Moon Phases

It's night time here and morning in America.  Sometimes when I look up at the moon I wonder if my friends back home are seeing it in the day light.  Is it possible for the moon to be in two places at once?  I don't think so, but don't really know.  I have a lot of questions for science that I should just google but it's nice not knowing things.

Today is Thanksgiving in America, which make me think about my friends and family.  I miss them but can't go home.  Not can't, won't.  I only have one life and I'm going to do what I want too, which is to travel and learn about the human condition.  The more I learn, the more questions and doubts I have.

When he was six, he believed that the moon overhead followed him
By nine, he deciphered the illusion, trading magic for fact, no trade-backs
So this is what it's like to be an adult?
If he only knew now what he knew then

So it goes.

I'm at the point in my life that I think a lot about my grandparents.  I'm lucky to still have three of them alive but they're in their golden years.  "Chick" is in a nursing home with good and bad days, mostly bad.  Pop, who is at least 80, visits her twice a day and still drives cross country for his hunting trips.  The thing about my Grandpa and hunting is that in all the years, I've never known him to kill anything.  He just really likes to camp and cook outdoors.

"Dee" was just accepted into a retirement home/card playing house.  Most days she's still sharp but since Papa Charles died she's convinced herself that she's broke.  Papa Charles died 18 years ago.  I didn't cry at his funeral but loved the man with all of my heart.

Life is funny.  If I do have kids they will never know my Grandparents.  I only remember my Great Grandma Molly and her making making me fruit crepes in an old rickety house.  I've heard many stories about my great grandparents but Molly is the only one I can put a face to the story.  And no matter what story it is I always think about her in a moo moo dress and that creepy old stuffed toy lion in her living room.

In the grand scheme we're just rain drops in the ocean, our stories to be recycled and lived out by new generations.  I'm fine with that.

A fallen head of Buddha that a tree grew around.

Humble Boast (A moment of truth)

The thing about me and writing is that I like to write but I find it hard to share my feelings.  I come from a loving, generous family but I was raised not boast or to complain, just to keep you head down and make the most of what you are given.  I could expand on that thought but what I want to express is that for the most part, I’m not comfortable talking about myself.

The past 15 months I’ve seen and experienced things that have changed me in ways I can’t explain.  I’ve looked into myself and saw the best and worst of my qualities.  The saying, ‘you are what you hate’, has never rung truer.  While I despise racism I see myself stereotyping the local aboriginals through day to day transactions at the roadhouse.  It’s something I’m ashamed of but at least I see it and that’s the first step in change.

I also know that I can adapt and change.  While backpacking, through the eyes of social media looks like one big vacation, it’s not always easy.  Don’t get me wrong, laying on the beach, seeing the world and all it’s beauty, and having the greatest time of my life is golden but it’s not always easy.  I take pride in the frustrating times of trying to catch a connecting bus in Laos only to end up on the back of a truck with farmers and their family.  Being hot, tried and covered in sweat; arguing with the woman that will always hold a special place in my heart, only to end up next to a angry local in the back of the truck.  I could of kept being angry but instead I gave everyone some of my food and by the end of the trip we were great friends, if only for an hour or two.

I know I should write more but in the end I have my memories.  And when I meet someone that wants to hear them, I will speak my thoughts. 

Oh how time flies
With crystal eyes
And cold as cold
When you're ending with diamond eyes

innocence lost

I often wonder if I'll ever return to the time in my life that I really embraced an album like I did when I was fourteen.  No enhancements; pot or booze, just ears.  Maybe in my grey years.