I Write About Life...

And that's a lot of stuff to think about.

Here’s a one-off for the stacks.

When my thoughts come to the page they can easily cause me to land abruptly, shaking violently in descent as through turbulence. The crash site is often cleaned up long before the launch codes are sent via publishing. And you, my reader, get a watered-down version of what I really want to say.

The spiritual side of expression has always been a very private thing, an intimate moment between me and my thoughts, feelings, dreams, and fears.

These last four weeks have opened a broader gaze in my heart that community among ideas is possible. I feel as though a life-changing movement can become a reality if I continue this course.

Sharing life is essential to it. After all, connecting authentically remains the pulse of hope, freedom, intimacy, and growth. I’ve had a live oak sprout up in my driveway before. Three inches tall, cute leaves reaching for the sun, longing to be a mighty representation of age, wisdom, and a foundation of depth with roots that touch others in symbiotic harmony. But, those little guys are just in the wrong place. So, I pluck them up and throw them away. I can’t have an oak tree in my driveway.

A lifetime of being that tiny oak has given me a passion for larger meadows and thick forests where all manner of glory can be seen and enjoyed. I have stepped into the crest of that forest, that jungle of sorts, where both fear and awe unite in a glad celebration of wonder.

Many of you, who read, who engage, who write, are here with me. And for that I am glad.

Remember, this is a one-off: No edits, no pauses, no frills, no rewrites, no POP, no CRIBS ;) Just me. Getting a little deeper in the soil, fertile with hope.

I’ve been writing. I’ve been slamming some things on the page that shouldn’t be there, and some of my writing is a mess, a depiction of crash landings that in some ways are nearly purposeful. I hate the place where my words have fallen on deaf ears; the place of solitude and despair. Yet, in those corners of dread, there is light shining… I know a love like this. It’s impossible to speak when you often don’t have air.

Trying to breathe.

Interesting… Alberto Rivera’s “Sending Out” started playing just now. A simple strong piece that reminds me of many of my own piano compositions, that no one but my wife, and years ago, have ever heard. Sad. It’s sad when we let others pull us up by the roots.

Together.

… a place to truly stand and that even when we are alone we have others, strong and tall standing near to guide us and keep the erosion from tearing us apart, pulling us out, and casting us aside.

In the breath of the soul often cries the agony of joy, the bliss of hopelessness, the emergence of something where there was often nothing before. Being asked to describe myself on a postcard, flowed from my heart without telling my mind it was happening:

A rose.

Strong, vibrant, centered, open, fully bloomed, receiving the eyes and attention of others, absorbing the morning dews as new ideas of a created world ready to be discovered.

Beside this vibrant bloom are closed buds, ready to be understood, heard, and seen. But ultimately, we know that there are the blooms long gone, brittle stems of what used to be. And all of these guarded by a stem, with thorns, that transcend life itself, holding the fragile together, a friend.

But the ROOT is what I do not show. The source, the life, the breath from which it all flows.  This is me. I am in the soil. The flower is my life, my voice, my mind... may it grow for others to be empowered to rise from their own place from the Earth and live.

We are what we note. We become what we embrace, we live through what we create!

Our words resound and illustrate

Revealing the beauty of who we are, what we’ve been made to be, and together I know we will become a glorious garden of glory for the cosmos to see.

Don’t let the sun go down.

Shine.

I could never express the gratitude I have for those who have walked with me through this amazing journey of discovery that is just beginning. I write at www.jamestippins.com on other things, not so well. Feel free to peek, but don’t tell. :)