Sunrise from the Amtrak Starlight Line

December 1, 2017By Focal NomadPOETRY, SUNRISE SERIES

Photos taken (on my iPhone) and words written in August 2017. Portland to Los Angeles.

I didn’t want to wake her
This stranger, I cared enough
To let her sleep and let my art
Be shot at a sub-par level

The sun, for the first time
Since I started this
Actually burst over the horizon
I could see it’s rays peaking
For 20 full minutes, teasing me

I had to pee, I gently stepped over
Her, she awoke only for a moment
Smiling. She knew what I was
Doing. We had been laughing
As long-time friends just last night
About our travels, language
and the man I met in the dining car.

He was supposed to meet me in the lounge.
The view dark, blackened by the reading
Lights of the train. I had a thick copy
Of the Gonzo papers, which to him was an
Old Bible, a religion he used to worship.

We’d both been through some shit and
Sported the scars to prove it. Moving forward to
Get to our respective homes, optimistic
That although the bad seems to follow us
We seem to overcome each time.

I’ve been to the home he was headed to twice
Before. He had never been. He wanted to know
What he should do once he had gotten
There, and I told him about the deep house
Sunrises, using his instincts and mourning
His losses at the temple. Having noticed a
Bare left hand, I wanted to tell him more –
But we weren’t having dinner alone.
If I told him what I wanted to, our third
Dinner guest would have more to pray for
Than just his fight for his life.

He was supposed to meet me in the
Lounge, and I read our heroes words
as the pain in my head got stronger.
I went back to my seat, frustrated
giddy to my seatmate at this chance
encounter wishing I was going home
With him, not to LA.
Where I sleep, eat, and try to survive.

I went looking for him in Sacramento
But my train was about to leave, and
I had to honor my journey for this year.
Sometimes our journeys run parallel
With only very rare, very special
Moments to intersect, look at ourselves
In another to say “ah” there you are.
We will meet again, we just may not
Remember.

Sunrise at Pittock Mansion, Portland

November 18, 2017By Focal NomadPOETRY, SUNRISE SERIES

Photos taken and words written in August 2017. Portland, OR.

Maybe mint can
wake me up.
The most asleep
thing I ever did was
check in on him instead
of checking in with myself.
When there’s haze
and the beauty only
creeps in, I still
manage to shoot it,
but have I captured it?
There was a young
photographer from
Astoria in front of the
mansion – set on his
tripod, there in the
cold two hours before
the sun rose.
Using flimsy kit lenses
but using them all.
I promised myself
just one lens – but
left my tripod in the
car –
and didn’t bother to
go get it.
to me, I was just proud that I
didn’t go home with a
stranger last night in
favor of driving my ass
over here…
but I could have
woken earlier.
I could have checked
in on this checkin
to show up better
prepared.
But I wanted more
evidence to take home
as I continued my
loneliness patterns.
I cried during the
eclipse, and the relationship
to my camera bonded
stronger; but I
left the people out
in the foreground.
I haven’t lost my
motivation but it’s
like everything is going
in slow-motion.
I want to move
at full speed again,
or just be moved
to full speed ahead.

Sunrise over Oregon Eclipse Festival

October 5, 2017By Focal NomadBLOG, COVERAGE, SUNRISE SERIES

Photos taken and words written in August 2017. Oregon Eclipse Festival, OR.

The music whistled above the soft bass as I watched the flies bounce above the lake perfectly in synch. The ducks had just taken their morning bath are now diving back in. I’m looking around me and all I can think about is how I wish I had risked my camera to the dust a lot sooner.

“Don’t loose your sense of wonder,” a voice said to me, here, a few nights ago.

Deep breath, try,
Writing something, by
Breath, lie about
Your job, your relationship
Status, your income…
I found myself
Puffing myself out like
A duck this weekend.
Who was I trying to
Impress, anyways?

There’s a lot of work to be done. If there’s anything this place has taught me: the craftsmanship, the music, the acting, the dedication to performance, to parenting, to yours and mines LSD trips… It took all of us to create this experience. It dawned on me here at dawn, that all I ever wanted is in the friends I tackle to the ground when I see them. The synchronicities and full circles shared from strangers turned friends. Festival magic is us.

I want to wake up to myself, get to my practice am grateful that I wasn’t distracted. It gets cold at night – but then the sun comes I’m grateful for my choices to stay awake. To say no to beautiful bodies that could risk my seeing a sunrise. The beautiful choice to spend all night in a tea lounge – learning about the subtleties of the varied leaves and the ritual of its steeping. Making “just-friends” with every addition to come to our table even when the candles were blown out. The choice to go back to a spot that I said I would and expand. The choice to be okay with the unknown ahead.

