On Being Able To Focus

At times, I’m lost.

Lost to the point where time decides to not wait any longer. So, I stand still and try to realign not only my focus but my expectations. I stand still long enough to keep up with the things around me; in sync with the universe, energy, and of course, the friendships that act as beacons and homing devices.  At times, I stand so still that I hear the heartbeat before the heartbeat. In these quiet moments, I know for a fact that my existence is truly a remarkable experience.

So, even when lost, I’m stable enough to know that the term lost is relative and lean to the touch.

I focus.

I learn to find wisdom in the things around me. I tempt myself to taste the air that keeps me alive.

I focus again.

Then again.

I’m found.

M.C. Davis

In A Matter Of Words

…we’re all a little too close to each other at times.

Well, let me explain.

The other day I was sitting in my usual writing spot, in my most favorite coffee shop, and I met up with a guy writing–by hand in cursive mind you–letters to various dignitaries and the such. You know, “Dear Madam Secretary Clinton, Dear Distinguished Fellow With Tons of Money and Influence, blah blah blah…

I couldn’t help but ask him if he thought writing letters, sans a keyboard and mouse, was a dying art form.

I mean, cursive. Seriously?

To boot, it was really nicely written cursive with a Baroque style of flare, clean even lines, and a detail even Da Vinci would marvel. Turns out, he didn’t feel that writing in cursive was a dying art form, and even felt that by making his letter personalize in such a way that the chances of him acquiring his ideal job would be further extended in the land of possibilities. Interesting thought but everyone knows that jobs, especially the ones that truly matter, are not made in the way you use syntax to compose a business letter, but rather in how you compose your noggin’ to know folks who also know folks who also know folks.

Jus’ sayin’…

In earlier news, I’m still in a holding pattern and I’m learning that within a certain element of chaos within a disorganized platform, a tiny bit of inspiration will often fill a room. So, I’m hanging loose and trying to stay off the work grid for the moment.

More free time just may end up making me a much more free spirit.

Now, where did I place my running shoes?

M.C. Davis

Friends To The End

…was what I learned to be in the fifth grade, especially during those recess moments.

This week has been a formidable week for me.

There were parts where I felt stranded, and other times where I felt completely connected to the things that give me the most freedom. The scenery has been amazingly creative and the company has been unexpected, relative, and in sync with my own rhythm. Even the trees came to my aid on several occasions, and whispered the “Get-it-the-fuck-together” speech to me.  Once, when I was thinking too loudly, the world seemed to wait in quiet disposition for my mind to catch up with the rest of my body. Once aligned, the machine churned and regained itself around my own realignment.

But, I digress.

So, as it seems, I’ve learned three things about myself this week:

1. I’m just an introverted as the next guy. My version is just a tad bit quieter.

2. My friends, the old and new ones, will never EVER know how much I love them. Partially because I’m not physically or emotionally able to completely show them, and partially because they’ll never be able to full understand if I did.

3. The days we live until we die are not meant for us to count them–up or down as it were; but rather, we should embrace the significance in how they affect us in growing closer to who we are at any given time.

Essentially, my friendships are not these detached options that I’ve learned to tolerate over my life, but essential tools in life that I’m able to tug into my next phase of existence. Friendships are those things that give us strength when we’re lost at sea, and only need a connection point to remind us that we’re still human.

My friendships give me the feeling that my thoughts, love, freedoms, and ability to see poetry in everything is just as free as a fifth-grader looking across the playground as his new best friend for the day.

Even when we’re desperately alone.

M.C. Davis