About a Bird

As of late I have felt the constant itch to rove. The feeling came sudden and persistant. This feeling begs the question, though: why do men rove?

First you must define the word.
Rove: To constantly travel without destination. To wander.

One could also argue that to rove is to aimlessly wander in search of something. So, that brings about the question again, albeit a little more refined.

Why do men rove? Are they searching for something they don’t have, or want more of? Is it a result of dissatisfaction or the hope of something more? Something unknown? Do they do it to learn or to gain?
These are questions that have vaguely whispered in the back of my mind for the past several months.

I do realize that every person, at one point or another feels the urge to “search for themselves.” This statement, in my opinion, is ridiculous. One does not need to travel to find themselves. If you have followed my blog at all, you would understand my views in this matter. If you don’t follow my blog I suppose I should welcome you seeing as this is probably the first post of mine that you’ve read.
Hello.
What I do agree with is the pursuit of the unknown. While some might be afraid of what they do not understand, I am of the mind that the unknown holds just as much potential as it does danger. I like to believe that there are things, ideas, opportunities out there that are so much greater than anything I have ever known, the only reason I don’t know that they’re there is because I haven’t yet found them.

What is a day without an adventure?

Lately I’ve taken to writing what I like to call “Letters from Truth.” Tiny little notes of compliments or encouragement with a simple “For You” written on the front. I’ve taken to handing these “letters” to random people that I pass or come across, then I leave. I never stick around to see their reaction.

This is some of the most fun I’ve ever had.

clifs:

8i11ie:

┓┏ 凵 =╱⊿┌┬┐ Help me, I- I don’t… ┓┏ 凵 =╱⊿┌┬┐ Where a͈̦̲̱̳͈̭m̟͔̥̰̲̰ I? Help, p̐̄͗ͦ̈͐̄l̎ͮeȃͤ͑͒͋̇̈́s͌̑e. ┓┏ 凵 =╱⊿┌┬┐I don’t k̭̣̪͇̍̅͋̿̉n̠̞̠̞̗̳̘͉͔͋̾O͈̙̙͗̊̃ͣͣͧ̏w͍̤̫̘̣̳̲̥͉̃̇̎͒͛̌ͯ̿̚ where I a̸̛M͞ .

You’re in the Matrix

How to tick off Doctor Who fans:
Step 1.

(Source: billielunette)

In this new era of corporate power, it is the Americans who are perceived as callous colonizers. Our missionaries are Ronald Mc Donald, the affable, curly-headed clown, and Mickey Mouse, the gentlemanly attired mayor of the universe, offering an outstretched white-gloved palm and sporting a salesman’s grin. Their disciples watch MTV, drink Coca Cola and consume hamburgers, without a care in the world, and appear oblivious to the culture around them.

- Elizabeth Howard
Communication World ‘98

Today the man who raised me into the world turns the golden age of fifty. A few years ago the idea seemed daunting, evidence of the years already gone. But today, as it has been reached, the age seems merely an accomplishment, a tick off the list. Is me Da any different than he was last year? Of course! Years do that to people. If anything, he’s better, by far, than he was last year. Different problems, sure; but also different victories. 

The amount of reverence, respect, and love I have for this man cannot ever fully be expressed except by a lifetime of example. Example of how, in his many years of effort, this man of a man taught me well, raised me under God, and pointed me in the right direction my entire life. I can only hope to live in a way that would give nod to the countless lessons he has given me. Though imperfect, there is not a single way I would change everything my father has done for me so far.

One of my favorite things about him is the fact that he seems to be getting younger as he gets older. As the blessing of age removes shackles of responsibility off his back, raising a son being a chief fetter, he seems to being taking up more lesure activities with shameless enthusiasm. For example, I’m one of the few people my age I know that can say “I play Xbox with my father.”
This delights me beyond measure.

And though me dear ol Da is on the opposite side of the world, I raise a toast to him. To one of the (if not The) finest men I’ve ever met, and ever will meet. Happy flippin birthday ya crazy old man. May your every effort be smooth, your path be easy, and your adventures bring reward.
I love you.

I own a pipe I might never smoke.

