A Life Altered

The baby stroller began to roll into the street. Oncoming traffic ran quick, uptown, in full force on the one lane avenue. I moved quickly, reaching the rolling stroller. I was able to grab the carriage just in time. A handful of people looked on in disbelief, relieved that I happened to be in the right place at the right time. I was a genuine hero. I had saved the stroller from inevitable destruction by oncoming traffic. Just like that, my life was altered forever. I looked into the stroller expecting to see a shiny, happy baby, ecstatic from being saved. Instead, a small dog began to growl. Some sort of mangy, Chihuahua looking thing. I guess I wasn't much of a hero after all. Should a dog have it's own baby carriage? 

Signs of Sadness

I have had my share of health issues, that's for sure. I have had relationship problems, that's for sure. I don't think I've seen so much suffering in the last years as this man. It occurred to me, that in perspective, my life has been fairly easy. The old man sat in front of his cocktail, silently, not having to say anything. I sat, sipping my beer, wondering if things would turn out this way for me. Would I eventually wear such signs of sadness?

How Much Am I Worth

How much am I worth? I really want to know this about myself. How much am I going to discount? How much am I going to "sweetin the deal?" This, of course, trickles down to much more than just lost money. Everyone always wants a better deal, don't they?

Sadness

The old man really missed his wife. For him, survival spun around his health and her demise. I imagine spending my whole life with the same partner and then waking up alone. The crisp lines of age were distinct. I could see the wear, the sadness, and the affects of so much pain. 

Am I True

I reach deep inside myself, the necessity of self-preservation, for salvation. I am a very serious person, much more serious than anyone would ever give me credit. But am I a real man? That's the question. Am I true, within me. Do I have it in me, to move towards a whole new level of being? At the same time, I slip from self-preservation. I slip from everything that stands most important. Sincerity sits like everything that it should. I know the game, and it really is a game.

A Better Existence

When I function on all cylinders, my life is a beautiful thing. I need to feel comfortable, yet never seem to be able. I need to feel meaning in my every day existence. I need to know that I am able to fulfill my potential. I need to focus on my ideas, both creatively and in everyday practicality. I need to feel expansion through knowledge, to open my inner-self for opportunity. I just need to know, to fight, to kick and scream for a better life. 

Whether I Have, or Have Not

When I'm being mocked, it's tough to take. The one thing that I know about myself, I have potential. Whether I really have, or haven't, I don't know. I feel like I have potential. Isn't that all of the difference? I have to feel like I am great, in order to be great. Don't I? How can I be a better person? How can I be great? These questions challenge me. Hopefully, I can figure this out. 

Sincerity

The quietness of the church awakens my senses. I look up into the vast expanse and ponder my existence. Why am I here? My stomach growls and I am hungry. I pray for forgiveness. I pray for strength. I pray that I can open my heart for all that remains good. I need to block all that is bad. The quietness lingers and my mind wanders. I try and concentrate, but am unable. When without, my mind slows and I am unable to cut through the exploration of where I need to be. My life starts and ends with sincerity. With sincerity, I become a better person. Quietness still lingers, the church continues to awaken my senses. 

A Deep Breath

People continue to pass. Content thinking their own thoughts, deep within themselves. Life doesn't always seem so easy. I take another deep breath, a very deep breath. I begin to live again, to feel, to embrace humanity. Despite my immediate problems, I know that I am in the right place. Deep within myself, I feel calm. Everything will be alright. 

Poverty

It's days like today that I feel full of life, unfortunately. I have no money, I'm hungry, I'm down,  yet alive in the city. I get to focus on the roots of my humanity, the basic essentials. Not by choice mind you. Poverty has a certain aura within itself, for better and for worse. The struggles in my existence can energize. It can pull a person towards a new level of feeling, for better and for worse. Poverty can also be very difficult. 

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Catching Her Breath

New York sits in her hallowed shell, breathing deep breaths of slumber. People are sparse, I notice them and they see me. My anonymity revealed, as if for the first time. And yet there is peace. I see everything and am reminded of the fact that I am only passing through. Dog walkers stroll with their pets, content in the Sunday morning slumber. The city breathes slowly, catching her breath, as if for the first time. 