The choice to say fuck you to management and my job so they never kidnap me full time. The choice to be here, to not burn, to not know why I had to, and then the sky going dark and just knowing I had to – and why hasn’t my camera been out longer? What have I been resisting all this time?

She calls to me – Art
And I am hers, I choose these
Sunrises over any impassioned love
For this Earth is my home.
It’s only for that I should
take some time out of my
mornings to honor her majesty,
Her forgiveness
And her magic.

Sunrise Over the 175

August 2, 2017By Focal NomadPOETRY, SUNRISE SERIES

Photos taken and words written in May 2017. Town of Onondaga, NY.

Some might call my choices foolish
Reckless, even. Stupid, when will
She ever learn to stop making
Wishes on weeds. I guess it’s a
Thing of my girlhood I won’t
Leave, to keep seeing these as
Flowers. Seeing bad ideas as seeds.

Every moment I think that I’m done
The light changes and more is revealed.
I dry my feet and wait in the car
I’ll suffer for my art but not that much.
The wind rustles, I wonder how many
Wishes are being wasted right now
On nature. Mother earth has a lot to
Wish for right now though.

Humans like me we try but we still
Stomp on un-mowed grass and plants
That we perceive to not matter as
Much. Like we could know better.
As if we would know better than
Nature intended. So maybe nature
Did intend me to be this way
In it’s complicated force, not all
Parts of nature are beautiful or nice
More often it is simply necessary.

It’s an interesting thing to watch oneself
Create oneself and destroy oneself
Simultaneously. One would argue that
It isn’t possible. We must first die
And then be reborn and grow from there.
Then, I think of expansion, and how if we
Are all connected, I am always born, reborn
Dying and thriving all at the same time.

So what if I consciously chose to do this?
What if I took that seemingly meaningless
Dandelion and blew so hard that I did
Nature’s work for her? Watching the seeds
Drift and land where they may. Some
May die, some may spread and grow into other
“weeds” But then, may some get eaten and
digest into something bigger than I had
planned for, but was naturally ready for.

There isn’t anything that I want
That isn’t all ready sewn into the fabric
Of my making. If I choose it so. I
Choose to uncover this. Take a risk, be
foolish and try once again.

Sunrise at El Capitan, Yosemite

July 12, 2017By Focal NomadPOETRY, SUNRISE SERIES

Photos taken and words written in May 2017. Yosemite National Park, CA.

Trying to remember
The tranquility of the
Dead pine crunching
Beneath my feet
As I pop an antacid
Trying to pretend like
I’ve got time to shelve
This shit.

I wanted to walk further
Away from another
Just stay on my own
Side of the path
Stay in my own lane
Stay in my own row
Of seats and let myself
Be unaffected.

I don’t really get jokes
These days, unless it’s
Clown-nose obvious.
I don’t want to be shown
All the ways in which I
Missed magic, confronted
With all the ways in which
I’m half-alive.

Click. Click. Click-click.
I’m here, I’m watching
The light move from
Blue to golden and I’m
Feeling a rare sense of pride.
I woke up to a bird chirping
And my body was right
On time.

Pinecones in my pockets.
Thousands of images on
Discs. One page, one word,
One step at a time. Progress,
Not perfection, they say. The
Light creeped along El Capitan
I caught it, and I didn’t just
Stand there, when it burst
Through the trees.

Sunrise from my Roof

July 8, 2017By Focal NomadBLOG, Posts, SUNRISE SERIES

Photos taken and words written in April 2017. Los Angeles, CA.

Is this really where it starts? Readiness is a choice. If we are our actions, I have to surrender to having lost control. If I am my actions, I am scared and looking for reasons not to recover. I am looking for every reason not to write, right now. We all want to believe that there is nothing wrong with us, and on a base, conceptual level that’s true. When faced with the things in our lives we wish were different, there’s really nowhere else to look but at ourselves. This morning, this is what I am faced with – standing on the edge of my roof looking for the sun that’s hiding behind the LA smog. I can be eco-conscious but I can’t single-handedly make the entire city’s smog go away. So I surrender. It’s amazing what will reveal itself, what will become clear, when you simply slow down, stop running, and let your eyes adjust.

