tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42023789216398298082024-03-13T02:48:19.267-07:00Andy SmothersStories that document the workbench of my life in all of its puzzling forms. Enjoy.Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.comBlogger174125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-25317607643593847252024-02-11T09:34:00.000-08:002024-02-29T18:41:19.638-08:00Tattooed everything...<p> In the middle of the darkened arena that envelops my soul, I cry out silently for understanding... for purpose, for direction, alas, even for favor. Maybe some God will have mercy and help guide my walk?<br /></p><p></p><p>Committed to the journey before me and the path less traveled, my heart is afraid but unconquerable. <br /></p><p>My spirit enriched, my mind in distorted folds of apprehension, fear and solace in equal measure.</p><p>For I know now that I must shed the molting temperance of my listless existence and blaze forward seemingly undaunted, at least on the substrate... tears of regret, guilt, disillusionment and pity crash in waves against my soul, with none to the wiser. I shutter in fear, broken by the impact of my life and those I have affected... I am sorrowful on so many levels.</p><p>Alas..... <br /></p><p>Unfolding before me, the path reveals itself ---</p><p>My steps are shaky, but deliberate. </p><p>My soul undaunted... my spirit unshaken. <br /></p><p>I smile...inwardly ---- I know this is the journey I must traverse...</p><p>As I reach for my daughter's hand, I feel her heart. We are connected in permanence... in joy.</p><p> </p><p>I am blessed.....my entire world tattooed in black, but my soul blessed in His gold.</p><p> </p><p> <br /></p><p><br /></p>Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-21931899118405081732023-05-03T07:59:00.002-07:002023-05-16T11:34:37.407-07:00Describing Love<p><br /></p><p>Someone asked, “Describe love to me…”</p><p>Regrettably, I haven’t been in love in years, at least the love that I known when the sun shone upon a younger lad... I survive daily trying to cope with the trauma and pains of life in silence, in desolation. </p><p>I surmise when I recall being in love, it was a feeling of acceptance, joy and solace, like belonging and a confidence that all was right with the world because I was near my best friend. Like being warmed by the sun without solicitation, obligation or effort. Of simply being enough… I haven’t felt that way since and sadly won’t ever feel that way again.</p><p> I am broken, old now too and have even less time left. </p><p>Memories are good for keeping the fleeting haunting moments of what love was at one point, alive. Love is beautiful, remarkably magical, but not for everyone.</p><p> I was honored to have had experienced it once…</p>Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-26471113927961644212022-12-12T12:53:00.005-08:002024-02-29T18:41:35.041-08:00Rudderless<p>As I shutter to the freewill of the seas raging in full force around the hull of my life, I am captivated by the unmerciful silence of my mind. My emotions have been beaten out of my skull, transpired into the boards of my vessel, soaked into the grains of my own demise... I stare listlessly at the chaotic, but welcomed scene of impending disaster as it encircles my soul. Flames etch out an emblazoned, definite aura on the immediate horizon ahead like a harbinger of an eternal abyss just over the edge of my path.... The storms cover my life in cold waters of disbelief, hopelessness and pain...... undulating between glimpse of sunlight which appear as mirages to my sanity... I pause to witness the moon, circling in pendulum motion against the darkened sea skies... I am rudderless.</p><p><br /></p><p>Bound to cycle from port to port, trading wares for cash. <br /></p><p></p><p>Her words resonant over the sirens of the sea, "You must now pay for all the things that you have broken".....</p><p> </p><p>I reach out my hand for hers. I reach out my hand for my daughter....</p><p>I am alone. </p><p></p><p><br /></p><p>I miss the memories now faded, once discarded back to the emptiness of my heart.</p><p>I have nothing left to hold onto. I have nothing left to journey onward...</p><p>I am defeated and disenchanted. </p><p></p><p>I am rudderless and alone...</p><p> <br /></p><p>The shadows fill the scene as the ship eases into the calmness of the respite harbor.</p><p>For I know not where I will go next, but I pray in one of these ports, I shall know peace...</p><p>And purpose.</p><p><br /></p><p>And life without storms...</p><p>I know I am undeserving in her eyes.</p><p>I weep in silence.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-3689111728970457122021-08-06T09:58:00.012-07:002022-03-23T12:27:43.325-07:00The Last Performance<p> As I sit here contemplating the next steps I must take to secure my own future and the imprints of the rest of my days upon the substrate of my life, I feel isolated and alone. Gone are the feelings of hopefulness, joy and glee of her smiles, visions of a family together, the plans for my now uncertain future loom over me like a closing curtain on an overplayed stage... the backdrop of my decisions, or indecisiveness haunting what's left of my marquee performance. </p><p>Robbing what's left of my sanity and my passion in these moments, my thoughts collapse...</p><p>Thick, red velvet curtains cloud the audience from the view from my weary position. </p><p>Gazing downwardly at the worn planked stage floor, I am saddened....for I sit alone on my tattered wooden stool, forgotten and erased. My name long since removed from the emblazoned billboards and posters of everyone's life.</p><p><i><u>Is this my last performance?</u></i></p><p>For I keep arriving to the stage, every single day, but alas there is no music, no orchestra, no lighting, no audience. </p><p>I play along, shrouded in the aged garments of my character's role, but oblivious to the fact that the theater is closed, boarded up and left abandoned... I exist only in the darkened shadows. </p><p>I surmise that I have remained here hoping, praying, believing that the audience would return if I performed well enough, if they missed me enough, if they longed for something I possessed that was of some intrinsic value, something left to hold onto to, that I was something worth remembering and loving.</p><p>Alas, I am not. I never was...</p><p>Nothing really matters...</p><p>I am but a memory of my fleeting brilliance, my abdicated potentials and my forsaken dreams...</p><p>Outwardly, I am strong, bearded and tattooed. Bold, passionate, vigorous even virile....</p><p>Inwardly, I weep for the ones that I have lost. The moments, the memories...</p><p>I shoulder pails of tears for the torture, the pain and the abuse that has been levied upon me...</p><p>I weigh and measure the multitude of fears, insecurities and the assumed realization that at my age I don't have much left... both to offer and what's remaining in the proverbial hourglass. </p><p>Sigh...</p><p><i>But the performance must go on...</i></p><p>For life isn't about one's pity or circumstance.</p><p>It is about the next step you take, the next decision you make, the next fear you face.</p><p>Even in my pain, I will continue to love, to mourn those I have lost, <i>the ones that deserved so much more than I had to give</i>, and to be the man, and more importantly the father that God intended for me to be.</p><p>Let the curtains rise...</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-51130684011373742502021-04-05T06:30:00.004-07:002022-05-06T20:41:40.032-07:00Moments...<p>I remember the moments stretched out before me as your body once did...Your hair, eyes and glances captivating every facet of my senses.... every corner of my soul....filling every deficit in my heart.</p><p>I remember the calm, the peace and the immediate and unconditional acceptance of everything you were and everything you thought you weren't....</p><p>I felt your heart as easily as I felt your flesh...</p><p>It was fluid, moving and vulnerable...but always perfect. The utopian meshing of two kindred souls, bodies and spirits in moments that I cannot explain away as mere convenience, mere opportunities, mere occurrences... </p><p>For Perfection is never incidental.</p><p>Alas, when you bare your soul to another, you unleash all of yourself... the parts that you want to show, to put on display....and the portions of yourself that you hide from the world. Shrouding them from sight in fear, shame, guilt, hurt or a willingness not to be judged.</p><p>A desire to be loved... Simply and completely.</p><p>In a way, we all just want to be seen...</p><p>We hurt each other. Now we must remedy one another through love, not desertion. We must take the time to heal, but not time to forget... For love knows no boundaries, no time and no space...</p><p>It exists solely for its own sake, its own growth and harvest...</p><p>The world may never comprehend our moments and you may cast them aside as happenstance, devious, disruptive and misguided, but the true memories will forever echo in the chambers of truth where no one can erase.... or belittle their existence...</p><p>I sit here waiting for my friend...</p><p>Believing in the promise of your words...</p><p>Holding on to the memories and moments that so effortlessly washed between the shores of our souls.....</p><p>Longing for your voice, your smile, your touch, your friendship....</p><p>Your perfection...</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-27180040922345240092020-09-17T02:06:00.010-07:002022-03-23T12:28:55.158-07:00Tears<p> I sit here in the darkness...</p><p>Unable to breathe...</p><p>Tears carving out tributaries of pain and sadness along the surfaces of my floor... Rivers of regret washing my dreams and intentions out to sea...</p><p>The salinity of my sadness displacing the sanity of my existence...</p><p>Hoping for once that the nightmare would end and I would arise in peace and In His grace.</p><p>Alas, I am alone once more. </p><p>Deservedly so by most accounts...</p><p>My own deficits...</p><p>But, the hope of His eternal promises keeping me whole in the midst of this despair, this darkness.</p><p>I reach through the abyss for His mercy.