Drew

Meditations and short stories

[ripplesofregrowth]

“Is ordinary life capable of containing the depth I know exists?” ☀️

I have been waking up with a soft existential dread setting into my soul. I wake up, look at my blank wall and hug my pillow. The pillow does not show me love but embraces me with a feeling of lost time.

I sit and stare at the ceiling. Fighting the urge to look at my phone because I know that looking at my phone early in the morning is not good for me.

The reason unclear to me as I vaguely remember a talking face on Youtube telling me I shouldn't check my phone after waking up. My eyes follow the fan as I try to remember why but the truth is, I know at a deeper level- an instinctual level, you shouldn't. Its very disconnecting..

I look at my aging dog and remember how fleeting time is. I look outside to a fence I had built with my own two hands and remember the happiness that was felt waking up the following morning and being able to let the dogs outside without them running off and terrorizing the neighborhood. Onix walks up to the fence and dramatically collapses to the grass as she enjoys the sun within the comfort of the yard.

There were two dogs, now there is one. Cancer got the other one but she was given the best life she could with the time we had but the image of one dog laying in the grass next to the fence that once brought me pride makes me wonder if the fence actually keeps me in instead of keeping others out.

Its a big world after all and when you zoom in from Google Maps it takes awhile to find Kentucky and even longer to find my little square I felt so proud of that now feels more like a prison.

I sip my coffee and the idea that I can abstractly understand the vastness of the universe and my place in it while staring at my little patch of grass while feeling discontent makes me laugh.

The Knicks won the playoffs and I wounder how wembanyama is dealing with the loss. Newyork is probably a lot of fun right now.

My girlfriend comes up behind me, gives me a kiss on the cheek and for a moment it feels like the universe conspired for me to have a second of happiness even if it was just for a brief period of time but I know it won't last.

Tomorrow I will wake up look at the same wall, hug the same pillow and wonder to myself,

"This can't be it? Can it?"

[ripplesofregrowth]

I've been thinking a lot about abstract time recently.

The Greeks described time in two different ways: Chronos and Kairos.

Chronos Refers to the linear progression on time - 1:00pm, January, 2026 etc.

Where Chronos is quantitative, Kairos is qualitative, meaning it measures moments.

Kairos refers to the quality and depth of experience you have at a given time. Think, you are having a fun, meaningful conversation with somebody. The moments feel richer and more enjoyable and that is because you are experiencing it in Kairos time.

If there is a goal it is to spend more moments in Kairos time.

This is where things get interesting. I believe due to the access on our phones we are creating a new state of time. We watch videos on YouTube and scroll through instagram, seeing things that were made in the past but we sit watching them like they are happening right now.

This breaks away from the Kronos v Cairos way of experiencing time. You sit stationary while your mind and soul processes a video that was posted weeks, months and even years ago... Consuming preserved fragments of somebody else's Kairos time, absorbing other people's moments without creating your own.

If I had to name it, I would label it as Proxied Ambient Time because there is stimulation without embodiment. Presence without agency. Exposure without risk.

But you are not required.

Bathed in stimulation. Voices, stories, updates, outrage, humor, beauty. You are present but not participating. Aware but not acting. Stimulated but not changed.

You read a Facebook updates that was written last week or, watch an Instagram video that was made last year and before you know it... Time has just slipped away.

[ripplesofregrowth]

I used to think the weight I was carrying was the price of being responsible, that if I loosened my grip even slightly, something would break and it would be my fault.

So I held tighter.

Some things do not fall apart when you let go. They reveal whether they were ever meant to be carried by you in the first place. And some things need to fall apart so a man can finally see what is actually his to steward.

The tunnel exposes this myth gently at first and mercilessly if ignored. It tightens not to punish a man, but to show him where he is still gripping out of fear rather than trust.

Letting go here is not abandonment. It is strength.

This is the irony of this wisdom.

What is seen and felt at the beginning as strength and virtue becomes obligation driven by a fear that your value is connected to your ability bear the burdens of things that were never yours to hold onto in the first place.

[ripplesofregrowth]

"I'm a paranoid schizophrenic who just ran out of meds. Sorry if I came off a certain kind of way."

The bus bounced as we hit a pot hole and rattled us like only a bus can.

He looked into my eyes as I looked back into his. These were eyes that looked inward frequently but I suspected not in a good way.

I noticed a blind spot in me yesterday. It wasn't one I could articulate until recently but here it is - I have taken for granted the idea that people are kind and truthful -

Let me elaborate.

Due to my work, I frequently deal with what I would consider to be the best that humanity has to offer. Self sacrifice for a betterment of the community i.e. a warriors spirit. Self improvement to increase the capacity of your depth of knowledge to again, care for others which ironically enriches your own life i.e A teachers spirit. Givers and listeners, strong and weak, shepherds and wolves, the misunderstood and the celebrated.. All united by a single spirit that lives in all healthcare workers. Or, atleast the ones that last more than a couple years.

Even the patients, I have found them to be truthful, witty and usually self aware because they have felt the gift that is depth of their own mortality.

And I, sometimes serve a role as someone who receives their new profound insights or manage their situations so they can live to possibly experience it.