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Fulfilling My Potential

I still have a long way to go. I need to fulfill my potential. I need to become a better person, more well rounded, more caring and more sincere. I continue to pray, everyday. Slipping into the vast expanse of St. Patrick's Cathedral, asking for guidance and forgiveness. I still have a long way to go, but I'm going to make it. I will become a better person. I will fulfill my potential. 

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The Letter "R"

The big, lesbian bartender looked at me and told me the truth. "I've been carrying this big letter "R" around my neck all the way from Brooklyn." I laughed, more scared of this woman's presence than anything. I'm using the word "woman," very loosely, at this point. Apparently, she and her girlfriend found a large, letter "R," in an antique shop. A rather large "R," vintage remains from a sign, form a long deceased business. They had decided to give the letter as a gift for a newly married friend, carrying a new last name that begins with, of course, "R." She carries the big letter "R" around her neck, all two hundred-fifty pounds of, very "manly" woman. I wonder if the "R" really stands for "Religion." Maybe, she carries God around her neck for the day.

Hard Lines

I head uptown, towards the Prophet. Yoel beckons me, calling me towards his gallery. The mystic prophet calls me uptown, far from the comforts of downtown me. The rain continues to fall, holding my personality down. I feel lines forming on my face, hard ones. I see the man next to me in the diner, a hard life, with hard lines on his face. I see myself becoming that man. I sip my coffee and feel the caffeine running through my veins. I feel the energy boost, I feel a sharp "zap." How deep will the lines run in my face?

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I'm ready

With two suitcases and hopes for a future, I land in New York City. I don't have much money in my pocket, but then, I don't have much to lose. I'm ready to risk it all. I'm ready to go for it and make things happen. It's time to open myself and my creative verve. Open myself to that outside energy that steers me toward my own empowerment, and potentially my own devastation. I open and let things flow. What is my destiny? Who is this person, the creative force passing through me. I have to open myself, I hope that I can. Creativity surrounds me. Sometimes, it doesn't always come. Sometimes, I open myself, only to be slammed by life and creative nothingness. Sometimes, I just feel nothing at all.

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I Can't Sweat the Small Stuff

Outside, the rain pours, splattering against New York City asphalt jungle. The weather grabs my personality. Where is God when I really need him? Hard faces register around the diner. Apparently, I'm not the only one affected by dreary weather. The weather makes everyone somber, although somehow I find it comforting, in a distant, abstract, sort of way. I look around the diner again. Weathered faces are everywhere. I study their lines, their wear and tear. The guy next to me looks grizzled. Hardened and tough, in only a New York City way. So many years of friction, so many tough years, the faces read like the inner circles of an old tree. There's a lot of age, a lot of miles in the diner. In New York, I can't sweat the small stuff. Life will bury me alive, literally. No, I can't sweat the small stuff. Grizzled, hardened, tough faces are everywhere. I breath it all in, while searching for God. Somehow, I know that I'm not going to find him today. 

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Grasping Knowledge

I'm going to find some answers one way or another. If God wants to be elusive, than I'm going to keep searching. I'm grasping for knowledge. If only I could grasp understanding. There has to be some sort of theory that makes sense, or at least one that will resonate. All of this remains to be seen. I'm hoping for the best. What else can I do?

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How Ridiculous It All Seems

I'm searching for God to give me some straightforward answers. Unfortunately, he's not here. I keep moving. A homeless man asks me for money, turning to me for help. How ridiculous it all seems. The unfortunate begging from an empty soul, nothing more than a vicious cycle. As I head home, I give away my last dollar. My pockets are empty and I have nothing. How ridiculous it all seems.  

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The Hand of God

 From the hand of God, I believe. I know when a person opens his heart and the vision comes from a different place. I know. It's happened to me, personally. It's happening right now. I open the current and feel a pulse. I open towards the hand of God. Tapping into the current of a higher force. He's out there, he most certainly is.

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A Higher Power

Springtime blossoms, opening New York City. Life comes alive. I feel the energy. I feel that intangible "nip of warmth," quite the opposite of that "nip of cold." I walk the streets and feel that warmth. I feel the city opening out of a tight shell. Springtime represents a time of growth, a time of regeneration. I feel this on the city street. I feel a higher power.