</p><p>I bow my head in prayer...</p><p>Forgive me Father.</p><p>Restore the brokenness.</p><p>Give us strength.</p><p>Comfort us...</p><p>Wash away our tears...</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-21687451953988943772020-09-17T01:15:00.016-07:002022-12-12T12:30:52.227-08:00Hold on...<p>I have no idea how we ended up here. Words being used against us, dreams shattered, memories lost, and lives in shambles. I am so overwhelmed by sadness, grief and the loss of our friendship, the broken heart that I carry around every single day....</p><p>I am sure on some levels in the simple darkness of these moments, you feel the same....we have always felt each other....</p><p>I am sorry for the pain that I have caused... The mistakes that I have made...</p><p>I simply am sorry. </p><p>For all of it.</p><p><br /></p><p>I am not saying that I am sorry for the benefit of the court, the legal teams, the psychologists or anyone else who wants to judge, condemn, critique or pick apart my life, my words and my actions... I know I haven't been a perfect person to myself, to you or others... I came from brokenness. We both did to some extent....</p><p>We all fall short of perfection; we all hurt others and try to overcome our pasts, our miscues, our weaknesses, our brokenness, our shortcomings and our fears...I am perhaps more self aware, harder on myself and empathic than most, it doesn't mean that I am a bad person...</p><p>This was never what I intended. I just wanted to figure out how to get back into something with the resemblance of a family. I wanted to prove on some levels that I wanted to be accountable and counted as her father, to be a partner. I thought it would prove my willingness to be in your lives, not divide us further. Truly...</p><p>I look back now as I weep in silence and feel that our moments were a mirage and I cannot fathom how we lost each other again...how we allowed the pain to separate us, to take away the greatest love we would ever know in this lifetime. </p><p><b>I don't care if these words are used against me...</b></p><p>Let them judge. They haven't walked in our shoes, experienced our steps, our moments...the memories and vivid technicolor scenes that we have shared are more than most will ever wish to understand or experience. It has been larger than life and more moving than multiple lifetimes...</p><p>Alas, I am forever saddened, dismayed and brokenhearted at being apart from this, from what we have shared for so many years on so many levels..</p><p>Words are what we always had with each other and our love was never something easily explained, justified or understood by anyone outside of the close knit confines of our souls...it is what brought us together and led you to make unfathomable and unpopular choices in your own life to be here and it is the same conviction that allows me to be bold, honest and open about my feelings, even today...</p><p>I don't know how to move forward sometimes. I don't know how to carry on when the pain and loss is so vast and life changing. Regardless of what labels are applied to me, my walk or my words, I won't denounce my feelings...</p><p>it isn't who I am...what this was ever about.</p><p>This was never about conformity or other people's approval. This can never be understood, explained, justified or validated on paper...for it doesn't reside in those chambers...</p><p>It isn't why I reached out 8 years ago, why I drove to your parents house to see you again after 19 years apart, and what we carried in permanence, etched on our souls for the past 26 years...</p><p>As the days apart stack up, I can only pray.... I ask God for guidance, wisdom, forgiveness and strength every single day... For myself, for you and for our daughter...</p><p>I truly thought we were making progress. I believed we were getting close to just being good co-parents, a resemblance of friends again, sharing stories and moments in our lives.... listening and understanding each other and allowing God to heal us and work in our lives....</p><p> </p><p>I am still here in the darkness...</p><p>I am still here praying...</p><p>When all hope is gone...... hold on.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-84135259250559339162020-05-29T07:42:00.003-07:002020-05-29T07:44:18.290-07:00Anticipation<br />
In 22 and 1/2 hours, I will lay eyes upon my child. After thousands of hours of separation and moments of fear, depression and sadness, I carefully anticipate the event. The emotions of being near my best friend, her energy, her presence, her influence in these moments... will be overwhelming but it is a gate that I must pass through...<br />
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For the certain and unmistakable joy that will most likely bring me to my knees in humility and unleash the weight of the days I sat alone missing so much --- in silence, alone with God.... alone in prayer... alone in renewal.... alone in change...<br />
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I cannot shake the feelings that have defined the outlines of my heart, my life and my purpose in this lifetime.... even though I sit idle like an once appreciated item left alone in a dusty, shackled barn, I know in my heart, I still have life inside...<br />
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I cannot yet paint the canvas... as I cannot yet feel the moment.<br />
I cannot yet express my feelings... as I cannot yet allow myself to breathe...<br />
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For so many days, I truly thought I would never see my daughter again...<br />
Like an apparition, I was merely spoken about in lost parables or phases of brevity, of mourning, of loss, of times once lived.....<br />
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God, give me the strength, the confidence, the faith and purpose to be your intention in these moments. Allow others to see my changed heart, my changed purpose... Allow them to see you in me.<br />
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As I slowly gather my things to take the journey, I pray in silence a prayer for peace and love....<br />
and believing that all things are possible through Christ...<br />
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Father, I am humbled and grateful for everything, every moment, every blessing....<br />
every breath.<br />
<br />
I pick up the brush, the canvas is set...<br />
Let God create this masterpiece.<br />
Amen...<br />
<br />
<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-46410242239193667762020-05-26T07:12:00.004-07:002020-05-26T07:12:57.831-07:00Ocean<br />
"Like a lighthouse I have been shining bright, through the dark for the both of us....and I've done it out of love, it's not enough, but God how I wish it was......"<br />
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<i>Every time I hear the song, Ocean, it stops me, it moves me, it breaks my heart....</i><br />
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An artistic rendering of a story of love broken apart as the woman tries desperately to hold onto to the man and his true sad stories, lies, brokenness and depression. It echoes my own walk through space and time and my own misery at not being strong enough to hold it all together..... for myself or the both of us...<br />
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My lies were never to deceive as much as to not confront the reality of the moments before me. Mentally, I struggled to come to terms with the changes, the modulations, the nuances of the moments and their impact...the risks that were taken, that continue to be taken for this love, for me, for our family don't go unnoticed or unappreciated...<br />
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I only wish that this was enough, then or now, to swim in, to lose yourself in my waters, to risk dying, to battle the uncertainty of my demons and their affects for the promise of true love. My life is a dichotomy of parts, where the sadness washes over the purest of hearts, where my deeds, generosity, and concerns are lost in the bitterness of a few words, where my sacrifice gets mistaken for aloofness or an unwillingness to be completely present, where my heart is questioned...<br />
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The waves, the waves, the waves, the waves...<br />
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My heart that breaks with every moment apart...every day, every mile, every minute, every moment...<br />
My heart that has lost so much in this lifetime.... afraid, broken and timid in these times...<br />
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I own my faults, my lies, my failures, my transgressions...<br />
I truly wish I was a better man in most moments.<br />
I don't want to find out how much lonely I can take, before we lose this....<br />
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The waters have been ravaging for some time, but there is a certain stillness in the storms that have passed this year... a renewal of strength, of season, of purpose, a healing......a healing defined not by what was taken, but what was restored. God's faith in us, and our faith in Him....a faith for our family.<br />
<br />
God is with us....<br />
This time He walks with us<br />
He leads me beside the still waters....<br />
<br />
Truly, I wish you would trust that I won't lose you again...<br />
I won't let you drown, I won't break your heart...<br />
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<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-40722125016121421332020-05-22T06:13:00.000-07:002020-05-22T06:17:08.191-07:00Be anxious for nothing...And Paul said, "Be anxious for nothing....", an unassuming but powerful message, or perhaps latent order for us to live peacefully. As I try to absorb the intention of his four simple words, I pause in disbelief of my current journey....a stark and defining contrast to the multitude of prior years, moments and minutes that were shared in union, a permanence of souls somehow now departed...like a ghost in the breeze before my steps...<br />
<br />
