everything has a name

I love living in other people's homes and understanding this has suspiciously led me to want to own my own house more than ever.

Waking up in a bed, bedroom and house that does not belong to me is exhilarating. I remember having this feeling nearly daily when I was in high school living at my parents' house. I was still surrounded by my accumulations and trinkets but somehow I always felt as though I was not "home." My family was there, a great deal of my memories sprung from there, and it always felt secure and welcoming. But I felt like a constant boarder. And, to be clear, this was a very good sensation. It was undeniably inspiring as far as gathering my courage to leave and not be anchored too solidly by the weight of roots.

Being a guest also has with it a certain expectation of courtesy. You may come and go as you please but make your bed and keep the rock music to a reasonable level when others are in the house. I have never owned my own house but for some reason I see it looking like this. Hearing a housekeeper of sorts beckoning me to straighten up the office desk, help clear the table and put the toilet seat down. I don't think I will hear this voice as an overbearing feminine presence as in a tasking mother or overbearing spouse. But merely a genderless, formless nudging towards understanding of everything I think I have may not in fact be "mine."

Everything changes hands. Either to another actually hand or the soil-y grip of Earth. I just think the idea of owning a house that was purchased with money my wife and I have earned is far too overwhelming and the reminder of it would only cause me to consider the fading away of all things.

brandonpiercegeary

look aftering

There are many a tipping point in one's life. Getting pushed to the precipice is common exercise and I don't even have heels in any of my shoes anymore from pushing against the dirt. I know I have a lithe demeanor but it is tempered with a rebellious spirit. And I have had tremors coursing through this secondary sensibility and I am moved. I have rediscovered the value of faith through the intervention of friends and I am understanding the necessity of movement and progress and dreams. I am moreover furthering my knowledge of love and all the sacrifices therein. For the first time I feel just like the enormous sycamore tree across the street from our apartment. Full to bursting with vibrant, lush green. But instead of this growth merely weighing down my bows I am able to emulate the tree and stand entirely at ease because the leaves cause me no harm.

oceanic

enrich, enrich, ENRICH. Enrich and be enriched. I was going to wait to write this morning until I felt some grand new revelation but after reading my wife's blog I decided that was inspiration enough. She speaks of being peaceful, in love and content. I have dulled my ability to feel these things in the past week. I have let loneliness be my security and I forgot there is no comfort in it. I get more and more eager to hear her voice on the phone and I stare at pictures of her for long stretches of time.

While I was in California with Melissa I was so peaceful, lovely and content. I got to know the full weight of her recovery and I found so much strength in it. I felt stable next to her. I left home and I despaired because even though she will be home soon I can't see it. God has granted me the tremendous grace of being Melissa's husband during this time of her healing and learning. I am just not sure what I am supposed to do with it. I feel the need to take it as love and pour it back into Melissa but since she is still gone and I mostly mope around I don't pour it out anywhere else. And it evaporates. I am getting dry and I need to soak in the ocean.

what was once the only thing...

...has transformed into everything.

I have never been so calm in an airport before. This is usually the place that engenders in me the most bestial, brutal feelings. I am usually turning green and slipping into some purple cutoffs. It isn't just the perceived organization of airports or even the advertisement barrage, but it is just how transitional they are.

Airports are one place that I have never been able to be content in or thankful for. They are the farthest thing from home. Familiar, sure, but comfortless because it is all just amusement here to keep your vitals at "just so" in order to ensure your body gets on that plane whether or not your soul ever made to the airport is irrelevant. I have floated soulless as the tomato sitting my window sill back home through many airports. But right now I feel full. Yes I had an airport Pizza Hut Express pizza but I feel fulfillment as well.

I should be discontented. Due to reasons undisclosed to me my flight from Denver to LAX was delayed three hours so no I am departing at 12:30 am Mountain Time. But I feel warm and fresh. I am tired but I am alert. I am practically alone save for about five custodians who keep passing with their large yellow trash cans on wheels. I feel in control in a place I usually feel under attack and helpless. I am going to hold on to this.