Possessions speak to us all day long.

That book you purchased

But have never read

Says

“Read me!”

And the empty shelf

Says “fill me up with more.”

Some possessions warm and nurture

While others distract, dissuade, and even harm.

If we are not careful, the things we own

Can siphon off our strength.

Or they can build us up,

Make us better.

So choose carefully what you own

And don’t be afraid of letting go

Of a thing

When it no longer serves

The purpose for which it was purchased.

They say that not all who wander are lost,

And that’s true of me, I think.

I wander, wander,

Never sure

Exactly where I’m going,

But also not without a rough idea.

The inner light points in a direction

And I begin to act, to move step by step

Toward the place where it feels that I should go.

And I trust the way to open up before me.

And it does. That’s the miracle

Though it does not come

Without the work

Of exercising faith.

I relate to the albatross and its endless worldwide journeys.

It is said that the albatross can travel ten thousand miles

To bring home one meal of oily vomit for its chick.

Yeah. I think that’s it. Ten thousand miles

To find one little treasure,

One morsel

To regurgitate here upon the empty page.

I find myself wanting to expand upon this work.

To share more of what I see and feel,

More of the people that I meet

As I wander, wander,

Round the world.

A discussion of "Choose Your Story"

It is possible to serve the light

For your own sake?

To be

Dark inside,

Filthy with secret pride

While outwardly stacking up

Your achievements,

Allowing others

To laud your name,

And never once realizing

That your soul is lost,

Not in gross immorality,

But in the actor’s game

The hypocrites play.

Listen closely

To yourself.

Is your story one of redemption?

Or is it the hero’s myth?

They are not the same story.

I have a deep distrust for the latter

And an unfailing affection for the former.

So don’t tell me how you slew the dragon.

Tell me about the dragon inside of you.

That’s the story I long to hear

Because he lives inside me too,

And it is all I can do

With the help of God

To find my way.

There is the part of me that likes to go out

And there is the part of me that likes

To come back home.

And both play a part in the strange way

That I support my family,

My family.

And you are part of my family.

I go out, and I come back home.

And I share the wisdom that I’ve found from the road

With the ones I love, the ones I love.

I love you, and I pray

For you in your own journey.

Perhaps one day, you will grow up

To go out and come back home

And share your wisdom

From the road.

And the cycle goes round and round,

You are my children. And one day

You will have children

Of your own.

Lessons from Raymond, the homeless man

Who helped prepare me for the road.

To view previous lessons, find my playlist entitled: Raymond Lessons.

Lesson 11: All Day Long

I almost didn’t mention this one

Because it contradicts

Something else

That Raymond said.

But it has become applicable.

You see, I was skeptical

When he implied

That everything came to him without asking.

Sometimes, maybe. But always?

And so I asked Raymond,

Do you ever have to panhandle

To get the things you need?

“Yes,” he said.

“How much?” I asked.

“All day,” he said. “Every day.”

“Oh…” I said. And I didn’t like that answer.

Because now it appeared that our good fortune

Was a special providence, and that

I would not be able to escape

The work of asking.

Many changes are afoot.

I stand on the brink

Of, yet again, a leap of faith.

And somehow, it feels as if

These little thoughts

Might just not be enough,

As if I should be, do,

Something more…

Something more…

And I wonder,

Is it enough?

What do you think?

Might the world feed me and my little tribe

If I just keep showing up…showing up?

Soon we will find out,

Won’t we?

I weave your dreams from autumn leaves

Turned brown and drifting downward

Toward the emptiness

Of summer skies

When the snow flurries

Upward toward the starlit heavens

And the moon looks down

Upon the restless hopes

Of careworn souls

Who daren’t

Believe

That anything

Could be so real

As the grind of wheat upon the wheels of time.

And the feet of those who’ve gone before

In the dusty tracks of them

Who couldn’t find

Their way.

Today's poem... and the subject for today's episode.

I wonder, If I were someone else,

Would I be just like them.

I can't help but think

That to some degree, I would.

That makes me think that it's just me

Walking around and being everyone.

So many people can't help but be themselves,

Just like me, just like everyone.

I wish that I could be

A better friend to them

And in turn, a better friend to myself.

God help me to see it deeper

To feel myself in the others

That I meet each day

I pray.