<i>Time for a walk...a journey through the wilderness, striving with each step as much to find myself, as to lose myself, with the One that created all of my madness to begin with... </i><br />
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In my humbled state, I stumble upon an abandoned shelter, seemingly emptied of its contents, <i>warmth and purpose</i>, exposed to the moon light, the darkness... and the sun in equal and absolute measure. The wooden door slightly ajar, I step forward in mild wonderment...<br />
<br />
Only a cold anvil sits alone in the center of the room, some archaic metallic tools lay nearby...<br />
A dim light from a nearly extinguished and weary torch draws its own conclusions as to the presence of my steps herein... <i>Alas, there is still light</i>, I whisper nervously to myself, looking down I counter this positive thought with my truest belief <i>as if I was ever meant for much more than failure or loss...or to be alone in this lifetime... </i>I shrug both moments off my frame and reach for its cold dark surface.... the anvil resonates with my soul, its dense purposeful anchoring provides me reassured strength in these moments...<br />
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I unsheathe my mind from its weighted and worn scabbard....and pray in silence.<br />
Thoughts flutter through the air surrounding my breath...I see her face and a tear masks my sight.<br />
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As I scour back through the tangled entrapment of thoughts, memories, and final moments in her presence, I am left wanting...<br />
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Left trying to understand why again I am lost and alone, why again I am away from the only love, the only heart, the only soul that has ever moved or known me completely...<br />
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I can only surmise that it is time for me to pickup the tools and sharpen my iron...<br />
To release the lies, the deceit, the fear, the nervousness, the anger and the pain....<br />
To be more in this lifetime that I have allowed myself to become...<br />
To rely on His path as my own, to find the elusive way of peace so that I can truly love others...<br />
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To quiet the belief that I need to please, that I need to be anxious, that I need to worry, to wonder, to live in fear of loss and despair....that anything is ever lacking.<br />
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As I open my eyes to the reality of my loneliness, I feel her spirit in my heart.<br />
I smile inwardly as the final words of my prayer roll from my lips...<br />
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Be anxious for nothing.....<br />
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Be ready for anything.<br />
Be grateful for everything.<br />
Be humble before God...<br />
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Just be.<br />
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<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-8019338066833526142020-05-13T10:20:00.001-07:002021-05-02T10:36:42.460-07:00Moments Between....I sit bewildered and dismayed at the course of my life, the unsettling weight of loss and tragedy upon my heart. I reach out my hands into the darkness and feel nothing, the outlines of her body, her soul and her spirit departed in kind from my presence. I long for her sounds to fill the echos and waves around my mind, to sort through the filters of the world to find her resonance, her inflections, her unique and heart-warming voice....<br />
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Andrew...<br />
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My name will never be spoken in the same tone, the same method, the same perfection...<br />
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I allow my head to fall, releasing the weight of moments that have transpired before me in recent days. My hands and heart are saturated, soaked in the uncommon blood of circumstance and the waters of my tears, which have been left flowing from the pools of anguish and departure...<br />
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My mind races back to the specificity of my words, my actions, my deeds in every single instance of our last moments... The scenes play out in technicolor reality upon the surface on my soul, the performance playing in infinite loop, wrapping around me with its tangible reels, snapping constantly and consistently against my weakened frame...<br />
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I still see her face, her smile, her eyes, her hair, the perfect contours of her body and the refuge of her voice.... I feel her presence before me, within me --- even when the air between us has known no greater silence...<br />
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All of these brash, vile and caustic comments cut vividly across my heart, my soul in those moments... like a fresh blade in a drug addict's unsteady hand, the trauma was lucent, was in full display... for I was drenched in the blood of our demise, soaked from the anguish, stained from the riveting violence that I had just unleashed...<br />
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<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-61164701052416852732018-02-04T08:08:00.001-08:002019-12-14T10:38:04.241-08:00Bleeding out...To bleed is to both purge and perish, equal parts anguish & admonishment. I stood steadfast and unwavering in the chilled rain, weeping blood down my side in the darkened night air. The pathways around my immediate stance all leading down to the center of the concrete parking lot into the metallic grated abyss. Down, down, down we go into the bowels of hell I supposed. Figuring in that moment, the irony swirled around the conflicts waging around my head. Undulating between wearing crown and thorns, I am both hated and revered. This has not changed for a lifetime. Undaunted, I dare not attempt to locate the source of my dribble, my bloodshed. It all seems so routine by now, so expected, so deserved. My walk has never been about glory for its own sake, happiness for its own gain, or believing that the light of the day will lead me home. Blood lost on so many countless souls unable or unwilling to stand beside me when the darkness falls. Intentions, interest, intrigue and intimacy are insufficient. I am far too damaged, too flawed, too disjointed. The murmuring of my tainted path, my journey, piques curiosity, pity even consolation. But not love.<br />
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Love has evaded me, perhaps for my own skill in its mishandling. Perhaps for my deeds done in the name of love, the auspices of its shroud, the sanctity of its masquerade. I have never witnessed the mercy of its presence when I stand bleeding. At times from my own hand, from my own words. Other times, just an inconvenient truth that I was not going to be valiant enough to rescue their souls...from both themselves, their own choices and to provide them with better moments. I am easy to give up on and place back upon the shelf in the antique village, no one else the wiser. Means to an end at best for most....At my worst, a soul to bide the minutes with a faded glory scarred and weary athletic frame and at my best, a thought provoking, wise enigma of sorts a bit too whimsical, too angular for anything more a passing friend. Bleeding, I am left alone to relish in the scent of my own demise.<br />
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The walkways enlighten with the crimson current and I smile, both from intangible blood loss, and my own sickened belief that maybe this is my penance once again. I care less to terminate its flow as the passing minutes tick onward. I am prepared for my judgment, my day of resolve and reckoning. I have loved, and attempted to have been loved by others in this lifetime, at least as much I can comprehend the concept. I have both drawn blades of steel and cloths of comfort to those who were bleeding before me. It is bewildering dichotomy to live with such memories of my steps, the grounds in which I have traversed.<br />
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I feel weary and weak, succumbing to the fervent reality that my choice is clear. Heal yourself, so you can love yourself and others or continue to bleed out and perish in my own recklessness. In my weakened state, I muster my voice and plead out to God, perhaps undeservedly, as other believers have for centuries..... Heal me Father.....if it is Your will.<br />
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Heal my walk....<br />
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For now, I continue to bleed...<br />
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Out.<br />
of.<br />
Time?<br />
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Not.<br />
Out<br />
of.<br />
Faith.<br />
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I am weary...<br />
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<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-23695031983526333852017-07-12T19:16:00.002-07:002017-07-12T19:18:15.634-07:00Say SomethingAs I peer back through the layers of memories, moments and madness that has encircled the steps of my life over the last 3 years, I pause. The soft music plays gently behind me and immediately it captivates me, hynoptically and without remorse. The words echo, "Say Something..... I am giving up on you....I am sorry I couldn't get to you." I hear different voices signing the same lyric, all now departed ---- lost in time. My mind races in reverse, in pure technicolor magic. I see myself, my dreams, love and life scattered across a field of uncut grass and a maniacally displaced harvest. I cannot connect myself to the steps once taken, the path once so obviously carved, the stones that I crossed to reach where I stand today. Like a waterfall that no longer flows with life, I remain in silence, love removed from the source, no longer foolishly fed by those afraid of the rapids that my journey offers. I pan slowly back to the present, silence the melodic dogma and accept the moment of realization that my choices were not in vain, and I never requested their presence nor their approval of my worthiness. If they gave up on me because I could no longer enrich their lives with a smile, neither a promise of eternal security in this lifetime then I pity their discord and their shallowness.<br />
