Posts Tagged ‘lost’

Back to the Beginning

Monday, September 14th, 2015

 I want to begin again.

I know I have been gone a long time now but I miss this. I miss the feeling of my fingertips pressed against keys or pushing my pencil to the barren page. I miss having a place to put my words, a place to rest my weary head stirring with mercilessly jumbled thoughts. I miss knowing that I am doing exactly what I was put on this world to do. I have found myself purposeless these last few months, maybe even the last few years of my life and I am the only one to blame.

Thousands of excuses, busy days, hectic life, reorganized priorities, and a ceaselessly transforming sense of self have created a convoluted conundrum that I have self-titled ME. Here I stand six years after I began this blog and I am ashamed of how little I have written. Over the last four years I have found many new titles for myself: UC Berkeley Student, English Major, Jew, Christian, Proud Nerd, Tutor, Employee, World Traveler, Rome Resident, Slackliner, Rugby Player, Slam Poet, Academic Honoree, and finally, UC Berkeley Graduate.


There are two titles that once meant the world to me that seem to have dropped from this list: Writer and Photographer. While yes, I have done both of these things over the past four years, I set them aside to see what other molds I could occupy, other worlds I could be a part of and inhabit for even a short amount of time. Those two words, writer and photographer, were my entire world and I never thought I could do or be anything else.I have found out two things over these last four years: I was both very wrong and incredibly correct. I have been a so many different things, but I don’t want to be anything else.

My friends who also graduated have been asking themselves and people have been asking me How have I changed in the last four years in college? I have heard a variety of responses; most respond that they have changed radically in unbelievable and unpredictable ways.   Others mildly agree that they have changed, but not necessarily in a world shattering manner that leaves them aghast at how incredibly different they are now than the young freshmen walking under Sather Gate for the first time. I have pitted myself against this question several times and battled with the memories of who I was and who I am now. I have come up with a response that surprised myself: I have not changed at all.

This is not to say that I have not tried new things or had experiences that altered the way I view the world. What I mean by this is that I started at point A of myself, entered college and departed from point A into a million different directions and digressions that led me to very strange and unfamiliar places, which have radically affected me. However, in all of these different circles and loops off of the trajectory I had envisioned when I graduated high school, I have found that the root, the core of what made me me never changed. So, in saying that I have not changed at all, I am not declaring this a negative lack of progression or growth in character. Instead, in discovering this, I have also relearned how much those two titles meant to me because they were absent from my life for so long. I would never take back the things I tried, the hobbies I took up, and the adventures I had into the vast unknown world full of different opportunities, but I did lose an important part of myself as a result.


I was lost in the craze of a thousand possibilities and the path that had always been so clear to me before was obscured. Like Dante, “Midway upon the journey of our life/ I found myself in a dark wood,/ For the straightforward pathway had been lost” (Canto 1, Inferno). Except I, unlike Dante, had no Virgil to guide me through the perils. But if there is one thing that I have discovered in my wanderings, it is that being lost is the best way to find yourself. Being lost is not necessarily a bad thing; for me, it did mean losing sight of the things that were most important to me, but if I had not put those pursuits on the shelf for as long as I did, I never would have known just how much I needed and loved them. It was only when I found myself lost and without my purpose that I was able to understand just how essential writing was to my entire existence. Writing and digital storytelling through my photography truly is my purpose above all else in the world, without it I am not really me. This is what I have found.

So here I stand, wholly changed, yet exactly the same and ready to begin again.

Welcome back to my strange little world; walk with me, talk with me, cry with me, and learn how to live again with me on this unexpected journey. I am ready to claw my way back to the roots of my being and strip away the atrophied muscles of my mind in order to find the words that have been buzzing in my brain, dormant but living, for the last four years. Join me.


You Found Me

Friday, August 30th, 2013


The tremulous touch of God’s presence is the palpable essence of electricity in the air before lightning touches the barren earth and thunder roars across the sky. This was what I felt when I encountered you. The hair raising slowness of breath when one encounters the Divine. Yet you, the unassuming, the plain, the patchwork pattern of a human being, knew not what was hidden behind your graying cataract eyes. Could you possibly have known? Could it possibly have been you? Cross knitted eyebrows and deeply etched forehead disguised in the baggy weightless clothing of a man lost under his own skies; I found God.

