Awoken by Your Memory

Sleep finally shuts my eyes, the dreamy sensation of life touches my eyes, when I wake the night deep in daily secret memorizing movement. I am deep in thought. A smile sweet on my lips. Pandora beating through headphones song after song our songs.  Each a memory of the days we spent talking, days we spent learning each other, even hurtful moments that lead us to this, not speaking, not thinking of each other yet I still smile. Have spoken to your origin to your gift to the world but not you. The man who I dream if no longer you, now my mind fictionalized version of the type cb of lover I want to experience. He has a face a name casually drained from a desire of you, yet his qualities all a designed of all what you were to my life. How you ignited so much in my heart. So much in my mind. The love we share is thriving. We didn’t survive it in the form of relationships but we were up rooted from the thoughts of extinction. The dirt you say I pit on you is the lifetime we will end. I know you think of me, even now when I desperately want the phone to ring and it doesn’t. Even when I learn the effects of the illness that you looked on in the beginning telling me my limp was wrong, watching with care and concern to have me do nothing… it was you with a close appraisal of my well being angry octaves in your tone sat me an emergency room. Icy out call you will learn of what has come to be…. but  call rings through, no words from the man who thought ne to see myself through the eyes of worthy. Want to see you know. Want to hear the words of your wisdom. We saw storms in superficial haze of drugged euphoria….. I left those things behind in pursuit of a life you knew I could have. Even imperfect your flaws, your character moved me… our we is defining. Even in my dreams of live with. My ideal man you dwell as the first line of understanding of the kind if woman I am. I need you now. Not to touch the shaded beauty if my sex, not to hold my body against yours but to voice my fears, to do the thing we do, let our hearts release the rain, step IRS storm into the sea of our acceptance complete and UN restricted. In the world you have become a milk carton memory. Removed from family And friends… old live, dear friend my heart searches it’s terrain to send you the message of want, desire for you. Always have known the way your heart beats. I know the curve of your power,  and it’s time to walks. New road…. your welcome here with me, no intent beyond understanding, something God given… prayers leave my lips for you to find your way home!

Always With Me

I carry you in a place inside that keeps the monumental power of what your love taught me. A woman without a father needs the love you gave me. The kind of love that reached the places an absentee father needs a woman to have to learn her worth and beauty.  As I feel a new love touch my heart I remember the lessons learned in our journey. The promise of his arrival in your admission to my world is beyond the thanks and appreciation I can ever give to you. I knew in our first meeting I would be forever changed yet to know the true embrace of a love unconditionally given is worth more than all the riches I could obtain in this life. Out beyond a moon I can see… I know you live beneath its light. Without those days… the moments, those words I would not be a woman who knows what she deserves. To say I love you would be less than a million things I truly feel. No poetic prose could manifest the truth in the blessing bestowed in having experienced even the pain evoked by what we shared. You have become the beat of my heart, the strength in my character. No longer in love I finally can see the gifts you gave in leaving me without you in my daily life.  You gave me freedom to be who you saw in me. When the first intense sensation of emotion welled up in my chest grasping my release of our memory…visions overtook me. I saw your approval in the man that so deeply touched me with his admiration of who I had become…. I cried for you. Although we are millions of moments from our last touch, kiss you are there in my actions, in my words. We were the definition of souls intertwined. Our affinity was not about an earthly love. Our love gave me life and now I’m ready for a love that will allow me to live. I will never forget the reflection of me that came to life in the hollows of your brown eyes. I pray your heart hears my gratitude in loving me in all my flaws.