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I smile softly. For the first time in years, I bask in the wonderment of what the future and my choices hold.<br />
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Say Something. I will not give up on me...<br />
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<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-59125677621098627682015-01-20T19:09:00.000-08:002015-01-21T00:47:29.001-08:00Stillness & Silence...<br />
When darkness appears, the still solitude void of thought brings inference.<br />
The metallic click of the obedient second hand languishes with a profound hesitancy.<br />
Every minutia of sound and echo is magnified within our placid & reflective state.<br />
The bustling radiance of the day is reduced to a mild whisper beyond the arid field of thought. <br />
Stillness magnified by its own summoning to the forefront of the stage, bows gracefully but remains unaware.<br />
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Reaching across the bed frame, outstretched hands instinctively map out the nearby terrain.<br />
Boulders of formed cotton stitched precisely into delicate patterns cloud the nape of the bed.<br />
Empty pockets of solitude trap my emotions and besiege the delicacy of my idle existence.<br />
Gone is my soul mate, her warmth and her gracefully steady hands and angelic outline.<br />
Her physical body departed, her loving spirit ever present in this place.<br />
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Dream softly, my love.<br />
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<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-8639358838697439802015-01-19T18:22:00.001-08:002015-01-19T18:22:55.327-08:00Dream Softly....A little light reading before my nightly prayers at bedside.<br />
Good night. Dream softly.<br />
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<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-33767603364618008032015-01-18T03:23:00.000-08:002017-12-15T14:54:21.410-08:00Sitting here in the Darkness...<br />
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Pushing back the cloaks of heavy laden dreams with eyes too swollen to close, I sit, pray and think of what a transforming and hellish week it has been. My body is still conforming to a week without sleep nor nourishment. I physically am still battling for my vigor, but my heart is healing. God has truly touched my heart, my soul and my existence in this time. I had lost track of feeling His presence, His strength, His perfection. Being beaten and shaken by every fiber of my roots has transformed me completely.<br />
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I cannot shake the moments where I allowed the devil to infiltrate, steal and destroy. I wept tears of sorrow but that same vessel that once contained and overflowed with my despair will know joy in equal measure, in this lifetime. I trust a faithful God will deliver on His promise. I am living in peace, with no more distractions, mistrust or torn moments between relationships or commitments. I have finally broken my shackles, my weights, my regrets, and fear of the past and live completely content in the moment and what the present with God has to offer. I have come clean and been purified by trusting and obeying His word that the truth would set me free...and it has.<br />
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God has provided me a renewed heart, a changed spirit, a softened tongue. I consider every single second of time, calculate every individual muttering with precise knowledge of its weight and measure. I no longer believe that anything but the essence of love and God's promise is permanent. Moments are vital for in them we must recognize that we are the purveyors. We decide if the good or evil wolf will be fed. We decide the fate of our lives in each breath, in each tear, in each word we summon forth from our ravished hearts and scarred human experiences.<br />
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I see through His eyes and recognize the gift. The gift of each second, every sliver of time. For how we value every precious one of these units reveals and reflects how we value our relationship with God. I now see people with compassion, understanding, kindness, patience and the understanding that I did not embody Him in my actions, words and deeds.<br />
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I fall to my knees each morning and every evening and have already made this a daily habit. I pray asking for His strength, and I praise Him for another day of life before bed with words of love, faith and hope on my lips. I cannot yet dream softly and I may never know such a perfect restful sleep without my soul mate, but I still feel her presence, embrace and tender heart, even from a distance.<br />
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May God forgive me and continue to use me for good.<br />
May He heal her heart, her injured spirit and remind her of His promise and restore her peace, happiness and salvation.<br />
I lift her up with praise on my lips and a longing but thankful joy in my soul. God will honor our faithfulness, our obidience, our trust, and our unyielding faith.<br />
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Believe that you can still live in love.<br />
Until my final dying breath.<br />
On my word, before God.<br />
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<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-57203709544342589232015-01-01T09:53:00.001-08:002015-01-01T09:53:24.128-08:00Chapters of LifeLights flash and promises beckon.<br />
Elation erupts as a new dawn approaches.<br />
We all begin again at the trail head.<br />
Peering down the trail.<br />
Another book begins.<br />
365 pages.<br />
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Begin writing.<br />
Today.<br />
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<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-437704080946157302015-01-01T08:15:00.001-08:002016-08-02T06:36:43.016-07:00Floorboards of Change I have seen the torments rise in front of my eyes, rows of crackling amber flames aligned perfectly in unison for my even charred purification. I peer back down the path and witness a young boy trying to outrun his life, sprint past his own childhood, intrepidly reaching for validation. People ask why I shun love and comfort. Confidants wonder why I know not the ever lasting feeling of happiness. Friends question my inability to receive love for love sake. Tired, exhausted from pain, grief and regret, they depart. Attrition is all it takes to wear down the bonds of their unconditional love. Fibers of cotton, not hardened steel is what I am presented. Inwardly, I know their fortitude is insufficient to support the weight of their lofty convictions. For they have not walked in my boots, know not of the horrors of my travels and the suffering I have endeared both as an innocent child and as a contracted asset. Their resolve quickly lost upon the challenging, the abused, the tormented, the one who bears such potential. Losing interest, capitulating to their own survival and well-being, they scatter and denounce my existence to more perfectly balance their own impotent guilt and bereavement. They always depart when I hold out just long enough for them to recognize that I may never allow myself to feel loved again.<br />
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I explain that I recognize only brief interludes of solace, separated by long intermissions of pain.<br />
Casually this is accepted and the once stray dog that show so much promise is now just a memory.<br />
Gather up the leash and chain, transport them in silence, arrive to the shelter, click-the door opens, clack-the door closes. Guilt is suppressed. You drive away and the world will never know of your misdeeds, promises nor the intentions squandered. Fading in the distance, your thoughts will be the only reminders of your past.<br />
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Loose hair fibers, scattered from the brief commonality of moments, litter the once pristine floorboard. Everything settles eventually to the floorboard. Change, Promise and Hope. It is all trampled upon, lost to those who don't value its existence and demands. Alas, people cannot see the floorboards as we pass through our days, they know not of where our shoes have taken us, only evidence doesn't masquerade the truth. Regardless of what we show the world, there are always reminders of how far we have ventured off course from what our masking facades would tolerate. Bits of dust, substrate and blood release their imprints.<br />
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I reach down to the floorboard and stretch to pick up the change. The metallic coins briefly send a chill through my fingers and a startling jolt through my soul. It is a warm and welcoming reminder from where I once started, and where I am now headed.<br />
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Change.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">"Somebody once asked could I spare some change for gas, I need to get myself away from this place. I said yep, what a concept, I could use a little fuel myself and we could all use a little change......"</span></i></span><br />
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<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-44532682829747456992014-12-24T19:28:00.000-08:002014-12-25T07:07:52.707-08:00Conclusions and Commencements <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It is only properly fitting that 2014 begins and ends within the same bit of prose, the same blog entry.<br />