I suppose it took me a while to get to this point. I looked and searched for where it was that I found you, made up my own stories or even pretended I never felt your touch, but now I see with eyes wide open when it was that I saw your face truly for the first time. It was here. Tel Aviv, Israel, lost in the whirlwind of pigeons taking flight, creatures finding their wings, that I first encountered the divine. It may sound silly or even slightly deranged, but it is true, maybe even the truest part of me, that has seen within the faces of ordinary men, the image from which we were created. Felt the lightnings grip grab hold of my heart strings and play my soul like a harp into the deafening thunder of life’s storm. This was the first.

Another day in Israel. I walked in a huge group of my peers and as we moved on from one place to the next I noticed the swarm. The ebb and flow of flight and earth, of nourishment and hallowed hollowness. A man stood in their midst throwing crumbs to the birds who encircled him. He, the host of these winged creatures, the eye of the storm. In the flight of the birds he looked up and gazed right at me. Out of the entire group of forty, I was the one he locked eyes with and I felt the staggering weight of a gaze I could not hold.  I thought him homeless, and when he stopped what he was doing to make his way to where I stood, I felt as if I could not breathe. That if I could hold my breath long enough, I could stop the world from spinning, could stop his feet from moving, but he knew the path he had to travel whether I willed it or not. I was afraid of the stranger who approached so directly, who stared deeply into my eyes without ever knowing me, but some how, unwavering and unquestionably he knew. I was afraid as he came so close, and I knew not what to do or where to turn. To shout? To retreat? To escape this force of nature bound in the humble being of this man. I did nothing. I stood still, wired by his electricity that only I seemed to see.

He came to me with open hands, he came to me and called me mother, sister, daughter, he called me home. He looked into my eyes and told me that here, here I would always have a home. He told me he would give me the shirt off his back. He told me that he had nothing, but would give me whatever I asked. He told me I would always have a place to rest my head. He told me that I was home. Why? Because we were family. Because we all were tied beyond the binding of blood, bound by our utter being. We are one, we all have the same Father, and he his son and I his daughter.

He did not even know my name, yet he offered me all he had and beyond that, he offered me what he knew would and always had belonged to me, love. He offered me the obvious, the object of my desire that I had time and time again always failed to see. An eternal love that was beyond me, beyond him into the electricity of non-being.

His gaze never left my eyes as he offered, as he gave, as he sacrificed, as he begged me to understand. I didn’t. Days, weeks, months later, I didn’t understand. But now, now I finally think I am beginning to understand what it was his aging eyes begged of me. He was asking me to come home.

I had long ago lost the way, found myself in a dark wood where the forward way was lost with no Virgil to guide me. I had wandered into the desolation of my own accord, blaming the world, blaming him, and not understanding that through it all and finally at the end of it all, it was Him begging me to come home.

He was not homeless. He had a home that was open and welcome to all who cared to stop and listen to his kind empathetic words. He was direct and almost frightening, but only to the eye that knew not what he was. Strength is frightening, especially when we are so weak, but that does not make it cruel. He seemed a beggar because he was. He was the father begging the son to come home. The mother begging for the life of her children. Begging, broken and bruised, he begged for me, he begged for you. If there be only one righteous, let them live. Let them live let them live.

I didn’t know it yet, but at that very moment the lightning flash of this encounter resurrected me, brought me back to life into this utterly new being. Brought to life in the eye of the storm, I have not yet found my way out of the darkness but with new life comes new strength to forge on into the great unknown. I can, I finally can, knowing that at the end of every road is my ever welcoming home.




Love’s Shell

Friday, August 27th, 2010

red hat revisited…

There are memories now
Of a long lost love
Of a passion who could have been
But never was
Resting in her eyes
You can see the place where
His kisses
Left a burned out hole
In her heart
Fragile like a robin’s egg
So nurtured so loved
But it shattered on the ground
She held her face so daintily once
But no more
Now she hangs it low
As if it is too heavy
To hold up on her own
Once she had a fire
That burned in her eyes
But now all that is left
Are the blackened coals
Left behind
Smoldering and decaying
Do you know her name
Once she was love
Once she was loved
Once she was a lover
But now she is no one
Love had carved out her heart
And left her empty inside
Now she is a shell
Of her beauty
Of her spirit
That along with love
Ever slowly died


