We create our own inertia, movement, chaos.
We align ourselves with the tumbleweeds of our thoughts, the shooting stars of our imaginations, the rainbows of our fantasies.
We build bridges into other kingdoms while taking our rightful place on the thrones of our creations.
Our minds are the fertile grounds of our future. Our thoughts are the building blocks of our own predestined worlds. We write the stories of our lives with the ink of our blood, the parchment of our skin, and the mechanisms of our sweat and tears.
Our fantasies flow into the streets of our reality; creating new alleys and crossroads, constructing new dimensions and dwelling places – leading us to richer, more complex surroundings in order to fulfill our purpose, complete our deeds, and finish the assignment that we were sent here to do when we first made up our minds and agreed to return to this physical, natural Earth that we come to rely on as our home.
“If you would not be forgotten,
as soon as you are rotten,
either write things worth reading
or do things worth the writing.”
Photo by L. J. Priest
Quietly they steal away
The reflections of a challenging day.
The pictures that skipped across my view
go scattering into the night,
Only to wind their way back
into my brain
Through the pathways
of my dreams.
Picture taken in Trujillo, Honduras. Photo and poem productions of L. J. Priest
All rights reserved.
The winter is for the young and foolish. Give me a warm beach, with white sands and crystal blue waters. Take me away from the Nordic winds and bitter chills, and give me Latin music with a strong beat, a full dance floor, and a beautiful man to jump and sway with me into the early morning hours. Give me a strong drink of rum with a shot of lime, and a Cuban cigar smoldering beside my glass. I want to wake up in the morning and be greeted by a hot sun and warm breezes drifting in along the ocean shoreline. During my day, I want to move through a city that does not speak my language, but challenges me to communicate with words that are new and foreign to my ear. All around me I want to see smiling faces, and bright colors, and strange fruits and vegetables. I want to feel as though every day is a fresh day, and I am more alive now than I was yesterday. I want to wake from my northeastern daze and feel more vibrant with every breath of the Caribbean air. I long to be a foreigner, living in a strange and exotic land.
“For what is the purpose of sleep but to dream,
and what is the purpose of life but to fulfill those dreams.”
L. J. Priest