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For the first time in seven years, I have be strangely removed and silent within my journey when it transposes to the authoring of my walk. I have not been myself this year in all associations of that moniker, but I also have grown in ways that have been immeasurable. My heart has never known such pivotal pain, sadness, maturation, fullness, regret, guilt, elation and indecisiveness. My soul has swung from pole to pole in its arch of good versus evil, and I likewise have shouldered my walk with both angels and devils alike. I have held the hands of the innocent, the persecuted, the strong, the feeble, the loving and the dismayed and much to my own disdain, the blood still taints the creases of my flesh in each moment. I have pushed myself to the brink this year, challenging my body and spirit like a malleable vessel spinning recklessly upon a vintage pottery wheel. Stretching my limits, but unaware and inattentive to the foregone outcome of the chaos and intention of the moments, the undulating cycles continue to haunt my step and bring disaster to my doorstep.<br />
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I have deceived hearts through my absence of truth. I have rallied strength through war cries and lifted people out of their own pits. I have saved lives while sentencing others to die for their own displaced loyalty. I have sacrificed others for my own insecurities and pain and likewise been slaughtered to bring reprieve to the selfish. I am saintly to some and a sinner to others. It is the ever present dichotomy of my existence. It is the 2-face reflection that I dare hide from myself, the split down the middle image of who I am versus who I want to be. Who I am? Who do I dare choose to become?<br />
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It is same year that I have overcome physical obstacles, pain and injury to rise from the ashes of my paltry existence and gather my strength and resolve. It is the same year that I have known no greater sense of personal disappointment and regret within my heart. I have wiped my own tears, swaying in disparity from the depths of love & happiness to the bowels of deceit and despair. I have witnessed the torment and thrashing pain that demonstrating love to me has caused. I have occupied the minds and hearts of those foolish enough to see more than what I truly am. Never before have I known such a breath of emptiness. My daughter has failed herself, not me for she could never fail her father, never fail my love for her. She is now gone, departed from my abode, my life. Such promise, I surmise. Probably what countless others have said about me and my life when I crashed and burned a couple decades ago. I still carry the ashes from my own crash site. I emerged alone, judged, devalued, jaded but committed with an iron will to succeed against all odds. Don't bet against the dark horse.<br />
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I sit here typing. Reminiscing. Pecking at plastic keys, pouring out my heart on a glowing white and gray electronic screen. I sit here typing in the dark. My new found stray dog breathing loudly on the cold travertine floor beside me. For now, my only companion. The only company that understands not the horrors of loving me. She has been healed by my hand. A very rare occurrence for anyone in my life. I sit here in outward silence screaming at the memories illustrated by the last 360 days of my existence. Recalling every moment, every smile, every tear, every pain, every bit of elation. For how momentarily the moments were, they still comprise my story, my reel of 2014.<br />
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Looking back I can only find troubling reasons to dare not glance, nor illuminate the pictures that flutter through my head. I see images, a multitude of images. Reminders that every day presents choices. Every day junctions, everyday crossroads. Every day decisions that play not merely a minute but pivotal role in the road we travel and who we choose to accompany us. I pray in earnest that I balance my heart with peace in 2015. I choose what leads me back to the side of the facade that I want to feed. The side the reflects my heart and its purity, forgiveness, strength, purpose, humility & honor.<br />
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For my dedication this year, I was crowned both a Spartan and a serpent. A hero and a heretic. A savior and a sinner. I was emblazoned with both medals of victory and crosses of condemnation. I wear them both well. Alas, isn't that life at its purest? What is a good man, except a bad man's teacher? I don't desire adorations, embellishments, nor trophies of my travels. I have never collected my winnings, never sought ribbons for my performances. Do what you do then step back, it is the only path to serenity. The medals draped across the breastplate of my life shield the sunlight from my wounds but I know of their existence, their truth.<br />
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I tip my hat to this past year and all of my moments.<br />
I bid you farewell. I have learned from my mistakes and grown in equal measure.<br />
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My travels shall continue....<br />
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More sunlight. Less darkness.<br />
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<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-471352528759752042013-12-11T08:55:00.001-08:002013-12-11T09:31:08.990-08:00A Reflective Walk...<br />
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<a href="https://d44ytnim3cfy5.cloudfront.net/assets/6473596/original/Candle-Flame-Example.gif?1350848593" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" id="il_fi" src="https://d44ytnim3cfy5.cloudfront.net/assets/6473596/original/Candle-Flame-Example.gif?1350848593" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="320" /></a>Relentless sorrow dims my walk as I allow myself to squint my eyes against the backdrop of the morning sunrise. The river before me stretches out endlessly, placid and polished....its surface is not reflective of its true contents, the mirrors are only there to deceive. The multi-colored flora of clouds above the horizon erupts across the landscape bringing sublimity and enhancement to areas not in search of such illumination, at least not this morning. I step forward emotionally and struggle to land each step evenly on the soles of the uneven and unforgiving substrate beneath me. The souls of others not as precisely balanced upon my shoulders waver from side to side as my gait quickens. Scales, weights and measures all conspire against the progressiveness of my intentions. In the distance, I hear a faint wailing but I choose to ignore the screams of those left for dead, their hearts long ripped from the breastplate of their own selfish existence. From smiles to sorrow, the blood runs deep. Crimson rivers of regret slosh aimlessly from the edge of my blade across my trousers leaving vibrant channels of evidence plain as day for the commoners to see. I choose to no longer hide my blade nor the blood of my travels. I am the purveyor of pain for countless souls who possessed the momentary audacity to cling to my promises and lose themselves against the belief that I was a cause valiant enough to believe in. Foolishly subscribing to a misplaced conviction, they lost everything and the masquerades continued to sell out their performances night after night. Puppets dance and shimmy across the tired wooden planks exploding in a mixture of revelry and lust, saving one last dance before reaching the end of their beam. The zenith of their own shaken purpose in this lifetime at last revealed, just before their demise.</div>
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Arriving back to my white stone abode, I sit casually in front of the earthen fireplace now reeling its flames high into the room, blistering the air with its sparkling embers. I sit alone, cold, my blade now rested against the stone hearth reflecting nothing but the blinding amber storms in its immediate proximity. Erased from the carved metallic skin are the carbon remains of my travels. For now, I remain tempered and purified by the flames that some might believe bring forth only destruction. For now, I rest my blade not allowing myself to continue to do the same. For now, I am content in knowing that as long as my blade remains still, life and love will be given a season to replenish without the fear of reprisal and the uncertainty of my chaos.<br />
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You chose to return. I need to remain.<br />
Cut the strings.<br />
Restore the performance.<br />
