to bury in the first place. Unfortunately, that ugliness within ourselves can breed and colonize with the worst in others out there as well.


Where does that leave courage? In a world that is no smaller than it once was but is easier to be overexposed to? In a place where anonymity gives you a different (or no) face to speak with? I have always been better at asking questions than providing answers, and so can only answer for myself. Retracing back to the idea of deeper understandings, I do not think there is a right and wrong to sharing insight. I am doing it right now, and I am not so sure I even have anything new to say. I think sharing ideas without using them as a sword and shield to charge at the war that can be the internet is healthy for me. I think presenting them as ingredients to be reworked and blended in to something sturdier and more whole is why I am here. As for courage itself, I believe and will always believe it is fighting for and remaining loyal to who you believe you are. The beliefs you carry, the aspirations, the loves, likes, values, and even the things you oppose are the bones of what you will always be. Support those, and support those that you find those things worth guarding inside.


That is what courage looks like to me, and it is up to each of us to understand what it means to ourselves.


The two stood frozen with perplexity. Not in space but in time.

Five others buzzed like May Beetles through a corrupted spring, then June bugs filling the air of a smoggy summer.

There was little joy even though knew they would leave it a poisoned memory, and vociferously and violent was the feel of air held in their lungs. They were sentinels of incertitude concurring with certitude until the summer’s bottom gave out.

Autumn fell and at last their knees creaked into motion. Long would the confusion and bewilderment of the events that had passed remain fresh in their minds though, and even some years later they failed to understand logic the beetles promised would be self-evident. At least one of them would eventually realize that that is what the acquaintance of a liar feels like.

Like itchy-footed sailors, they fled to the freedom of an open sea. The two never returned home, even though the liar promised them they would.

The two now walk far apart, and I only know half of where they roam.