Inexplicable

Did I imagine your sincerity? Or Did I Just fall victim to the ageless disease of a woman loving a Man who while loving me will never be in Love with….me. It’s a beautiful pain. Wills your faith to a strength that causes non believers to embrace miracles. You learn lessons of unconditional love that humbles your perception of humanity. The importance of appreaciation is visible in your attitude. A woman in love with a Man who seems to not see the love she would provide, yet still in that same moment of lost dreams drowned by tears, will Bless that love he so strongly Feels for another. This woman will open her arms, whisper in his ear… Allow her the best parts of you, and I pray she see’s you.  
Did I imagine the connection shared? Its inexplicable how a pain can give you a growth that enables your belief in destiny. Or is it Just me? So madly lost in…. This… This feeling I would testify is love, but unable to recieve. I admire it, it owns Its on lifeline. It breathes without me hosting it’s needs. My days dont eñe without a thought of This man. His truth, his clase, even the Love he gives to another amplifies his image in my eyes. On his worse days buried. Beneath life, I feel his struggle. Do I imagine the finality of This condition, that This thing I testify as love will stay with my movement, my being. It only ails me on days that I forget to breathe, the days that he taught me to embrace and never ignore. The best of the worse amount of dissonance you can bear will remind that fruits are not of labor but tenacity. Some love you dont get to choose to forget, it marks you. I wouldnt choose to remove the experience of his scejt left behind, his
vulnerabilty only revealed poetic mumblings, his life intertwined with mind. No tears as refreshing as the those ayer for him.
I admire This love, that has been born and grown strong. It has survived our murder of kindness, our rape’s of intimacy. Our slaughter of blessings given. We tarnished puré golden monents with denial, yet We thrive, still answering When the calle are places, still try to understand how the acceptance of This beautiful pain can be anything other than sintul. I know I should go and he knows he should allow me to be able to be whole. Yet Love so unselfishly selfish holds on to Its core value of inexplicable reason and meaning. Its prayer of ability to surrender to faith. When Its time for This thing I testify is love to complete it’s course it will go quietly, speaking a soft goodbye. It will go with patient respect of me.
We cant define, decide or delegate Its purpose, introduction, presence or partner.
Some Love isnt What We create, some love is What We cant escape, What We Want to be, What We need to Keep going…Its remnants kept alive in our altered preception.

Revisiting Now Revised Personas

Seeing those places again, places that not many days ago were places of home, places of friendly faces didn’t feel so happy. It made me see days that have been amended and replaced those days. Slowed heartbeats and visual reminders of what I truly did miss. Even the bad I missed, missed being near blood ties instead of just years piled together. The core of me which is still so much the same, yet the actions of that interpretation of me were no longer my daily activities and I missed those bad things, missed the superficial graces and triumphs it had given me. Missed it so much, thought about making arrangements to visit my personal version of euphoria. Yet I never made those left turns to options that would destroy what I had begun to create. Just when it made me remember it’s beauty I cried for it’s pain as well. That euphoria was having no ties, no responsibilities. It bullied my mind with it’s heavy weight of love. See you love your habits, you addictions, but mostly I love the freedom on having no desire to meet the qualifications of others. They have heavy demands of you for all these reasons. I was comfortable those 285 days, and each moment I was high. So high that the negative of those around me didn’t weigh on me. I abandoned them and I taught myself how to survive and the person who is here now makes the choice to stay away from that love for my bad.  She appears here and there in the most serene and comfortable of places but these days they are further away from what I knew of soothing ways to cope with life. Understanding the why of your personas of who is reflected in the images of our mirrors.   Find that core of you are, then you can create these changes that will make others look to you with a quiet envy that is never loud because successes of this kind more of the building kind. Building a kindness for those who many others don’t understand. Sometimes the only way to truly connect with that you have had to visit those day and those worlds. Now green tree’s make quick appearances but doesn’t stay long. My love for her is fleeting unlike my real love. The realest love I have is for me. I acknowledge who I am on all levels, I relieve my sins to God where they belong. Not to any friend, family member or stranger on the street, and neither should you world out there. Being on this level of understanding is not for the meek at heart. Being bold, brazen and sometimes so wrong helps us to find right on levels beyond the average and I am above average, breaking away from the stereotypes because I don’t like stereotypes  all statistics and commonality are used against a group, to build this negative classification tools. Who you are is unique and similar to someone else s and sometimes feeling the ability to completely be your self is the true gift.

As I revisited that place that I use to call home I realized that who was lingering there in the peppered mementos of the my past I saw a woman loosely sewn together. loosely pieced in happy, these days and this revised persona was no much different, just stitched a bit better, double woven and erratically placed with grace and hindering heart strings. I am proud of her, but I am not ashamed of that fleeting me that was so present in my eyes as I laid to rest her memory and I do miss her, miss her audacious and prettier self. I miss her more slender hips, and helpful way. I miss her more focused mind. I miss all of her but I will find a way back to her kinder attributes,  I know I will because I demand it of myself.