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<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-39823263748930585792013-10-02T09:48:00.000-07:002013-11-05T11:58:38.338-08:00Bridging the Past<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As I quietly glided the Jeep mud tires over the worn grass parking strip, I subconsciously unleashed decades of anxiety into the silence hovering within the cab of the vehicle. Pulling up to the edge of this drive-in theater performance was not something I had ever contemplated occurring in real life. The stage performance was far too perfect, all of the characters were always on-key, always on target, always magical. <i>Could I truly allow this fantasy to breathe in the fragrance of reality? </i>The midnight skies felt suspiciously accurate to the ever-present nature of this conversation and the realization that darkness is where the truth is most revealed. I stopped the truck, removed the keys and leaned over the center console, embraced her hands in silence and murmured, "You ready?" Smiling with a knowing nod of things to come, I opened my door allowing myself passage to the event at hand. Walking in unison, but not adjoined, we made our way across the service road street leading to our destination. Stretching my aged but still adroit limbs with a mixture of anxiousness, stress and just habitual nature, we both prepared briefly for the road ahead. The bridge here joining Bay Saint Louis and Pass Christian, MS was new since Hurricane Katrina, as the prior 3 mile crossing had been completely washed away by the ravishing storm.<i> I pondered the fact silently that some things improve with grave challenges to their structured normalcy. I wondered if after this walk, would we both fair the same outcome? Would our own pathways be destroyed in order to bridge the 19-year gap in our hearts?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>The walking lane consisted of a concrete lined path adjacent to the eastbound side of the bridge spanning about 10 feet in width with an multi-tiered aluminum guard rail to the right lining the full length of the road structure. Every tenth of a mile, there were beautifully and masterfully carved bronze plaques showcasing various aquatic and wildlife species germane to the Gulf Coast lifestyle. Pelicans, alligators, and egrets conducted themselves in a peaceful accord of presentation obviously gilded into existence with the Federal relief monies poured into this area following the storm. I had walked this bridge a hundred times alone with her voice vying for equal measure against the prevailing winds and traffic intrusion on the path. I had always been enough, been perfect in those walks. Now, she was here walking astride hands clasped into mine maintain the same fast-paced gait. As we pressed onward up the gentle rise of the bridge platform, we took turns in silence glancing over to each other trying to avoid the ownership of our intentions, passing the views off as innocent and even random scans of our environment. However, we both knew better. We were calculating the weight of the moment. The weight of remembering. Recalling everything we had chosen to forsake 19 years ago, everything we had lost. <i>Could it really be recaptured striding over a mechanized platform of steel and concrete? </i>I knew this bridge was as ever much a transport medium as it was a teleportation platform.<br />
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The amber haze of the sodium vapor lighting piers spaced out evenly down the center of the bridge crafted a whirled mixture of illuminated intrigue and darkened shadows along the structure. Headlights offered an occasional spotlight onto our position, revealing our outlines, perking up thoughts of voyeurism from the passing motorists. I stared. For one too many seconds, I stared. She stopped. She read my mind. I stated aloud, "You look 19. You really do look 19. I see you as I have always seen you, Jennifer. You are beautiful and this moment is timeless." I smiled. <i>She really did look 19, at least from what my aging mind could recall. She was breathtaking. She was Jennifer!</i><br />
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Responding in unison, she allowed herself to smile, albeit briefly, while immediately shunning the concept of anyone finding her beautiful. Not this girl, not now, not ever. <i>Well, not for 19 years, I surmised in silence. </i><br />
I so missed her smile. Her eyes would light up as her smile shaped her face into a picture perfect form of joy. Her lips playfully retreating back over her teeth, her skin erupting into brilliant shine, her eyes reflecting the purity of her soul. I repositioned our bodies migrating to the rail with her back to the bridge. Reaching in gently, I hugged my best friend. "You are beautiful, Andrew. When you smile, I see you as you were! You look 19 again.", she offered in joy to our enriching embrace.<br />
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The culmination of all things loving placed into motion was slowly blossoming to fruition before our eyes. The misdeeds of the past, the sudden departures of our youth, our broken dreams and miscalculated steps were allowed to wash feverishly down the side of our union. Down into the dark watery abyss beneath our feet, the moments that we allowed others to define us were finally abdicating their claim in our lives. Vacillating between moments of gleeful even youthful play, the weight of the tears of regret and recompense were at times hard to balance. The pure disparity between how we would commence this innocent stroll and how it would end could only echo the volumes of solidarity between our souls. Hand in hand, we completed the journey across. As we reached the far side, I didn't turn back when the guard rails ended. Instead, we continued faithfully down the bridge until reaching the monument erected to offer homage to the contributors and words of dedication to the structure. I reached out and touched the cold bronze plaque with my hand fully extended as I have always done in my journeys alone, my steps taken without her at my side. I always needed to follow my compulsory, if not obsessive routine. For the touch of accomplishment of something I had started always needed to be realized tactilely.<br />
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Racing up the bridge and its rising elevations, I have never recognized such happiness within my soul.<br />
My friend at my side, my heart full of promise, all order in the universe had been restored. Arriving back at the Jeep, I opened her door. My smile covered all layers of my existence illuminating the nearby shadows attempt to mask the simplistic beauty of this moment. "I love you, Jennifer", I offered to the night air. Reaching in, I kissed her forehead gently and knew in that instance that all was indeed right with this troublesome and cruel world.<br />
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Love was restored. Love had conquered all. Love will always find a way to lead you back home.<br />
Even if you need to take a bridge to get there.<br />
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<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-11527695198327912752013-04-18T15:36:00.001-07:002013-04-18T15:56:08.298-07:00Serenity of Saint Louis<br />
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"Let me show you something...", I urged intently, gliding her embraced hand into mine as we strided down the side path of the aged, stone corridors of Jackson Square. The French Quarter festival was in full swing with merchants and visitors clamoring equally for their fair share of the revelry playing out on the beautiful Saturday afternoon. The streets were packed, albeit without vehicles, as is often the case in New Orleans during celebrations where the pedestrians far outweigh the flow of traditional traffic. City streets become nothing more than free-flowing sidewalks to balance the density of the entertainment. Loud music, colorful tourists, bold artwork, alcohol and Cajun food seemed to ooze from every pore of this magical crescent city. Like a pasta machine on full power, the richness extruded forth effortlessly and the flavors of fun permeated the air with an uncommon ease. This city was truly a sight to behold. We were both proud to call it home.<br />
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As our walk eased to the far corner of the square, I slowed our pace as we neared my planned destination. The black iron gates stood menacingly and protective in front of this large tower row house built in 1838. As we both stared at the brass historical marker emblazoned on the aged column reading its bold text, the once forcefully loud music playing nearby dimmed to a silent whisper. "This was my great-great-great Grandfather's home, Victor David" , I mentioned with a slight hint of pride and homage. "He was from Bordeaux, France and he met his wife Ann Rebassa and married when he was only 19.<i> The number 19 immediately echoed within my soul since that age is precisely where our lives were permanently altered. I made no comment about this irony.</i> The iron work is studied in architecture classes since each landing is unique and hand-crafted."<br />
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I ceased my historical dissertation. Sounding like a cheap tour guide, I chided myself inwardly for my excessively prideful commentary and waywardness. Leaving out parts about his travels, success and even his marriage in the nearby St. Louis Cathedral, I took her hand in mine and eased across the street. We turned back briefly, looking up at the four-story home. Now showing some of its 175 years of age, but looking amazingly well preserved, its slight leaning and aging burgundy paint adding nothing but character to its glorious facade.<br />
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Summing up the moment as complete, we turned down the nearby alley, the same in which my ancestors certainly walked upon, and headed back towards Jackson Square. The sidewalks here were more like gray stone streets with a curious draining cistern trench carved out in the middle. The concrete narrow trench made it difficult to walk without consideration, especially in collective stride abreast with one another. This was when sober. I could not imagine how arduous this would be when sipping on the nectar of the city that flowed in greater quantity than tap water. Alcohol kept this city afloat nearly as much as the Mississippi River itself ever did. We continued our walk turning south towards the Square, the white Cathedral wall to our immediate left. We both smiled without words at the whimsical placement of our steps in order to maintain our pace. We smiled for so many reasons, every moment just as perfect as the one prior. We smiled just to reflect the beauty of our souls.<br />
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Reaching the sea of the colorful populous before us, I turned left without knowledge nor intention but my heart guided us towards the front of the Cathedral. Reaching the vertical surface of the white facade, its mighty height and steeple overwhelmed. Triple sets of aged, castle height doors towered nearly twenty feet towards the mid-day sun. The center set, a bit more decorative was fenced off with iron gates, obviously reserved for special events such as funerals and weddings, with the opposing pairs allowing access for all those intrigued enough to enter its formidable walls. Knowing my relative across the alley was married within these walls just a few years after its completion make this journey that much more personal. <i>Wondering how amazing following in that tradition would be, I smiled briefly.</i><br />
