Woke up in London yesterday
Found myself in the city near Piccadilly
Don't really know how I got here
I got some pictures on my phone
New names and numbers that I don't know
Address to places like Abbey Road
Day turns to night, night turns to whatever we want
We're young enough to say
Oh this has gotta be the good life
This has gotta be the good life
This could really be a good life, good life
Say oh, got this feeling that you can't fight
Like this city is on fire tonight
This could really be a good life
A good, good life
To my friends in New York, I say hello
My friends in L.A. they don't know
Where I've been for the past few years or so
Paris to China to Col-or-ado
Sometimes there's airplanes I can' t jump out
Sometimes there's bullshit that don't work now
We are god of stories but please tell me-e-e-e
What there is to complain about
When you're happy like a fool
Let it take you over
When everything is out
You gotta take it in
Hopelessly
I feel like there might be something that I'll miss
Hopelessly
I feel like the window closes oh so quick
Hopelessly
I'm taking a mental picture of you now
'Cuz hopelessly
The hope is we have so much to feel good about
Friday, January 15, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Ramblings of a Quieted Mind
We all seem to take life for granted these days. Not just any life, the good life. The one where we are relatively healthy, we have access to whatever we want with just the touch of a button, and where the toughest decision we have to make is whether we take the rolls or the benz to work. When everything is going well, it's easy to plod along with the blinders on, ignoring the great gifts we have all been given. What does it take to open our eyes? Does it take a near fatal crash, one that leaves us batter and bruised, confused about where we are and where to go from there? Does it take the earth opening up and attempting to swallow us whole? Are we really that content with the easy life to forget the trials that made us who we are?
We get so high we are bound to fall, and when we do it's hard and fast. We hit the ground below us and shatter into a million pieces. The pieces glint and gleam as they bounce across the rock that beat us. We collect the shards in a pile, and then begin the arduous task of putting them back in the correct place. Frustration, anger at not remembering what was once so simple. How to hold a pencil, write your name, move one foot in front of the other. The pieces slip and slide, sometimes settling where they should be, but rarely where we thought they were. No one understands the agony. They try to help, offering suggestions, trying to jog distant memories, but what do they know? They can still walk and talk and run and read and combine and recombine the events in endless runs. But you, you are stuck.
You tried and failed and tried again. They don't understand that when they are all trying to be so positive, so supportive, you are crashing and burning inside. All you want to do is scream and scream until you are hoarse and all the pain is taken off your chest and flung into the air like a twig for the dog to retrieve. And when the screaming is done and the storm of frustration subsides, what are you left with? Are you empty? Are you alone?
Are you feeling desperate for a change? The white walls are slowly closing in on you. You feel their pressure on your brain. They block the freedom you itch for. The freedom you were accustomed to. Why did you not hold each moment of freedom like a delicate gift? As something fleeting, like the flake of snow that made the mistake of landing on your nose as it instantly melts at just one touch of your skin.
These moments are more precious than any others. The wind whipping past your goggled face, throwing strands of golden hair out from under the helmet. The snow swishing noisily under the board. And then the launch. The moment where man and earth part ways, and the air is the only support. It cradles you for a moment. It lifts you up and begs gravity to let it take you away. It teases, allowing you a few brief seconds to twist and turn in its glorious embrace. But it is not a strong partner, and so it bends to the controlling power of the earth below. Gravity grabs tight on you, and pulls you back down, daring you to make that one more flip, one more turn. Dares you to try to outsmart it, get more air time before hitting the icy, sloping wall.
And we continue, everyday, to hope that the next time we enter airs loving embrace, it won't let us fall. It carries us above the clouds, and sets us gently on our favorite stars. It tells us stories about the beauty of each planet as they glide by. But we would get lonely, and long for earth. We would long for the hugs from family, the jokes amongst friends, the long nights of revelry, and the slow morning-afters. We would remember the taste of our favorite foods, and the feel of our favorite jackets. We would beg air to take us back, let us make that descent. To carry us back to what we know and love.
We realize that the risks are necessary because they remind us that we are alive. Each moment is truly a gift. The frustrations remind us that when we have finally overcome that barrier, we have truly accomplished something. And although there is just another wall waiting for us to climb, we pick up speed to carry us up its slippery side. We accelerate into it, follow the curve, and once again say "hello" to our friend air. It's a battle, but in the end it's worth the effort because the rewards are greater than anything imaginable.
Dreams may be altered, but we are all on the path paved for us. We may not always realize it, but our abilities are known, and all challenges we are given can be overcome. We are loved.
We get so high we are bound to fall, and when we do it's hard and fast. We hit the ground below us and shatter into a million pieces. The pieces glint and gleam as they bounce across the rock that beat us. We collect the shards in a pile, and then begin the arduous task of putting them back in the correct place. Frustration, anger at not remembering what was once so simple. How to hold a pencil, write your name, move one foot in front of the other. The pieces slip and slide, sometimes settling where they should be, but rarely where we thought they were. No one understands the agony. They try to help, offering suggestions, trying to jog distant memories, but what do they know? They can still walk and talk and run and read and combine and recombine the events in endless runs. But you, you are stuck.
You tried and failed and tried again. They don't understand that when they are all trying to be so positive, so supportive, you are crashing and burning inside. All you want to do is scream and scream until you are hoarse and all the pain is taken off your chest and flung into the air like a twig for the dog to retrieve. And when the screaming is done and the storm of frustration subsides, what are you left with? Are you empty? Are you alone?
Are you feeling desperate for a change? The white walls are slowly closing in on you. You feel their pressure on your brain. They block the freedom you itch for. The freedom you were accustomed to. Why did you not hold each moment of freedom like a delicate gift? As something fleeting, like the flake of snow that made the mistake of landing on your nose as it instantly melts at just one touch of your skin.
These moments are more precious than any others. The wind whipping past your goggled face, throwing strands of golden hair out from under the helmet. The snow swishing noisily under the board. And then the launch. The moment where man and earth part ways, and the air is the only support. It cradles you for a moment. It lifts you up and begs gravity to let it take you away. It teases, allowing you a few brief seconds to twist and turn in its glorious embrace. But it is not a strong partner, and so it bends to the controlling power of the earth below. Gravity grabs tight on you, and pulls you back down, daring you to make that one more flip, one more turn. Dares you to try to outsmart it, get more air time before hitting the icy, sloping wall.
And we continue, everyday, to hope that the next time we enter airs loving embrace, it won't let us fall. It carries us above the clouds, and sets us gently on our favorite stars. It tells us stories about the beauty of each planet as they glide by. But we would get lonely, and long for earth. We would long for the hugs from family, the jokes amongst friends, the long nights of revelry, and the slow morning-afters. We would remember the taste of our favorite foods, and the feel of our favorite jackets. We would beg air to take us back, let us make that descent. To carry us back to what we know and love.
We realize that the risks are necessary because they remind us that we are alive. Each moment is truly a gift. The frustrations remind us that when we have finally overcome that barrier, we have truly accomplished something. And although there is just another wall waiting for us to climb, we pick up speed to carry us up its slippery side. We accelerate into it, follow the curve, and once again say "hello" to our friend air. It's a battle, but in the end it's worth the effort because the rewards are greater than anything imaginable.
Dreams may be altered, but we are all on the path paved for us. We may not always realize it, but our abilities are known, and all challenges we are given can be overcome. We are loved.
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