Maundy musings

The holy week and the holidays that follow always has a personal meaning to all and while I am not against merriment during holidays, or any day for that matter, I’d usually treat these days like a stopover at a gas station. Sure, it’s nice to travel and inch closer to a destination, but like all long trips, you just have to stretch your legs and stand still for a little bit, and usually in my case, empty a very engorged, about to explode bladder. Sure the stopover bathrooms are dirty, you should always start hoping for a ceramic bowl to shoot in, and pine scented wall to wall carpet, but then you just go, and after the anxiety and stubbornness, you’ll feel glad that you did. And this is my year’s bladder stop.

Just having this much time to think just happens to be one of the times I start looking forward, thinking of the future I usually deny and make fun of. Perhaps it is the loss of control and the feeling of dread it entails for me that keeps me from thinking what happens tomorrow, because life, in 23 glorious years has taught me that you can’t ever be prepared for anything, and somehow, someway, you will never be able to fully see or comprehend what’s coming next, and what’s going to happen to me after. But, I find it truly amazing that I find myself writing about this now, almost like surviving death itself. Though I cannot say that I came out of everything unscathed, I must say that everything that has transpired has made me become more learned. I was forced to answer, “What do you really want out of life?” And the sooner that I realized that that was a rhetorical question, the sooner I made something happen because I found that something was more important than finding answers. Finding answers is easy, deciding if they are the right answers is the difficult part, and the part you accept the answer is the tricky part. If you can’t find the answer you’re looking for, maybe you’re asking the wrong questions. Thankfully, life is not limited to 20 questions and there are no stupid questions, and the trick is to just keep asking. As a final note, you don’t learn everything from the answers or does meaning come from the questions but, the asking will always open doors, and with faith and hope, that is all you will ever need.

The Final Set

My definition of regret is about to be overwritten with my definition of redemption. The feeling when the concert tickets was handed to me, just hit me again and now, it’s just starting to set in. More then the want, need, and sheer tenacity to be there was the absolutely overwhelming feeling of ecstasy as I count the few remaining hours to an event which I feel, is my rightful place to stand and bear witness. The feeling of euphoria in anticipation is making me miss keyboard strokes and clouding my unconscious coherence to write, perhaps, in response to my perceived utter futility in trying to contain this emotion into verse. And so in my final words, come hell and high water, I make my pilgrimage to the Final set.

Sickandtiredofthiss

To whom it may concern:

Nursing is not a job. Contrary to definition, though you are compensated for your “services”, every after Eight hour shift, it takes something from you and you leave something behind that neither worldly honor nor material gain can ever replace. Tending to the sick and dying is not a job. No suffix to a name can ever quantify the feeling of bearing the suffering of others nor the forced apathy of the sound of the last heartbeat and the sound of life itself exhumed in a final breath. Calling Nursing a mere profession is belittling the suffering and mortality of humanity itself. It is foremost a choice, and a choice not made lightly on the basis of compassion, empathy, or even greed and ambition, things that youth, ignorance, inexperience, and impatience that often lead to another death. You may not have pulled the trigger, but you might as well have been holding the gun. And so with that, I am going to make that choice, when I am ready and not any other time, otherwise.

As Noah

I am one of those people who enjoy rainy days. I like sunshine as much as the next person but, its rainy days that fill my senses with nostalgia leaving me both a feeling of solace and awe. The rain never seems to fall the same way twice at yet the pitter-patter of the leaves as the shower rolls over the trees or the dripping that births countless ripples in every puddle like an unknown symphony seemingly all too familiar. Even I who sits alone in this cold marble porch cannot escape its dampening embrace as the wind cradles a frigid whisper caressing my skin with an icy touch and filling my lungs with a gust that seems to chill my down to my very soul. Basking in the glory of this deluge that can seemingly reduce all of existence into drowned nothingness, amidst the almost chaotic harmony of its drip, dribble, and natural flow, its frightening yet at the same time calming, as if coming face to face with mortality, standing on pedestals of sand. Like needles from the heavens to flog the impurities earth as all stand witness with no ark to be their cradle, all the earth stands defiant as if imposing their wills upon each other, ultimately one must perish. It is within this shade encased by the wall of water I sit, and bound in this mutual silence with the storm, even the warmth of the tea upon my lips is rendered naught, and yet upon the last drop, I return and share the same company for another cup. ----graydarksoul----