From: A Collection
Never You Mind

The morning rose tardy yet kind in Autu. Anna deftly lifted from her bed, landing gently upon the floor, not making a sound. She had nowhere to be for the next two hours for she had risen with the dawn, and work didn’t start until much afterward. She decided upon a cup of tea. There was a bold chill in the air that clung to the shadows, forcefully vacated from the sun’s light. Tea would taste nice. She picked a nice wildflower blend and began to boil water. After several minutes on the fire, the pot began to steam. Anna lifted the pot, gingerly poured the scalding liquid into a china cup, set the pot upon a well burned in circle on her wooden counter, and began to steep the tealeaves. Yes, Anna thought, tea would taste nice. Her mind briefly wondered how it would taste to the people of Hiver.

From: A Collection
Never You Mind

Silas saw that it was a crisp morning in Sola. Silas leapt out of bed, ready to tackle whatever the day threw at him. He was a man of sport, Silas. If it involved moving from one end of anything to another for any reason at all, Silas was good at it. His parents loved him, for Silas was bright, witty, strong, and kind. He was the strong arm of his community and his school, named Silas Centre after him, was filled with eager young minds that looked at him with awe and inspiration. The Silas Centre was of a different sort of education. They taught practical learnings, and Silas was the coach, head over all instruction. For if it involved running across anything for any reason, Silas was good at it. He could never imagine living a quiet life, gentle and soft like that of the people of Autu, no, not Silas.

From: A Collection
Never You Mind

It was a foggy morning in Prim. Peter had a hard time keeping his eyes open. It was time for school, he knew it. It was time to get up and learn and follow directions and memorize useless lessons.  He didn’t see the point. Neither did any of his classmates now that he thought about it. But the teachers and his parents and the city counselor all said, as-iron, that it was a good thing. They said that they all went to school and hated it but lived to be thankful for it in the end. So Peter did what he was told. He did his lessons. He learned his learnings. He followed his directions. He had a lot of growing to do, yet. He was almost a man. Almost. A few more turns and he would be ready. It was this thought that kept him going. Morning after fickle morning he would diligently rise, learn, and grow. For he was almost a man and, after all, he didn’t want to end up like the people of Sola.

Had a conversation with someone in which this person was convinced that I was better than they were simply because I did better in school.

This bothered me.

This bothered me because not only was it not true, I wasn’t the best student, but it was also false, better grades do not make a better person.
(Yes I realize I was redundant there)

This leads me to feel obligated to say, listen,
No one, no matter how good they seem, is ‘better’ than you. Not as a whole in any case.

Someone may be better at certain things than you, for example I can say with full confidence that I’m better at driving than my sister. Does that make me a better, safer person? Heck no! In fact, I’m tempted to see my sister as a better person because of the battle’s she’s come out of and the fact that she’s a far better looking individual than I’ll ever be.
Which is how it should be.
If you take anything away from this, make it this: you are brilliant and unique. Just because someone’s taste doesn’t match up with what you have to offer doesn’t mean you’re bad. If you didn’t have a purpose, you wouldn’t be here.

And because you’re reading this I’m rather certain that you exist.
Which, in turn, means you’re meant to.

Think about it.

The scriptures say that “God created Man”, not “God created Adam.” There’s a difference.

From: A Collection
Mr Gregory

It took a long while, Gregory lost count of the weeks owing to his forgetful nature, but they finally arrived at the coast of Bosnia. They had to skip around several islands and countries and at one point a large ship filled with angry Italians tried to sink them, but they managed to avoid that. They made port on a small cove far away from the harbor, Norris mentioned something about high document fees, or was it docking? Gregory couldn’t remember. When they set foot on land Gregory was suddenly struck with a disappointing revelation: He had no idea why he was in Bosnia. He knew that it was his plan to go and he made every effort to get there, but now that he was here he simply couldn’t recall why it was he was in this strange country in the first place. He voiced his thoughts to his fellow travelers.

The Barber laughed and said something about hating his bossy cat, or something.
Norris shrugged, obviously not giving the slightest care.

The Cousin had a conniption fit.

During the ranting and raving done by the enraged second cousin, Gregory had time to notice that the beach they were standing on was rather rocky and over to their right was what looked like a small group of huts. Curious, he began walking towards the miniscule village. The second cousin stopped ranting and called after him “Why Greg? Come back! Where are you going??”

Gregory shrugged. He had never been to Bosnia, how could he possibly know what this tiny community was called? Or if it even had a name. For someone older than him, Gregory’s second cousin could be a bit thick sometimes. It took exactly one thousand, three hundred, and ninety-four and a half steps to reach the village. When Gregory got there, it was empty. Not a soul could be seen nor heard, except Gregory, Norris, the Barber, and Gregory’s second cousin, of course.