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God's Little Mysteries

There has to be some sort of practical application, I think. I mean what's the purpose of this whole experience? I walk the streets of New York City taking life inside myself. Just breathing it all in. And only God knows what I'm really breathing. I don't know if I want to know. I walk the streets looking for practical application. I seek answers for God's little mysteries. I want to understand what I see. I breathe everything in, but who knows what I'm really breathing. And do I want to really know?

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Give It to Me, Baby!

I don't like to pussyfoot around when I'm after something. I don't really have the patience to hold back, you know what I mean. I'm on a quest here. I want some answers. I head into the streets, heading downtown, towards Greenwich Village. I'm on a quest for knowledge, for preservation. Mostly, I'm just looking for some sort of supernatural experience. I've said it before. I just want to feel warm and fuzzy all over. I want to see some lights. I want to hear voices, the ones I can't explain, the one's that freak me out. I'm here to open myself, to gut myself like a fish, cleansing my insides. Give me some knowledge, some cleansing, some healing. Give it to me, baby!

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I Sip My Coffee and Wonder

I sip my coffee and wonder, still sitting in the corner of the Brazilian coffee house. How come God always seems to spend his time at Dunkin Donuts? Maybe I should go down there and look for him. You would think that with his means, he might be inclined to find something fancier, maybe a French Bistro, or a Starbucks, at least. Why is God so inclined to spend his time at Dunkin Donuts? I sip my coffee and wonder. 

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Difficult Questions

I was in Dunkin Donuts and there he was. God sat in the corner having a cup of coffee. The remants of an undistinguished donut remained in the unkempt fur of his beard. Scraggly and  dirty, God needed to take better care of himself. I moved towards him, unsure of myself after the last time we spoke. "So God, what's the meaning of life?" I ask, ready for some answers. He looks up at me, obviously bothered by my presence. "Son, I wouldn't tell you, even if I knew." He says to me, simultaneously jumping to his feet and heading out the door. I stood there listless, without answers to some very difficult questions.

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God and Dali

The rain continues to splatter with it's rhythmic chime. I feel nothing. Sheltered from the meaning of life, I attempt to resurrect my own personal meaning. The rhythmic splatter continues to chime. My life marches on without me. A vast emptiness of a certain plane, a landscape stuck in surrealist light, not unlike a Dali painting. A painting that's a definite landscape, yet futuristic and scientific, vast and complex, exploring insanity. Outside parameters setting a true example of the human condition. Actually, very much like the surrealist landscape, not unlike Salvador Dali and his strokes of  a master. The box expands outside of the human condition, asking if there remains a box at all? And just like that, the landscape changes before my eyes and there's no longer any painting at all. 

Miracles Do Happen

Miracles do happen, or so I've been told. They do, I know they do. Whether or not I can actually see any sort of miracle remains foggy. Sometimes, I miss everything. Life becomes like one giant brushstroke in the night. A fast, smooth stroke wiped across everything. The pigment absorbs color, the night changes. And just like that, a miracle has happened, but I've missed it. Color falls into the seam. A picture emerges, although not always clear. The rhythm of the brush twists and turns. Miracles continue to happen. We are forced to move forward. We inhale and exhale. Our breathing rises and falls. We are unable to stop. A great brushstroke continues through the night, while miracles do happen.

I'm Just a Lab Rat

Sometimes, I feel like a lab rat trying to find his way through a maze. Some sort of crazy scientist hovers above, documenting my behavior, writing on a chart exactly what I do. I'm really part of a science experiment. I'm just a lab rat, without the knowledge to find my way. I'm just a lab rat relying completely on instinct. My maze bends around, and this crazy scientist follows my every move. Studying me from above, but never helping.

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I am Alive

New York can be so quiet. Quietness really isn't that great. At least, I don't think so. But who am I? Just another transplant. It doesn't take long to get into a flow of a certain pace. A certain rhythm of life. My living in the city explores every level of being. I head downtown towards Union Square, and then into the West Village. A crisp, moisture cold,  clings in the air. I am alive. My day opens ahead of me. I head downtown. I head into uncharted territory, and new adventure. Today's the day the doors open and I feel warm and fuzzy all over. I crave noise and bustle and motion. But it's still quiet. If I can just retain my sanity, I'll be okay. Let's not get carried away, of course. Let's not get carried away with expectations. It's early in the day, it's just begun. I know that I am heading in the right direction. Crisp air sharpens my senses. Razor sharp on a quiet New York City morning. I am alive. 