Another Crossroad Looms Near (For You, My Innocence)

Raging screams of anger quell deep within the lost thoughts and the burned  bitter regret of not trying harder, not wanting more for the person who was gone the moment I left the sunny palmed streets I called home in late August of 1999. I wanted and wished for nothing more than to rid myself of not being apart of, not being accepted, of being Wugga. The name stung my chapped lips, hot and ragged gasps of air held me in my churning pit of want. The want was the addiction, the drug, the true burn to run far way from the here that has claimed me once again, the crossroads another day looks so much like the same one I sat in front of before with life full of opportunity. Funny how then possiability was a foreign tongue, beautiful but unable to be translated into the language that I spoke in those days. So willing to jump, without fear, naive to the opportunity of making choices beyond the emotional downpour of hurt and people who use the hurt to examine your vulnerabilities to make weaknesses appear like a flaw that is ugly and dirty. Yet, weakness was the mask left on a blind face of strength in eyes that didn’t fear wrong or right.  Right can never be wrong, even when it’s chain and ball feel like pain over dungeons of hell like wanting and needing to be seen in the right because wrong was not the multiple choice option chosen. To do right in the eyes of being seen again will yield no more beautiful days then the wrongs done in not being seen. We feel and we continue to feel even when feeling numbs the distinction of each feeling to be identified. Just like the words of a language so beautiful to the ear yet completely lost in the unknown to the mind.

Possibility has saved many good men, many beautiful expectant mothers and children unborn, more mistake than miracle expected. Possiability has saved lives unable to forgive reflections of days pasted, of mistakes burdening the ability to give hope a role in the experience of living. The road so familiar met again, with that same hurt holding on, riding my back. Inhale breath, exhale breath, keep breathing, (thank you Keith, thank you netflix, thank you tv, thank you home, thank jyou past) it’s all going to be okay. No breath exhaled is one that is for nothing. no struggle! no triumph! It is  possible to survive each breath, those links to keep living even those struggling to escape fearing that the next will be harder to release, the one after unable to survive the possibability of failing.

The screams are loud and resounding, the distant ache of hurt buried behind smiles that don’t spread far enough, of laughs never truly felt, of people who don’t make it to the experience of the better version of me. The anger is louder, and louder, it screams but it never reaches the surface, never burns through to my heartbeat. It lingers in the shadows hoping to take my hope for possiability, to take the road traveled again for fear is no longer here but a lost of risk is just as stagnanting, just as harmful, don’t lose the ability to risk for possiability.

Dear God give me my faith to leave here where fear is binding and bounds us to the belief that love is lost on the undeserved, that love is a lost art given to those who buy it, those who leave it bruised and broken, endanger it’s species of change. I am not that girl, Yet I am not that girl left at this road again, to make decision of lessons never learned. I am not the girl who does not risk the ability to be, or am I.

Here in this alcove, I have hid, hid myself away from the world, hoping to find the the best of me who was buried beneath those ashes of regret, and sadness, the jones that allowed me to lose my belief in hoping for me. Hope lived in my heart for those around me built bridges of love to understanding, each whisper they spoke unto my ear fueled the ability to keep the hoping beating, feeding the opportunity for healing and now they old fires sparks, they never did burn dry, never really were ashes. That flame again thirsty for my tears. The eyes of my desire have been dry from the inability to lose touch with vulnerable. For this cave was no place of safety, no place of opportunity. This place was a a lying sheep, only disguised like good, only disguised as safe. This place was the beginning of, the reason why, the timeline ‘s beginning to choices made unfearful, not destined, languishing in disbelief. A cacophony of whispering memories, haunt my present self. Home looked good in the eyes of storms, yet storms don’t really leave as much as they move when systems of negating factors of wind, and water meet in experiences needing a smell of fresh, a day of new and the storm has come again.

Change is looming dark clouds of unknown sit in the distance. The night is dark, the day to light, and darkness is closing in on my heart, Unable to stay here with resolution only within my actions. The still is cold, the quiet born again, a rebirth of silence, solitude in the mist of a crowded past, yet the solitude is not deafening with sounds of that past. A newly planted tree on the side of the road. The quiet no longer a trigger to pull, no gun of bad choices in my hand, no targets of core pain. The whispers are much different then before, now possible is a language so fluent to my ear, so uncomplicated. These looming clouds, in these final days of confronting accountability, they hang high haunting me, the spirits of serenity. I am haunted, the clouds in my sky they haunt me with haunting ideas of new, haunting signs of move, haunting abilities to be fearless, haunting opportunity for great fortitude, for the most miraculous moment to take off the training me and use this person in a world, that does not know how to embrace the negative of the past days, of mistakes made, of moments that being the person on the other side of my reflection creates shame, so I shed the name of my past, shed the name of mistake, shed the shame of wrong choices chosen. I am choosing me, and the screams they quiet, and although fear lingers near my door it looks like challenge instead of obstacle, it smells so much like possibility, it feels like opportunity.