Show Me

Wednesday, June 23rd, 2010

Show me what it means to be you
Pour out your soul
Let me look into the pool
It leaves behind
What will I see in the reflection
Will it be just you
Looking back at me
With somber eyes
And thin face that doesn’t smiles
Or will I see something
I will wish I had not
A demon or just the otherside
The side you never show
That hides behind you silent eyes
Just draw and let me see
What comes out to see me
Will you use black or grey
To outline your mind
Or will there be color
Spring out which
I never thought I would find
Is there something left in there
You have been hiding from me
Is there life left
In your dead eyes
Silently looking back at me
Is there love
Is there mercy
Is their feeling
Tucked away deep inside
In a place
You keep just for yourself
That you hide far from the world
Trying to protect what little
Is sacred in your heart
Will you show me
And open up you heart
Draw it
Write it
Or scream it out loud
Please just do something
So I know not to give up
So I know you’re still alive
So I know to keep digging
No matter what horrors I find
Because somewhere in there
Is the person
I once knew and loved
Please show me
What happened to you?

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Posted in Photos, Poetry |

Little Red Balloon

Sunday, June 6th, 2010

A woman stands
With a red balloon in her hand
She looks tired
And lonely
Standing there by herself
Her only company
The little red balloon
Some say she is looking
for innocence she lost long ago
Some claim she is waiting
For her little girl
To come home
Some say she is watching
For her husband to return
And others say
She is just a woman
Waiting to grow old
She had stood there
Each day
Since I can remember
Always silent
Always standing
With her little red balloon
She doesn’t approach anyone
Or utter a word
Just silently watching
For something untold

One day I returned
To find that woman
But she was gone
From the spot
That had become hers
All that was left
Has the popped red balloon
Shriveled and empty
Left lying in her place
I walked over
To the remnants
Of that balloon
It didn’t seem right
To throw it away
So I vowed to keep it
Until I would see her again
I would return it to her
And she would finally say
Why she had been waiting for so long
And who the balloon belong to
But she never came back
And I forgot about the balloon
But I wonder now
Why did she leave
Did she find what she needed
Or did she just grow too weary
To stay in her place
So I bought my own
Little red balloon
And took it to her spot
And let it go
I watched it drift
Farther and farther away
Now they have gone together
Where I do not know
But the woman
And her little red balloon
Are together at last
No longer waiting
But found at last

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Posted in Photos, Poetry |

Where Will You Turn

Wednesday, April 28th, 2010

When the sun has finally fallen
And the clouds lay out of reach
Where will you turn
When open arms become traps
And smiles become masks
Where will you turn
When the world looses color
And everything fades to gray
Where will you turn
When a child cries
And no one listens
Where will you turn
When the fog is too thick to see
And the ground falls out below you
Where will you turn
When the heaviness of night weighs you down
And not even darkness can hide you
Where will you turn
When the flower blooms
But there is no beauty there
Where will you turn
When the voices of loved ones
Becomes a noise you dread
Where will you turn
When you can’t look yourself in the face
And you hate what you’ve become
Where will you turn

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Posted in Poetry |


Tuesday, April 13th, 2010

Follow me
You say as you run
But how do I know
Which way to run
When you leave me tracks
Leading in every direction
Catch me
You say with a laugh
But how can I catch you
If you were out of my grasp
So long ago
Out of reach
Out of sight
Out of my control
We are running
In two different directions
Still trying to find each other
But we are lost
Not with each other this time
But alone
I will be waiting at the crossroads
When you are ready
To come home


The Dimmest Light

Sunday, March 28th, 2010

Even the dimmest light, in the darkest of places can illuminate your way. Who lights your way? Is it a best friend, a parent, your imagination, or God? It doesn’t matter who or what your light is, follow it, because it will always lead you to brighter times.

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Posted in Photos |

Message In A Bottle

Wednesday, February 3rd, 2010

There is a message in a bottle
Somewhere out there for me
Lost among stormy seas
And faraway lands
I don’t know whom it is from
Or when it will arrive
But I know
It is out there somewhere
Searching for me
To deliver its message
It kept safe for me
It survived the winds
The hurricanes at sea
The harsh unmerciful waves
Passed from hand to hand
Sea to sea
I know it will find me someday
And that day when it arrives at last
I will find it among the rocks
Nestled and safe
Waiting just for me
Inside is a letter
About what I do not know
Just a small little note
From an author unknown
Telling me a secret
I have lived my whole life just to know
For now I am waiting
With my eyes turned to the sea
Watching for the glint of a bottle
Lost at sea