Who does She Think She Is?

This lady was the equivalent of a female dog. And I mean this with all sincerity, I do. Here I am, you know, looking for God. Who do I find? Satan. I'm still not feeling warm and fuzzy all over. Don't I deserve better? I think that I really do, at this point. Who does she think she is, anyway? I'm really just trying to find my rhythm. I mean really, I am. I know there's a higher meaning here, something that I keep missing.

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God Answered Me

I do not understand how I became such a religious person, or a spiritual person, or at least a person that spends much time thinking about God. Maybe it has to do with St. Patrick's Cathedral. I first ventured into the enormous, immaculate, church, when I began my job interviews, last year. I walked in and began to pray. At the time, I had nothing. I was in a deep spiral downward. My life was exploding like a stick of dynamite. I looked into the large expanse of the beautiful ceilings, and began to talk with God. For the first time in my life, I asked him to make me a better person. I prayed for sincerity, for honesty. I asked to fulfill my potential. And God answered me, at least I think that he did?

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Warm and Fuzzy

Trying to find God in New York City has been rough. Why can't I just feel warm and fuzzy all over? God continues to elude me, but I keep searching. I want to hear some voices, I want to be moved, give me some serious inspiration. I walk the streets alone, just trying to find my way. I see beauty. I see famine and homelessness, and everything ugly in the world. Maybe I'm seeing God already, I still want to feel warm and fuzzy all over. I want to hear voices and be moved. 

God seems Elusive

I check Dunkin Donuts again, but he's not there. He is not where I need him to be. He is not helping me. I pull into a diner and sit at the bar. I order coffee and a burger. I look around for God, but I cannot see him. He seems so elusive, but I continue to search anyway. 

The Spiritual Gutter

The rain pitter patters outside my bedroom window. Striking with a slap, as the water pounds the outside pavement. I think long and hard about my longing and about my needs. Yesterday, I stood in front of the Buddhist temple in Chinatown. I watched and prayed. I saw men connect with God, yet I felt nothing. Nothing but anticlimax, I am on the outside looking in. Why can't I feel good about life's little lessens? I often feel like I'm on the outside looking in, deep in a spiritual gutter.

Hiding From Myself

I can't run away from myself, that's for sure. As much as I try, I just can't seem to do so. I try and hide, but my demons always seem to find me. I run for cover, but my demons always seem to track me down. I just can't seem to run away. I walk quickly past Dunkin Donuts, I don't want to see God tonight. Of course my version of God doesn't seem to exist, or so he told me last time that we spoke. I believe that he's out there, entrenched somewhere in Manhattan. 

Searching the Streets

I walk the city streets searching for some sort of spiritual awakening. My journey, however well meaning, remains nothing more than a journey into a brick wall. I do feel a certain freedom when I'm on the streets. However twisted that it may seem, there's a crispness and verve in the constant grind and friction that makes New York City the place to be. I have a romantic notion of it all, which always seems to get me into trouble. My journey continues, I continue to walk the streets. 

The Wrong God

"So God, are you going to talk with me, or not?" He stops chewing on his donut, some crumbs and a little custard hang in the vicinity of his mouth, but not quite."Son, you've got the wrong God. The God that you want doesn't exist." And he looked away and kept right on chomping on his Boston Creme. I stood and headed out the door, heading home, bewildered, confused again. I stumbled out onto 3rd Avenue. Once again, I had come close. Once again, I felt further from the truth. I took a deep breath and felt the city verve. God still escapes me, but I continue to look.

Finding God at Dunkin Donuts

Finding God is one thing, finding him sitting at a table in Dunkin Donut's is something quite remarkable. Who would have thought that Dunkin Donuts could draw such a crowd. But there he was, chomping away on a Boston Creme, the sweetest of the sweetest, even by Dunkin Donut's standards. I sat down at the table right beside him. He has this deperate look, you know, like a guy who really needs a cigarette. So I say, "God, is that you, or are the donuts getting to me." He keeps right on chomping, ignoring me, kind of like he always has. I have always expected a lot from him, and received very little in return. Now I want some answers, and here he is. Ignoring me, chomping away on his donut.