Have you ever stopped for a moment and turned around to look back at how far you’ve come? Late last year I was blessed to go to Peru, specifically Lima, Cusco and Machu Picchu. Its the stereotypical story of a man traveling the world to find himself. I met a lot of new people on that trip. I’ve been touched in so many ways. I learned a lot on that trip. Here I am, and I am changed. There are many more miles between us. But still we are never far from each other.
Soupe Creole con Quinoa
The Llama and the Mountain
A good friend of mine, India Trotter, started a new blog site called Blank Stare Corner. She asked me to submit some work and published a new poem of mine entitled, “Foolish to Write Poetry.”
Have a look and tell me what you think.
After reading this article in the Sydney Morning Harold, I was fascinated by the idea that an ethnic culture could perhaps singularly among any other ethnic group carry a gene from a race of humans now long extinct.
It makes me wonder if other groups also carry genes from other extinct races…I’m sure a few people I know may carry Neanderthal. Then that makes me think that if the Tibetans were to die out, we’d lose this extraordinary gene. Perhaps Tibetans should be making more babies 🙂
The human race is more than the sum of its parts. There may be much treasure still buried within our genetic code as we continue to untangle it.
My father died yesterday. I still can’t believe it. This was my father, after all. Or at least, he was the one man who was man enough to accept the position. He was my number one fan, having read every one of my published works, and always encouraging me to do more.
He understood my ambitions, crazy as they were. “Patience, my son,” he would say. “You have to pay your dues. Then you’ll have everything you want.”
He understood my anger, a very deep and restless thing, that can be surprisingly monstrous when it reveals itself to those that do not know me well.
Always shaping me, always honing me, preparing me for the time he knew he could not be there. He was generous with his time, his love and what few possessions he had. He was a nomad, having more addresses while I was growing up than I could count.
But no matter where he was, on my birthday, there came the card with a check for $5 or $10 or $35 as I got older.
I’m rambling. I’m still in shock. Maybe for now, it’s enough that the world know that it’s lost a bright light of a soul. Though perhaps you did not know him, maybe you would mourn with me for just a little while.
Then maybe life can go on.