I find myself feeling trapped in a Korean sports medicine workshop for two days right after hearing that one of my cousins past away due to a fatal drug overdose, and two others were hospitalized for drug and alcohol overdoses and survived. This just breaks my heart, leaves me so mad as I sit in this workshop on how to repair broken bodies, I write furiously. What the hell is going on? 


We don't live forever

We don't always have more time


Life isn't all about positivity, success and winning. There is pain, doubt and loss.

This isn't me being pessimistic

I'm just trying to get real with myself and now you.

Life is delicate, living is a constantly occurring miracle.

Death is real, dying it the final underlying truth of being alive.

Death always makes me think about choices. About the paths we take that become the stories of our lives, the filters we use to see the world, the patterns we learn and repeat.

I can't pass judgement on anyone for how they live but I am critical of myself. I look back and worry about all the interactions I wish I could change. I look ahead and I feel like I'm being deceived or deluded - sometimes the view is beautiful and bright, other times it is distorted and dim and what scares me the most is when nothing is there as if there is no way forward, as if right here right now is the end of the road, right here right now is where the choices end.

The truth is I'm terrified and I doubt that feeling will ever disappear. I'm lost and it seems like there's no accurate map for this landscape. I want to run and hide in a cave somewhere outside of time where I can have it all and never lose anything.

Today my love of life hurts. Optimism hurts breathing hurts...

So today I decided to stop looking forward and back. I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. I imagined I was in a cave outside of time, I expected to feel better. I expected to feel relieved. But once I was in that cave I realized I'd been led there before - in a dream.

An old naked crone took me into this cave through the trunk of a great tree. We made an exchange, a cosmic transaction I didn't expect. I gave her my judgement, sharp but worn like a pocket knife always on hand for a chore and she gave me my spirit, light as a feather but charged with a static like energy. Where she placed it in my hand a rose quickly bloomed. The crone said nothing. She quickly left me alone. I stood staring at this rose - this magical, inexplicable...and useless rose and I cried. The crone had said nothing but she had left me with everything.

Those tears were sparked by an overwhelming feeling of reverence for this small thing at hand for its simple fearless expression of being alive. Reverence is a living force and sometimes it is all we have. Reverence is the energy that keeps me going even when I can't see a way forward.  Reverence for what you may ask? I'm just grateful that I dream at all, that my spirit communicates with me at all, wants anything from me at all.

Today I understand that I have been seeing my life through judgmental eyes clouded by fear and scorn which lead me to seek escape and isolation. When I look through my newly tear cleansed eyes I can now see that in the presence of spirit, no matter how fleeting, beauty grows. And that living, growing beauty no matter how small is more precious than all the success in the world. I will never completely stop looking critically for answers but I trust my spirit to remind me what's really important, the grace of every breath and the simple fragile beauty of life itself.