In doing so, I have found the first half of my life to be covered with haze. I was made to believe that my childhood was fine. My brain only remembers the big gifts, my father and I making silly faces and my mother driving me everywhere. I had to stay busy. I had to stay on stage. I had to be going from dance classes, to singing classes to rehearsal and I remember, when a show would end I would feel this incredible ache. I would feel what I now realize to be grief. There I would be, a kid or a teenager, having to look at myself during the in-betweenness as I auditioned furiously to get myself back outside of myself. There was comfort in hopping out of my body and into anothers’. There was what felt like love when I would get on stage and I would hear that applause – and with that, they noticed me. I was accepted and special.

It’s amazing how a pattern started in childhood can continue and be transferred into our relationships in adulthood. Eyes focused, I now see how relationship after relationship has bonded around this pattern of seeking dramatic distractions outside myself to escape the question of myself. A lot has changed in the less-hazy last half of my life and at the same time, not much has. I left acting all together; I discovered myself to be a leader in booking punk shows, I co-founded a non-profit and moved behind the camera pursuing my passions of photography, writing and documentary filmmaking more aggressively. My needs now involved having friends, love, a successful career and to give meaning to my life. Leaving acting was a conscious decision to leave a behind a legacy and take control of my life and not allow my fate to be sealed by directors who were constantly thrusting me into victim roles.

Although the form of my relationships have morphed and changed, the patterns remained the same. Love became my stage – the theatrics of unhealthy attachments became my new distraction that prevented me from ever really attaining the needs in my life that had finally crystallized. An endless slew of unhealthy partners were planted on my path and I ran away from feeling emotions for anyone that was actually available to me. Who was I? I gave more of myself than I was ready to my first love who set the precedent of betrayal and abuse that after I became accustomed to in varying forms. The people changed, even the types of relationships changed. The pain inside vicious cycles of avoidance persisted. I was getting attention masked as love. I was getting false promises masked as truth. I was getting a lesson masked as what I thought could be forever. I got smarter seeing the red flags yelling at me to STOP but I kept running. I violated myself. I broke my own heart.

Sometimes it takes learning the same lesson over and over again before the sound of its teachings can’t be unheard no matter how far we run. Today I get my stuff back from the last lesson I’ll ever have to deal with, because readiness is a choice. It starts by saying goodbye, it starts by ending one thing to realize a new beginning. It starts by stopping. All I can do is surrender. All I can do is admit that I am powerless and remember that I am not alone.

Sunrise at Bridgewater

May 17, 2017By Focal NomadBLOG, SUNRISE SERIES

Photos taken and words written in April 2017. Killington, VT.

Attempting to write this on the train before I pass out.

Wish I didn’t feel the need to pass out at all. The colors of the sky right now are golden – or maybe that’s just window tint. My route is running along the Long Trail River coming from Rutland, Vermont and then a straight shot to Penn Station. Not having a Monday morning ride back to catch my flight turned out to be a blessing. The views down are breath-taking. I wish I could have stayed longer, but I know I’ll be back.

There’s a lot I’ve missed because I’ve been too exhausted from pain to stay awake for the good, or the medium, or the mundane. The mundane is worth keeping our eyes open for too. Though in those moments, when it’s not so high or so low, I just want to sleep. The energy it takes to hold all of these emotions, to face all of this darkness is more than I really have right now. Any downtime, to prevent from ruminating on the darkness, I check out. I check out to survive. I go to sleep at 8 or 9pm so I don’t hurt myself anymore. Something about waking up at dawn gives me a better sense of hope. The day is still coming. There’s still a chance to turn things around and make it a great day.

I’m raw. I’m like a snake poking its head out of its new skin and everything hurts right now. The sun is too hot, the water is too cold, the air is too brisk and my eyes are pink. Pink from opening them for the first time and seeing things as the really are. In their purest state, I see who I am. In this moment, I’m trying to keep my promise to myself to write at sunrise. I shot just before the sun crested over the mountains, but just after it crested over the horizon. My timing was off, but beauty was still created. Finding the magic in the moments that aren’t quite indigo and aren’t yet golden. The reflection of the rays on the cabin. The fire that was down to smoke and soft embers. The teepee that once held ashes from other exes letters.

Before I left the cabin, I sat and observed the candle that was still lit from the night before. Its flame was still burning strong. It burned though 60 bodies were moving around it. It burned inside a wooden cabin and the flame remained contained. This fire could have consumed the entire structure it flickered in, but it stayed controlled on its wick. Despite the times it could have been carelessly knocked over by eyes that couldn’t see their own legs, despite the blankets and pillows rustled nearby, despite the flowing robes waving around it, it remained on its wick. This little light had the power to destroy everything around it. It had ample opportunity, but it just shined.

This little light just shined.