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As we ascended the stone steps, our hands remained intertwined, as is always the case when we are together. Like two soul-seeking adventurers, we know our greatest strength lies not in our intrepidly adroit and capable selves, but in the magic that unification brings forth within our aged spirits. We are simply just better together, and it is demonstrated in each moment we share as one. Upon the sixth step, our feet reach the marble floor landing and immediately a sense of tangible awe encompasses the vestibule. A gift shop to the left is sealed with a small black iron gate with only an unleveled crude plastic sign marking its purpose and superfluous revelation that it is not opened for business. To the immediate right is a large black candle rack that seems to have been in place for hundreds of years, continuously burning the faith that so abundantly pours into the air. Flames and glass, an aura of spirituality hovers over the candles.<br />
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After a few moments to gather our spiritual bearing, we proceed to the inner pairs of wooden doors separating the vestibule from the main worship area. Stopping briefly, I place my right hand into a stone vessel coating my skin with holy water. Unconsciously, I make the sign of the cross in perhaps an effort to quickly wash my sins. Perhaps in an effort to make myself worthy enough to enter this sacred place and stand before God. Pushing upon the mighty wooden barrier, our bodies move forward. Reaching the back walls of the church, we cease our walk and tighten our embrace.<br />
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The first emotion felt upon entering is the sheer immense size of the St. Louis Cathedral. 50 rows of aged wooden pews stretch our endlessly before the casual visitor, separated by an aisle nearly 10 feet wide, hand painted murals tower a hundred feet into the air. Scenes depicting Angels, Heaven and Hell equally span out across the arched ceiling supported by tremendous stone columns with thick gold caps emblazoned upon their stately Corinthian architecture. Memories of the Sistine Chapel immediately filter into view within my mind, but this is New Orleans not Vatican City. A scaled down version not stylized by Michelangelo, perhaps a cheaper rendition offering flattery to his glorious work. In any case, it has stood on its own and elicits similar emotions of humility and grandeur ; truly a testament to the reverence of God.<br />
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The hoarding masses numbering in the dozens are quiet and respectful. Choosing to remain in the rear alcove of the church, perhaps not to offer disrespect to those here for worship, perhaps feeling uneasy about their own lack of willingness to do the same. Photos snap. Right, left, center everyone capturing this moment, but not upon their hearts. iPads, phones, professional and disposable cameras alike point towards the ceiling, the rear facade, the alter. Everyone seizing the aesthetics and not the spirituality of the moment. For a brief instance, it forces me to wonder how blasphemous this scene would have been even 20 years ago, much less back in 1794 when it was first erected. Times have changed. Certainly, not all for the better.<br />
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Instinctively, I move us to the right rear of the room and choose to proceed down the right aisle towards the alter. I pause at the first large column and decide to make rest here, slightly isolated behind the immensity of the towering stone support. As we glide into the warmth of the smooth antique skin of the oak pew, I am cognizant that this will truly be a magical moment. We sit in quiet reverence of both our own love and the respect we have for God, for our home here in this place, for our souls that have known such abandonment of peace over the last twenty years apart from one another. Intently, I stare into her eyes and smile while exclaiming, "I love you. Let us give thanks to God for this love. Let us be thankful that we have been faithful enough to believe that He would restore this love back into our lives." I pause my impromptu sermon and laugh inwardly at my own pastoral debut. We sit in near silence and observe everything individually, but feel the weight of this moment - truly as one. Scanning the ceiling, the floors, the walls and the casual pedestrians. Everything in motion, I feel nothing but stillness.<br />
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Without words, I reach for the kneeler and she assists me to lowering it to its intended position. The Catholic upbringing in both of us manifests forth effortlessly, as we smile into each other's eyes and I ask humbly, "Do you want to pray?" She nods perhaps startled that I would choose to share such spiritual intimacy with her and obliges. We kneel before God, before this love that has taken so much away from our lives two decades prior but we are still here together, side by side, ready to reclaim the serenity that this conversation elicits forth so joyously. Silently, we uncouple our hands and become unique souls before God. For a brief moment, I feel alone. Not abandoned. Isolated. Removed from everything else in the world that has ever existed, released from the rigors of the world, exiled from the noise and clamor of the masses nearby. An aura of understanding and peace hovers over us both and I feel its tangible warmth and embrace. God is truly in this place, and He is so blessed that we have maintained our faith in this love. His love.<br />
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As I pray, I close my eyes before God and ask for forgiveness. I humbly offer the deepest praise for the woman beside me. My spiritual counterpart. My dearest friend. My most beautiful angel. As we complete our reflection, we both return to the pew in silence. We smile and gaze into each other's eyes knowing without question this moment is truly life-changing. Grasping her hand, I steady my stare. "Do you feel like you are home?", I ask with a direct, almost palpable inquiry. She nods with an immediate and steady rhythm coupled with smiles and deep reflection of appreciation. "Yes, Andrew. I am home. I am finally home", her words flow sweetly like honey through her angelic lips. Smiling, we hold onto each other and continue to feel mesmerized and protected equally at the marvelous revelation that our faith in God, our faith in love, has led us back as two servants ready to choose God, to choose love always.<br />
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"Only one more circle left to complete in this lifetime", I whisper, leaning in close while staring at the fingers on her empty left hand. She immediately understands my cryptic message and grins, "Yes, Andrew. One more circle."<br />
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"Indeed. One more circle. One lifetime of love.", I proclaim inwardly in silence reading each word as it crosses the backdrop of my mind. I hold her tightly, embracing her body and soul equally. Smiling while soaking in the warmth and serenity of God, we depart with an uncommon peace. Releasing ourselves back to the grandeur of this city. The city that unites our souls, both now and twenty years prior. The city we both proudly call home.<br />
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<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-44990337916240564782013-04-04T17:45:00.003-07:002013-04-04T19:11:24.659-07:00The Choice.Tears flowing, heart racing...her voice cracks abruptly across the miles and my soul wrestles with the sensitivity of the moment. "I am in a very bad place........", she exclaims with the soaked syrupy coating of sadness barely enough to balance each word she utters forth. I pause. Knowing she just departed from legal proceedings was stressful enough, knowing how the canvas is now painted emotionally, my heart sinks to understand the weight of the recent sentencing. I listen. She chides herself outwardly, "Why does this happen to me? Why is life so difficult and unfair? I am a good person. Why is nothing ever easy?" I am moved by her expressions of somberness. I ponder the words to state in response, when every inclination within my soul is simply to hold her close. I begin to sob silently, but choose words of support instead of adding my weight to the moment. I am torn. <i>My arms are not that far-reaching, physical touch and comforting embrace is what she needs, not my idle words, you idiot...... </i>Impotently, I reassure her the only way I can here in these scenes. I respond to her pleas of despair, "You will be fine. We both knew this could happen. At least you have this conversation and so many friends and family members who love you dearly....Be strong. I am holding your hand....."<br />
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My words sound as hollow as the shell casings lying in disarray from the the recent ambush she has just endured. I feel her uneasy, weakened frame as vividly as I feel myself falling deeper into the depressive nature of the scene playing out on center stage. She is distracted repetitively during the conversation, and this leads itself unintentionally to a disjointed and non-linear sequencing of events. Causing me to I feel inept and incapable of balancing the darkness with my words, I shutter from the knowledge that I may need more time to contemplate the way to lead her back to the light.<i> I just wish I could hold her....</i><br />
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"I love you", softly rolls off my tongue. Knowing it is not profound, I am still captivated by the magic contained in those words. Those three little words. <i>3w always, I remind myself. </i>Love has always been enough, always been sufficient for us both. It is has always been the road not chosen. Painfully holding us both hostage to the barren pathways that have elicited nothing but thieves and hidden truths, love has kept us searching for peace in spite of our own unworthiness.<br />
