Reflections Of A Camino: 900+ Km On Foot From Southern France To The Western Coast Of Spain. The Trials And Tribulations Of Experience.

20180920_123745

Recently, I undertook the grand excursion to walk the Camino Frances. My journey started in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, France and technically ended at the cathedral in Santiago de Compostella, Spain. Realistically, it ended at the airport in Vigo, Spain.

At the end of this journey, I find myself a changed man with a changed perspective I guess walking 900km on foot with a pack will do that to a person. There were literal ups and downs, but to be honest with you– I LOVED EVERY DAMN MINUTE OF ITIt is something I would do again, and it is something I would recommend to ANYONE.

And I really mean ANYONE!

Continue reading “Reflections Of A Camino: 900+ Km On Foot From Southern France To The Western Coast Of Spain. The Trials And Tribulations Of Experience.”

Advertisements

Memoirs of the Mediterranean

Screenshot (58).png

First Impressions

The city is so much darker than what I am used to. It’s great actually.

There is an over abundance of stimulating blue light EVERYWHERE in Toronto. What with all the LED’s– Hi-Def this, Hi-Def that. Here in Athens it doesn’t seem so. There is a simple dim lighting everywhere. Though the stars aren’t as plentiful as if you were in a more remote area, you can still see the sky with a little bit more– clarity. Clarity might not even be the word for it, as everything just seems closer. Closer, as if it is possible in reaching the moon with a stretching fingertip. Beyond this, the feel of this place is so relaxed, and very open.

There is life– an open, uninhibited life: Continue reading “Memoirs of the Mediterranean”

A Struggling Poem- Do you know what it is to be buried alive?

celtic cross
Photo by Adrian Moran on Unsplash

Do you know what it is to be buried alive?

To be smothered and smoldered, set on fire to keep you from infesting others.

Do you know what it is to be buried alive?

Isolated from love, simply out of the incapacity to reciprocate it properly.

Do you know what it is to be buried– Alive? Continue reading “A Struggling Poem- Do you know what it is to be buried alive?”

The wanderlust way- Picking up on the cowards back.

explorer2

I keep falling for wanderlust, while encountering souls who are on this journey:

To journey.

And in this journey– To Journey — there is an urge to follow an individually unique path… With reason to this notice:

Synchronicity.

Continue reading “The wanderlust way- Picking up on the cowards back.”

Through The Fog — The Bridge To Nowhere

smokytreexing

I walked upon a bridge and grasped–

A hand placed left, while the right– the right dangles freely, yet lifeless– Barely grasping the air.

With one foot alongside the other–A glimpse into the prospective path:

Surreal,

Mystical,

Fog,

All three characteristics exist alone, and simultaneously together– the moment within itself. Continue reading “Through The Fog — The Bridge To Nowhere”

A Brief Moment In Delirium– High on Coffee and Sweet, Sweet Jazz!

camera

THIS IS:

DOCUMENTING HUMAN

The following is a brief example on being human– at least in the most random sense of a moment.

We all experience a whole assortment of thoughts, or collections as we go about our days. Afterall, we are what we think.

To set the scene:

I was about two hours into some computer work at Starbucks. With a good caffeine boost– my own delirium got the best of me.

Behold, Another human! :

Frantic, unorganized, and delirious in thought. Continue reading “A Brief Moment In Delirium– High on Coffee and Sweet, Sweet Jazz!”

Littermature Excerpt- Crunching Numbers, and Coming of Age.

Screenshot (93)
Crunching Numbers

Littermature: The Ugly Face of the Mind — Excerpt:


‘Coming of age’ What can that possible mean? Continue reading “Littermature Excerpt- Crunching Numbers, and Coming of Age.”

An Aged Poem- My Friend, So Long.

tombstone.jpg

Hello old friend,

it has been so long, I don’t know where to begin.

I remember when we met– young and naive — together we trodden around, hoping to never grow old.

Our problems were minimal, only the day at hand, and what was to become of it was our only real concern.

Friend’s forged brothers. Continue reading “An Aged Poem- My Friend, So Long.”