Maybe that tumble in my gut, in the core of desire is just the pit of fright I need to excel beyond just and reach for more , to even the score, for those loans of love I have given only to have the debt paid to me in unkindess, high interest of change. Maybe today is not an end with waiting on the looming clouds to destroy a new day. In the light of day, with a reflecting sun it may spread open with a many colors shinning, may look more like yet another door, a new rainbow. A rainbow that says like the book says, that it may rain but never again destroy your world. May rain, and the pain may remain arriving some days but never devasting the same way, in the same places. I inhale, drag slow, and deliberate, my rainbow is near.

a little bit like that girl who stood here with a four way signal, yet without the knowledge of how beautiful the open road can be, when a two way street doesn’t restrict, but demands that you be big. Bigger than circumstance, here on the open road the high way is not able to be manipulated with with a u turn, no busting a bitch here. Yet I look all around and the pain still lingers, it still burns way deep down under the new pavement, yet the road ahead is open, clear. Reaching out I see shinning, glittery obstructions catching my inner light, i see the jewels within left by this storm. I look back and see nothing standing so much has washed away. Some good but most the depris of unresolved anger. I look forward again and it shines brighter, forgiveness is within my treasure, kindness, change. The rain had left and come so many times, so many times, each storm taking pieces of my hope, my belief, my faith, my honor, my ability to choose for possible, and possibaility it was not here before, now it shines within the sun that lives within me, that single light of seeing. My rainbow is here, and at the road in the light, looks so right, , so clear leading to to ability to see more. The obstructions also bare a future, and it doesn’t look like right, but it’s very very bright.

Dear  Wugga,

I heard some time ago when we were at a fork in the road we were on that sometimes we must go hunting inside ourselves, to rid ourselves of our darkest parts, because if we don’t we would just become them. I almost lost myself to that dark. I met so many of us, experienced them each with vigor and without fear, then I began to realize I wasn’t hunting, I had become your prey. You were hunting me, not to kill me, but to live here so you could feel the heat of the sun. I am not angry with you wanting to believe that you needed to live. I promise you won’t die, your my innoence, where my belief was born, you didn’t believe enough in you, in your worth , in your precious part of how we become home, and I vow to never let you die in pursuit of getting to know more positive, we didn’t believe with eyes or stories heard, we had to go seek, but I am here, will never leave you, now that I have survived the worst of it’s consequence, without you innoence, we would have never met perservence, your inability to just be told, has built a prototype a mold that can never stripped of it’s purpose or beauty. You allowed me to forgive, because you hate a lonely home. The shade is only temporary and best with it becomes to hot, and we become frustrated and sticky with hurt. You met resentment, you met neglect, you met complancy, and while they were not toxic to others, it was our kyprotonite. It caused us to lose our first love, we were so close to dying, we resulted to pairing with dependency, lived on gluttony, hung with denying, and we almost lost you innoence. Never again, you have my words, you have my vow, that I will hunt daily so not to allow us to die looking for love, that we have here. Yes, I love you. We traveled to One Tree Hill and we found inspiration and inspiration has got some good friends, and shows himself more now then ever, we may not have those outside rallying for us, not a whole stand of supporters, but the few we have deserve our ability to not only believe in possiability but apply it to opportunity, and that’ can’t happen here, being bulliedd by fear. Here in the between, faith is powerless, we must choose, and it’s time now and you don’t need to hide, I need you now more than ever, I need that piece that does not care about how long fear lingers, she is a fool for the ride, being peaceful you have t asted it now, but it was just a taste, because you hid, afraid that if you appeared it would take you, but you didn’t notice how much had grown, now faith is our roommate and we live in our heart, so self sustaiining, It’s time you join me, say goodbye to Wugga who can be left here, she is the soildier, whering her medals of honor, she was strong, and loud, and showed them why she lead this army, she forgave it all, she taught us how to fall, get up and have no shame in shedding the name given, to wear the name earned  and stand upright and tall.  That’s right.. let’s take this ride, you feel the heat of that light on your skin, no more survive, what do you say? Ready? Let’s do it… Let’s thrive

With Love,  A’Nya Khadija Monea Lewis

PS. I like your new Label.. Nya Monea, sounds good to me

The Weapon, The Cure, The Reason

Questioning life? Why when I can show faith?

The universe even with all the knowledge we obtain cannot be judged or finite. I don’t question yet sit back with eyes of magnificant and vast appreacition of it’s ability to remain a domain if mystery. The more I live in this abundant creation of science, the more I know a God by whatever name or power exists. Its the most beautiful acceptance in my world. Why do we question so much. Is it fear or true curosioty. Do we need to know everything when neighbors and friends could use that same attention. We spend less time supporting the heart for the mind. That question is the one I seek to answer.