There’s comfort in knowing, that not everything that can destroy you, will. I don’t need to be consumed by my thoughts or my emotions. I was blow-torched with lies and betrayal. The burns are fresh. They’re so fresh they feel sticky and wet. New skin is growing and some has all ready grown. My light was consumed by his destruction. But its not out, it’s just a tiny amber. I just need some air, some deep breaths, to bring it to a full flame again. Starting by writing, by meditation. By doing things that I don’t actually want to do but know will help heal me faster than just sleeping through everything waiting for new skin to grow.

I don’t actually like waking up for sunrise and shooting in 40 degree weather. None of this feels good or is fun. But it’s work. It’s working with the faith that one day because of all of this work, I won’t need to suffer anymore. I won’t need to be torchered anymore. One day I will look at this time of deep reflection, of waking up early, of reading the books and talking to my mentors and friends and making this growth a priority, of being alone for a while so I can get to know myself and learn to deal with the inner turmoil that I had been running away from and feel nothing but gratitude.
Hope is on my wick. The more I breathe, and choose to keep breathing, the brighter it will become.

Sunrise from the Couch

May 5, 2017By Focal NomadPOETRY, SUNRISE SERIES

Photos taken and words written in April 2017. Killington, VT.

Frozen on this couch, I
Had to look. I had a feeling
You were that sneaky and I
Needed to see for myself.
I didn’t need a plant
Medicine to know that you’ve
Been cheating.
Cheating me out of my time,
Cheating me out of the promises
That you gave me – cheating
Me out of my ability to trust.
Just glued to these cushions
Because I’m afraid of the
String of wet cold that I’ll
Feel. Afraid that once given
Enough space it’ll all come
Rushing out and yet –
I’m still watching the sunrise,
Being affected by it, writing
But I’m half-assing it.
Just like you did.
Perhaps there’s something to that.
If I can out you, sure I’ll
Out myself.
I’m still checking my phone
For a hopeful response from
You. I’m still hoping
That you’ll find my message
Impressive. I’m still hoping
You’ll feel like an idiot for
Loosing me because loosing
Me was a choice that you
Made and although you
Baited me into letting
Go of all of our dreams,
We both know I hated
The taste of that worm.
The more I started to
Uncover about you, about
Her – about all the
Pitiful things you destroyed
Us over, the fatter that
Worm got. It was juicy,
Dripping in salvy slime,
And you hooked it well –
With the line itself
Since you know I hate the
Taste of blood anyways.
You dangled this helpless
Little worm in front of
My eyes, and force-fed
It with fat lies, fat tits
Fat lips and a fat ego.
You became its executioner,
And in dangling it where it
Brushed my lips, though you
Thought my eyes were closed,
You became its executioner
You became love’s executioner.

Sunrise at Roosevelt Island

April 27, 2017By Focal NomadPOETRY, SUNRISE SERIES

Photos taken and words written in April 2017. New York, NY.

Wipe off the tears. Look ahead
What you see in front of you is beautiful
Behind you, a baseball field.
A field less than a mile before that.
More fields in the area of your back
And you are so far away from the
Pitcher’s mound that you are not only
Not on first base, you’re not even sitting out.
Not even looking at the game. You’ve
Turned your Back on it. All of it.
All the games behind you and ignoring any
That potentially lay before you.
You’re out. Benched by choice.
All the movies show baseball
As a game of passion, you’ve gotta
Take risks, and get hurt to win.
The Sandlot was playing on my flight
Over. The Babe telling Rodriguez in
His dream to just hop over the fence,
And get that ball. He was telling him
To be fearless, to believe in himself
Above what all of some supposed
11 year-old logic was telling him.
We only know as much as our experience
And even sometimes then we ignore
The lessons and the red flags. Sometimes
Faith will get you like that. Not unlike
Now, where I keep trying to move forward
But as more memories fade into the
Background, this ache brings up an angst
That makes me want to stay fresh in
His mind, make his love stay fresh on mine.
So how do I become a legend like The Jet?
“Heroes get remembered, but legends never die.”
How do I grant myself solid gold, trophy status
That sits on a shelf of his memories as
Something that he once had and will
Always think fondly of? In loosing a place
In his life, I feel like I lost a part of myself.
I never told him that I never wanted to kiss
Him. I let myself be won over because something
Felt karmic about this meeting. It wasn’t
Just that we became a union, it was a reunion.
In forfeiting the game, I forfeit this control.
I can only know that I am a legend.
I’ve hopped over enough fences, and
Dodged enough beasts to prove it.
Trophy status isn’t up to me.