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I reach for her hand in the darkness and find it immediately. She is here. She is still believing in the sanctity of love, the beauty and simplicity of this conversation. I smile knowing that even in darkness, she can sense the uplifting spirit that unifies and washes an indelible wave of understanding and peace between the shores of our souls....I intertwine our fingers together immediately feeling the warmth that only this love could ever provide..... I am at peace knowing that this time the only limitation on love is what we choose.<br />
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Whatever the cost, I choose love.<br />
Whatever the cost, I choose you.<br />
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<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-59487206066643614662013-03-29T08:00:00.001-07:002013-03-29T08:00:20.008-07:00Sword of Peace Peering down my arm, I glance at the wounds on my hands from the recent abundance of manual labor.<br />
The locations of the wounds are always identical, top ridge of inner palm just below the point where my fingers stretch out from my hand. Never seeming to heal completely, the repetitive insistence of their nature concerns me and why my own body never feels a need to protect itself from further harm is another aspect of deep wonderment.<br />
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Healing. A process by which something is renewed and restored to health. This process continually escapes me in my physical, emotional and spiritual walk. The wounds I have felt throughout the course of my journey are indeed reminders of the steps that I have taken and the scars from the battles that I have had to endure.<br />
Reaching deeper into my soul each time, I have yet to uncover the source of the unsettled spirit that guides me through the waters but never allows me to bathe naked, released in full to the sanctification of the moment that could afford me this elusive perpetual solace.<br />
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Perhaps I believe in silent admission that I am deserving of the anguish and continued upheavals in my own life. Never settled to walk in peace with trust and love as my balancing allies, but instead choose the arduous path that is marred with recent razing, darkness and solemnity. Alas, I didn't choose to be here; my spirit was summoned, commanded to return to this place. Return to the only place that I knew certain love, certain trust, certain understanding. I question the logic of this conversation always unfolding in opposition to time and reason. Always promising the path to serenity, reflections of streets of golden hues shining ever so brightly in the midst of the coldest and darkest storms I have ever realized.<br />
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Physically, I am weakened by the emotions playing on the stage forefront in my mind. Strength, still present and apparent, is harder to maintain at times, as I continue to walk forward. The proverbial walls slowing closing in, forcing me to choose. Forcing me to raise my own blade of reckoning and lay judgement to those who wait patiently in the gallows awaiting their bewildering state of execution. The steps remaining are heavy and the path truncated by the length of the journey already traversed.<br />
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I pause. Knowing the weight of the moment and the immediacy of the decision to be calculated, I breathe in slowly. I close my eyes, squinting out the last bit of the afternoon sun, and guide my right hand to my hip tracing the outline of the hilt. I roll my fingers just below the pommel and clench the weapon forcefully, bringing it to life.<br />
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As the sword is unsheathed, I raise it forward abreast of my face and tilt its blade in the sunlight; the finely crafted mirrored surface is etched with words of peace, love and comfort. I am momentarily mesmerized by its unexpected warmth and divining nature. Irony indeed for a weapon of chiseled destruction, but then a bold thought overwhelms my soul. <i>What if....this is truly...the sword of peace?</i> Instead of laying destruction to those who would fear its pruning and absolution of sin, what if this talisman was used to instead defeat the darkness?<br />
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The heft of the moment overwhelms me, and I fall to my knees, sobbing. Thrusting the sword with both hands into the gravel laced soil, it is buried nearly up the guard; the entire blade shrouded from sight. As I guide my hands to my face to clear the flow of tears, I notice my wounds are no longer visible. Healed perhaps by the understanding of where I am proceeding and what choices I have left to make in this life to complete the journey. I know I will one day lie in death, a victim of the sword that now lies impotently within the earthen substrate nearby. But, not today. Today, I choose the path of peace; the path of love, understanding and promise for better days.<br />
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I raise my hands to the sun, my palms illuminated and accept the healing that I have gone without for far too many sunsets. A prayer of thankfulness, hope and peace unexpectedly rolls off my tongue, and I bathe in the warmth of this moment. A moment of healing. A moment of choosing love over fear. A moment of choosing peace over darkness.<br />
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I raise to my feet slowly and smile. <i>Better days, Andrew. Better days.</i> I echo to myself in silence.<br />
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<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4202378921639829808.post-12973125127544034662013-03-10T09:52:00.001-07:002013-03-10T17:07:16.775-07:00Drafting Destiny.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JHeWhd7hcow/UTy6H8Q7rrI/AAAAAAAACms/G9mXiazcKmw/s1600/1909_2790vintage-industrial-cantilever-drafting-table2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JHeWhd7hcow/UTy6H8Q7rrI/AAAAAAAACms/G9mXiazcKmw/s400/1909_2790vintage-industrial-cantilever-drafting-table2.jpg" width="400" /></a>As I sit before the antique 1910 industrial engineer cantilever drafting table, I am mesmerized by its form not its function. Its sleek, metallic, immoderate lines draw an immediate congruency with an item to be discovered in Asimov's laboratory used to devise sinister plots of world dissolution or perhaps the creation of the neutron ray gun. The table is adorned with faded cast-iron arch supports coupled with the reflective patina from a century of natural aging of its broad, wooden working surface. Drawn to antique artifacts from this industrial age, I ponder as to why the ideal for quality-driven focus and invention has long departed our disposable mindsets. Procuring these relics is a fascinating hobby of its own, seeking out that which still remains long after those who considered its usefulness or even possess the ability to master its utilization have long had their innards masticated by worms, their souls long departed from this place of emptiness and greed. Their fate sealed in accord with the tools and ideologies of those who no longer breathe our common air. Alas, the path still remains for those who dare to cross the social media picket fences and campaign for the truth in understanding.<br />
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Inventiveness has been superseded by lackadaisical composition and transient whimsy, bringing joy has long carried more weight than contemplative and meaningful design. Bringing forth epic change now is akin to designing not the essence of flight, nor the distribution of electrical current, but a polka-dotted collegiate snuggle available in all sizes to withstand the essential vagaries of common sense, so often amiss but truly a perfect fit for the Epicurean in all of us.<br />
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Laurel branches sit, in idle on the surface of my work table...aged from the weight of the generations who admonish those who remain loyal to the values of hard work and dedication to quality. The satiated masses continue to feed from the protuberances left by our gracious forebears. Arid, the veins have grown feeding the undeserving and unappreciative.<br />
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Reaching into both my mind and my soul in tandem, I draw my intentions forward as I glide my chair into position directly abreast with the edge of my sturdy new friend. Chuckling outwardly at the cliche echoing forward from my lips, before its release, I relent to a simple smile. "Back to the drawing board.....", I state even as much as I marvel at the stupidity of my own words. I pause briefly with an unforeseen sagacious grin, momentarily losing sight of my discounted words from a just a moment prior.<br />
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That phrase has definite meaning for a rudderless captain in search for a calming coastline.<br />
Drawing a new future is my destiny.<br />
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As I reach for my pencil and begin to plot a new destination on the parchments lying before me, the words of Goethe immediately enter into my mind with a forceful vengeance:<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #603311; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"><i>Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. </i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #603311; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"><i>Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. </i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #603311; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #603311; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px;"><i>Begin it now.</i></span><br />
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<br />Andy Smothershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01182022448442231414noreply@blogger.com1