One Tree Hill, It’s Powerful TV

When I lose my way these days.. I find Netflix is my home of encouragement and rediscovering belief in dreaming, in creating. When I take the quick menu to my favorite app on my  precious online tv viewer. I find solace and I find belief in this little town in North Carolina and this week that home is going to be having its last dance and from the moment I realized that this is what tv can do. This is what a voice can do. I now see how a person can love movies so much they want to make movies. They are inspired and truthfully tv was never my thing… more my mothers thing and seeing as tho my mother has been my enemy for many years and to embrace something she loved would be to be more like her than I already was. It has become fitting for this little town, this little town made of experiences and emotion. This town made of images brought to life by paid liars to breathe a new life into me. I had spent 29 years living a lie of convenience of preservation to leave each day unfelt and undynamic. To be no more than a being living without a tribute to my deep emotion that left unattended made me an unpaid liar living in my own little town of experience and emotion devoid of being seen.  Little fictional towns were no foreign understanding for me and before an intricate moment a few months ago I didn’t see it. Those kids on that creek speaking in language of SAT practice test vocabulary flash cards and deep depriving emotional overtures and music made from that same place I had already begun to see myself. In late 1997 Dawsons Creek premiered and I left a game that I was cheering in early just to make it to my granny’s floor to watch and I was never the same.People laughed at me and asked why I liked that show so much and the answer that eventually came was it was the first show that I watched that no one said I should, that my family didn’t like first, that my friends didn’t invite me to. It was the first show that I could call my own. Yet in this last week of my second favorite show’s conclusion , I find that it was the door that had been opened for me to find my way to inspiration. The dreams of artist are always fought with either support or the lack thereof and I fought that fight against myself and have spent years just not believing and while the credit goes to more aspects than the shows I watch. It is no small coincidence that they play a dynamic part in the inspiration that dreams are no more untakeable and no less reality than each day we live. I was a young woman living in a fantasy that was no more reality then these little towns and when I believed that the world didn’t own hope, didn’t own kindness, born of evil inbred into our days into our moments of choice, Paula sang how she didn’t want to wait and Joey told dawson that she loved him and when they left that creek and reality seemed more prevalent as Joey chose Pacey and my world was angry with dissatisfaction. At that moment the world was loud,  it was true we don’t get no satisfaction in the resolution of dreams deferred. A couple years later as the gritty life of homelessness and drugs claimed my innocence, where storms proved stronger than I; a friend told me that her small North Carolina town saved her life in the adversity of growing….of becoming adults and I laughed. There it was the co signer in this life contract, no need to reevaluate my truth and lost of belief for I no longer believe. I  believe no longer in happy endings but as the words stayed put inside of my always verbal and loud presence I knew that our friendship was the hope that I would need one day. What I didn’t know was that her small town would become my own and she would have lived there before. She would guide me again to believing in me once again. Those days of lustful sex, self mutilating unkindness and emotional denial didn’t end that day, the home where I would live with my mother had strangled me,left riddled by undeniable scars of guilt and anger. Those dark days were tainting my belief in miracles and miracles can not be accepted when you are an atheist of those heavenly granted wishes. Beneath  my dirty dish water however was a dirty but beautiful  crystal just waiting to be reintroduced to life a survivor, a fighter a teacher. If anyone said that movie making, tv show viewing, paid liars didn’t and don’t change the world then I am the testimony to the inspiration and the beauty of the hearts and lives that they do touch. It was a moment of true miraculous intervention. God allows us glimpses in this life of his majesty  and that deity so strong and tall that I lost touch with was quite Shakesperian  when in ironic flair and style  appearred to me on the tv with words of a pastor whom I call Creflo. He stated Job had no book it was in his heart, days later if God didn’t appear there like a dream. HE showed my reality a wolf dressed as a man stealing peoples money with a lie to take their money stating he had these very expensive tv’s for a steal. HE was the pastor of a church and ran this scam on that congregation… just kind hearted trying in the way of God with the dream to be sold of a tv, for people who use that tv to people who just needed that tv to soften the blows of life. So when I tell you that dreams are for the taking then hear this story, that man came into the lives of a friend who opened her doors to me when the bottom could not be more than the life I was suppose to still be living and my destiny came to me in feeling so deeply felt it would not allow itself to be denied. It seemed magical and unable to be defined and that’s when my little town in NOrth Carolina became so real that I could feel the heartbeat of those pens hitting blank paper those hearts blending