Somewhere nearby a bird sang its song.

Gregory had never been to a different country before and he had to be honest, he found the housing of this one rather measly. As he surveyed the landscape about him he wondered what it might have been like to live in these little beach huts. It was no wonder no one lived in them. He heard his party discussing the matter behind them, something about a haunted village. Gregory paid them no mind.

For the first time in his life, Gregory was happy. He had accomplished everything he had set out to do. He wasn’t sure what he would do now that he was in Bosnia, but he was optimistic with the possibilities, the world was his now. He was happy. The world was light.

Meanwhile, a doctor shook his head over his patient.

From: A Collection
Mr Gregory

By the time all this came about, Gregory had two days left and only one thing left to do, and that was to go to Bosnia. He knew the Mime wasn’t going so he accepted that the trip would consist of a party of three rather than four. The Barber was very willing to go as soon as possible. He hated his job and hated his cat even more and he was hoping that by the time he got back from Bosnia neither would be there anymore. So, the way he saw it, the faster he left, the sooner his two most hated things could cease to exist.

The second cousin was much older than Gregory, exactly twelve years, seven months, fourteen days, nine hours, one minute, and thirty-four seconds older. Well, maybe it was forty-three seconds. Gregory never remembered. And, being older than Gregory, the second cousin automatically earned the right to make several decisions about the trip. The first one he made concerned the method of travel. He wouldn’t hear of flying. He had to go by ship. “A proper sea-vessel too, not some blundering cruise liner,” is how he put it. And so, with that idea in mind, Gregory and his crew set out to find a ship that could take them to Bosnia.

The ship they did find was definitely not a cruise ship. Gregory went so far to assume that this ship was the most not-a-cruise-ship ship possible in the history of not-cruise-ships. It was a big, rusted out, flimsy-sailed, lug bucket. At least, that’s what the Barber said.  It seemed as if it had been floating in the same spot for the last three-hundred years which, Gregory knew, was impossible. They didn’t make ships like this three-hundred years ago. But the amount of filth and grime and barnacles was enough to fool anyone not well versed in aquatic vessel histories. The captain’s name was Norris and he had a funny way of speaking. He didn’t exactly piece his words together properly and his strange out words came. It was all Gregory could do to keep up with his numerous instructions. He had to de-jumble them in his head as he was speaking and by the time he figured one out, Norris was two more ahead. But, after a long while of talking, de-jumbling, packing, loading, planning, more de-jumbling, and more packing, the small, ragtag band was off.

Gregory had never sailed before and it took him a while to get over his wobbly knees. And seasickness. And dizzy spells. And nervous sweats. And nightmares of giant clam fish. And other nightmares of smaller clam fish. And distaste of clam chowder. But eventually he got it all down and enjoyed himself. His favorite part of the ship was in the back where he could watch the wake behind the ship as it clunked along the water and an achingly slow pace. He would spend hours staring at the sea foam in front of him and he would trace shapes in the countless bubbles. Once he saw the shape of the face of a girl he once fancied in middle school. Charlie Mooples. He wanted the marry her to save her from such an outrageous last name. Sadly, she fell in love with a man named Eugene Tinselsniff so there was no hope for her ever achieving normal sounding nomenclature. 

Coincidence.
This could be the secondary title to this post, but I figure the first is more proper.

Coincidence is the tool of many justifications, prophecies, and decisions. It can be just as right as it is wrong. Often times being both, in one way or another.

It is tempting to believe that coincidence is the sure mark of fate.
This is a dangerous thought. 
For fate, or purpose, or destiny, or what-have-you, does not always come about announcing its arrival. In fact, I would go so far to say that it usually does the opposite. I have brushed on this matter numerous times in the past.

And yet, coincidence cannot be ignored, our human nature denies us the capability. No matter how small or trivial the coincidence, you always seem to take notice, even if for a moment. Is there a reason for this? I’m sure. But I couldn’t tell you what it is.

All I can say is, every once and a while, a coincidence, so massive, rears its head and your mind, filled with the hope or dread of the matter, will run. It might run to it or run away from it. That depends on you.

Am I saying don’t believe in coincidence? No. I’m not. For I, too, find myself presented with a coincidence. And it is all I can do to stop my mind from grasping the hope of what it might, potentially mean.

Honestly, did you really expect me to write about something that didn’t apply to me too?

Even Chance had to stop and think for a moment.