Be One With Your Experience

I'm a writer-for-hire, a poet, and a fine artist (mostly by way of charcoal medium). My biggest focus in life is to be mindful, so as to enjoy a given moment for what it is. I feel this way of living could benefit you in many ways; be it domestically, financially, or more importantly, spiritually. I pray my writings and sketches, at the very least, spark even just an ember within, that in time may become the fire that moves you.

[itagthewind-blog]

Had a beautiful time with my wife, Sammi, and our daughter Aela, at Aela's first ever pumpkin patch!

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A Meditative State By A. Sean Cordero Once upon a beaten path The boy walked on alone Disregarding all his past Disowning his home Grief pursued his every move Tears oft on his cheek He'd draw or write just to self soothe But Grief caught up out on the street Insomnia stole his nights away Oft he'd lye awake and pray, "Dear universe don't let them stay: The memories of yesterday!" Day in and out he'd feel then flee Until one dawn by riverside The Sun dancing, he saw clearly, upon the water with his Third Eye A voice he heard from deep within A soft song like a spell His spirit played tag with the wind As all his worries fell When he came-to he was not grim Nor did he wear a frown The meditative state healed him, Alas! He's homeward bound!

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"A Vagrant Struggle" By A. Sean Cordero Harken to me!- this static hum appears in my dream, Where Nothing is ever as it may seem Floating balloon people; their eyes without gleam The slurring words from their lips mean nothing The streets are a-slop yet the cars are kept clean... Can't see their reflection in Millennium Park's "Bean" And club house music's deflecting their scream Thus, streets full of zombies, for that them I deem For centuries the cause was unseen Until revealed -on lips to which- say what they mean This was not so without "Them" minding Assassination! Itchy fingers scratched at precise timing The evolution of Us has stopped climbing Woodland drifters -with words- writ for rhyming Manifesting poetry when the mind is unwinding A soft forest breeze sets my wind chimes a-chiming A poets itchy finger's scratched at precise timing. . .

[simplydonecrochet]

Handmade Crochet, Sidewalk Shawl, Scarf, Autumn, Fall Clothing, Crochet Scarf, Women’s Clothing, Pumpkin Scarf, Fall Scarf, Fall Accessories

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Beautiful handmade shawl, perfect for the brisky autumn season. Order yours today!

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Spending time with Bessy. Just fed her her two bananas. She loves bananas. These cows are sick and have been here awaiting a verdict to which I have feared for some weeks... But for the most part I always sit out here on my breaks and speak with them, read to them, feed them, and just overall vibe positively with them. These animals have had the utmost misfortune of being born a species doomed to be labeled "food" and moreover, a product. But having spent so much time with them, I see them for what they are. Sentient beings with personalities and a character that will ache your heart; especially if you've ever watched the documentaries about how they're treated on farms behind closed doors. I love these animals. They've become my friends. I do my best to make sure the time they have here, they know not all us apes are cruel and heartless.

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Reflection Sets You in the Right Direction.

Here I sit in the small demo kitchen in Lyles-Porter Hall, of Purdue University. I am currently on break, listening to “Counting Stars” by Nujabes. It’s dimly lit, smells of cleaning products, and no trace of a single sound; my ideal atmosphere for creative writing.

How can one be so certain s/he knows who s/he is if we are all in a constant state of change? Who you are today may be completely different than who you will be tomorrow. This goes especially for you sentimental souls who are forever soul searching... Dare i confess I proclaim myself as such? 

Grab your phone and listen to “Reflection Eternal” by Nujabes. Don’t just hear the song; really listen to what it means to you. Try walking to it, like in a Forest, down an empty train track, on a deserted beach, somewhere you can get away from it all. 

Is it not just me, that this song is about the sensation in your chest when you first embraced your first childhood pet? Maybe its followed by that ever human question; Where are you now? Where do we go? Does anyone truly know?

Maybe this song speaks to you about a parent who passed away: How much love was shared between you two, and how much of who you are today you can confidently say you owe to them... Sometimes this song is about the small birds, playing tag in the courtyard between the buildings I work in, during my break. How beautiful is it to see another species having fun in a manner you can relate to? Remember playing “Johnny Come Across” in the school lot with friends? How about Freeze Tag, “It”, Hide and Seek? You name it, we all played it as kids. Where does the time go?

I’m listening to Nujabes’ “Araurian Dance” now.

It reminds of the years that taught me to see with the eyes I see with today: Eyes for the body language that reveal the signs in what my company is feeling and thinking, and how I might sway the conversation in order to help them feel comfortable with me.

It reminds me of the years that taught me to feel with the heart I feel with today: A heart that, more often than not, picks up on the vibes my company is emitting, and how I might express myself in a way that aims at helping them feel comfortable with themselves.