to descend upon people like me who needed to be reminded that dreams are not just fanatical and obliterated thoughts but subconscious triggers to taking the time to define the person who lies within each of us. The Spirit by which we call many names! The heart that binds us as humans with colored skin, without greedy desire, without separations or inclusions of ignorance and my spirit seemed to reek of apple lilies and pink. In those finals days of my storm I began something that my friends and family found strange,  weird and a signifier that I was a cause lost mending the guilt from the wounds of their neglect to find the little girl that once was so sweet. They called me crazy with a free tongue and now I didn’t sing my pain loudly with disruptive words instead I smiled and treated them the love that I felt was left abandoned from my perceived memories. I declared I would wear primarily Pink, black and white and I chose pink to display the inner skin left exposed when we scrape back that pigmented outer layer, it represented the heart,  the core of who we are. Black for the color black is the darkness that can consume our light when the heart is left hidden behind our fears. White for it is the representation in the only purity that distinguishes us the human race from the kind unknown and the kind unseen. I vowed to one day bring forth a creation of that would be named.. Our eternal souls leading tortured lives, AsK why? In those days of standing on my nexus of life, combining my spirituality, my humanity, and reality. I tuned in each week to my little town on that hill. That Tree on a hill is you, that tree was me and my roots were strong, my branches unwavering and those leaves of living were blowing away and a new season had begun, a new reason being born and it all would be a document of my lifetime. I had work to do, tasks to be defined and when I have completed these tasks, these days, these moments that will blow away I will have done for someone else what this show had done for me with many other departments of being each of us “works in progress”. We must start at the beginning of our pain so  I came back to that home I ran from ferociously and faced the villain with fortitude in my living nighttime drama. Alot like the now adult characters of tree him, my villain was known to me, apart of me, my mother.  I told my mother I loved her and I smiled and did my best to show her not in my words but my actions that it was hard to forgive but you must do so. Each time I would watch Lucus, Nathan, Haley, Brooke, Peyton, soon after Clay, Quinn, Skills Mouth MIllie, Alex and Steven and I use his real name as displayed by character CHase because for me Steven from Laguna Beach the beginning of a phenomenon shows me,  that from nothing something can be magical and beautiful. Mark Schawan created my place of emotional freedom. Each show I watched I cried tears left buried inside of me had corrupted my belief and with tears that will always be my liquid prayers. I could not control those tears as they rolled across my pecan dark skin and I realize that nothing in this life just happens to happen. Each day, each moment will reveal the depth of the miracle in each of us…… and this season marked finale of my little town of Tree Hill as well as the final expressions of my revealing as  I have been completely revealed inside out, All emotional rants and belief in miracles and evidence to enter to the Judge that living and inspiring for each of us well arrive in our disbelief. In the moments of confirmation we will find allies that across the boards of twitter and the noise of life might not have been touched had we not just stopped for a moment to be able to receive.
In the last two months I watched the seasons that I had never seen and just at this moment the last episode concluded of the shows on Netflix and I don’t only feel blessed for the creators, writers, production, the network which Ironically I live down the street from, the actors, the experiences and my best friend for telling me to watch, I feel inspired, I feel bold, I feel period. So thank you to those before me who dared to chase the dream, to create what I could not have found alone. I didn’t just watch those tree hill kids that year in 97 at 17 .. No I walked through the door that would leave me here in these moments with these experiences that shaped me and built a warrior of faith.. My friend was right One Tree HIll saves my life daily… When I get sad these days or need to remember why I do my best to show fortitude I watch for the reality in display of living that has proved to be so much more… like Gavin DeGraw says “ I dont this fiction wanna be anything than other than what I have been trying to be lately”…. Powerful isn’t it those words and at the right moment in the right village of love you see the miracle… the truth, the power in your life that you only need surrender to.  I hope this finds the participators on all walks of making this show happen. While I am quite happy with the way things have ended ultimately for even in the face of villainous creation it was shown all the things I believe in and to say it weird that words said by these characters have been my own is nothing less than serendipitous kismet.

In my unfortunate happenings that become moments that clearly illustrate my destiny.
To all those who wish to change the world… join me in being radically brave and courageous and know this.. love is what is all about.. love for yourself, love for your fellow brother, love for your community, your gift and only seek to touch the lives of those who need the embrace… and find our world of misery transform. it only takes one brave soul to believe that we as people are worth the fight.