I have travelled much terrain and met many beautiful souls. Some struggle with trying to be like someone else. Some with convincing themselves they are (what they deem) successful. Some just want to be a part of all the experiences physically possible in one life time, or to have as many material possessions as the other. And some... Some walk on the outskirts of society, observing, thinking, FEELING, “vibing”. They all have something in common though: They were once children who watched birds play, and who hugged their pets and loved their parents.

So who are you really? I’m still finding out everyday myself...

[simplydonecrochet]

Check out this item in my Etsy shop

[itagthewind-blog]

Beautiful arts and crafts, from things you can wear to things your child or pet can wear, and things to accessorize your home, office, and utilities with! This woman is pure talent. Check her craft out!

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Driving at work, windows down, music off. Just sitting with the World. Soaking it all in without the influence of the media. No stimulation from phones or radios. Nothing. Just you and the road. Bring a whole new meaning to the term, "Live a little".

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Never did Homo sapiens feel his daily situations were so small as when he submitted to the Power of the Universe. The expanse that went on endlessly, tugging at his pineal gland with a soft buzzing. Hearing and feeling everything, and nothing. Empty your mind. Be formless; shapeless. Release that which you think you know, to grasp that which is Real. Chief Tashunke Witko said it best: "the world of man is but a shadow of the real world".

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Watch for the Signs

The glare of the sunlight reflected off his aviator sunglasses. His leathery knuckled hand firmly gripped his steaming hot mug of green tea. Tears streamed down his stubbled cheeks from beneath his shades, teeth gritting. The hard crashing music of “Kvelertak” blared from his headphones.

‘He’s dead...’, he thought. ‘How?.... This kind of thing only ever happened to the phony actors on t.v., didn’t it?’

He had just moments earlier gotten a call from his kid sister who was weeping heavily, choking over her words. He had been impatient with her, feeling the angst that came when ones heart drops into their lower intestine, barking at her to spit the marbles out of her mouth.

“Dad had a heart attack!”, she wailed in her misery.

And yet it all seemed a lifetime ago, for now he sat at his little wooden table at his favorite grunge cafe which was all so alien to him now. It was brightly lit by the sun’s beaming rays. He was surrounded by the consistent high rattle of light hearted human voices, but as far as he was concerned he was in complete solitude. Running through a continuous sequence of nostalgic recollection, he felt almost as though it were an anamnesis. The distant images of his father from years past felt like life times ago.

The young man remembered as if it were yesterday a night where he tossed and turned with the fits of a nightmarish reality swelling around him. He would scream if not for the fear of attracting evil attention. Almost as if suffocating from the world, he gasped, trying to take hold of some coherent thought. Just than, in an adjacent room, his fathers powerful and all too familiar cough shook the night. His fears subsided instantly, having been reassured his father was within earshot... How often he’d thought about that night growing up whenever anxiety gripped his throat. And than, as if struck by lightning to the heart, he realized what it all meant. Someone who was at one time warm, and full of boisterous laughter; a reassuring voice... Someone who had the ability to empower him with a firm grip of the shoulders, and who had the strength to silence the malignant mental chatter with just a stern pull of the eyes... is now...

He thought, ‘It is because of my father and his love that I exist at all, and here I am small and powerless over a love for the man who exists no more...’

He held his composure as the pain gripped his throat. He flipped through photos on his phone, looking for the last one he had even taken of his father. He than fumbled onto a collection of Bruce and Brandon Lee photos. One of Brandon Lee all clad in jet black for his roll as “The Crow” caught his attention. There on it’s side read a quote attributed to the actor. It read:

“Because we don't know when we will die, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. And yet everything happens only a certain number of times and a very small number, really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, an afternoon that is so deeply a part of your being that you cannot conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more? Perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty... And yet it all seems limitless...”

Just than he noticed his watch read ‘11:11′. He took it as a sign...

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Forgive

The young man prayed as he meditated. Ascended masters of old hovered above and finally reached out to him again after a long absence. 

“Forgive.” They whispered. “Forgiveness… It is a component of self-healing, and the key to compassion. Anything and anyone who ever upset you, let it go and forgive the hurt.”

When the young man did this, his mind, the steed, could be dismounted and tied to a post to rest.

He was starting a new journey by ending the other. He would learn that he did not have to run away anymore.

Forgive yourself.

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Sacrifice

The wild boy sat cross-legged with a hurt heart; his journal sprawled out in his lap, pen in hand.

‘Why am i still here?’, he wrote. ‘I feel stuck between industries who hold sway over my fate.’ He was still a grocer for a big corporation, to his great dismay. ‘Day after day of the same exhausting drawl... How has the world come to this? We are all enslaved... We all sacrifice freedom for “security”. I recall walking, long haired, dirty, and FREE along the mountainside. No company held sway over me... In fact, the only sway I knew was that of the sighing trees in the warm wind. Bliss for lack of luxury. Freedom for lack of “security”.’

“Let me run free of this!”