However, this is not the way of the world. In the wild, where the streets are hard and the concretes cold, where not every house is a home and not every home has warmth. There lives the worst of us, uncared for either through self neglect or situations we are born into. A limited capacity of understanding what their own life is truly capable of either by their own ignorance or the lack of really caring. Where life lessons are learned through the pain of time, a lesson that probably should have been learned much earlier but through their own situations, learned much later and are now so behind it makes me wounder if it was even worth learning at all.

But then I have to ask myself, what does a good life even look like? Does my idea of what a good life look like apply loosely to all people? Who am I to even tell people what that could be?

Which leads me to a society middle group. Which is roughly where I belong but do not know how to relate but kinda do? All of us in this middle life possibly share in what a good life looks like:

- A warm house of love

- A body that is able to do daily tasks

- Meaningful work

- A community of people with mentors and people to teach but also have constructive feedback loops that provide meaningful engagement.

- A pet, hobby, or shared event that brings you happiness

- Enough money to make needs be met but also enough to buy an appetizer for dinner or a t-shirt at a concert and know it won't keep you from filling up gas in the car

- Travel occasionally

I believe this middle group and whatever exists slightly above it genuinely want what is best in some capacity for people and don't want others to suffer unjustly. However, like the schizophrenic I see eyes that look inwardly more often than not but I don't know exactly what they are looking inwardly to.

What exactly drives a sports fan of one team to fight a sports fan of another team? Serial daters that break up with others and leave them confused and heart broken? What makes someone stay in the same dead-end job? Or, relationships with family and friends that may not be going anywhere l but is comfortable and it beats the alternative? Self neglect even though there are recourses available? Coveting? Pride? Loathing? Bitterness? Resentfulness? Lust?

All of these things seem to be driving forces among my fellow humans in this middle group who pursue their own end goals and have enough of a social and financial buffer to do so.... Atleast the schizophrenic apologized.

[ripplesofregrowth]

He who fights with monsters might take care lest he become a monster. Fore, if you gaze into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you

-Nietzsche

[ripplesofregrowth]

Real life isn’t just about intellectual insights.

It’s lived experience, decisions, and actions.

Integrating wisdom and intelligence means grounding them in what you do, how you act, how you navigate the challenges in front of you.

[ripplesofregrowth]

The impediment to action advances action.

What stands in the way becomes the way.

-Marcus Aurelius

[ripplesofregrowth]

The persistence of memory by Salvador Dali & The Scream by Edvard MunchBoth

Both of these paintings share a tone that makes the viewer interpret the message on the canvas as the essence of melting.

One recognizing the passage of time and surrender to it. The other, a powerful symbol of anxiety and fear.

The persistence of memory is a snapshot of the infinite moments expressed by the melting clocks hanging from trees. The Scream show controlled whimsicalness; the color tones capturing the viewer in the present moment which is in conflicts with a face of terror that the eye is drawn too.

The Persistence of Memory signifies what will always be; The scream is a manifestation of the realization of what always has been.

Together they express a profound understand in an aspect of the human condition that relates to the philosophy of struggle with mortality and the passage of time.

[ripplesofregrowth]

Maybe it’s just me but the idea of boundary setting feels surface level. Sure, it can get you started but the nuances of how to hold them go beyond the advice itself.

If I yell at the tides at the right time they withdraw, but then they come back because it never really mattered anyway because the ocean will always be the ocean. Some people only know how to erode you until you’re so broken down that what was once righteous frustration is now exhaustion.

“I asserted my boundaries” you say. What happened?

And to you my poor soul I would say, you only did the minimum. Boundary holding is structural and It is up to you to build and reinforce the behaviors through communication, practice and life style that protects the pillars of your life.

And that is the beginning of true transformation because the ocean doesn’t care but the structure does.

Art: Ink and Tide

Reflection by Andrew Froelicher

[ripplesofregrowth]

-Death wasn’t the enemy 💀

My breathing labored and my eyes began to blur as i begged my body to remain calm to the back drop of a Chicago sunrise over Lake Michigan. The realization that I was going into anaphylactic shock made panic fill every synapse of my brain while I  pleaded with any rational part of my psyche to continue just one step at a time.

The sunset filled the icy blue waters with hues of orange and red while ducks floated happily, avoiding small pieces of ice that bobbed in the water, blissfully unaware of my predicament. Not that I would have wanted to bother the ducks with my situation anyway.

I make another forceful inhale almost like I was willing my self to breath with pure defiance of a fate that seemed to beckon me closer. My blurring eyes fixed on the trunk of my car as I could feel my Blood pressure dropping, a thought crossed my mind,

“If a peanut can kill a strong man, a wise man, a spiritual man, a kind man, a generous man, a man with the capacity of great love… then what is the point of it all anyway?

An odd time for existential crisis.

As I was stumbling to the car, suffocating on my own swollen airway Instead of fear, I felt annoyance.

I look through my travel bag, locate my Epi pen and thrust it into my thigh.

That annoyance was because I felt interrupted by my own becoming. I realized that Death wasn’t the enemy.

I call 911.

The idea of living a life unintentionally was.

The paramedics open their doors wide eyed. Their voices expressed surprise, almost like they were expecting to find a body instead of a consciousness looking back at them.

Life had claimed to me before death, and I have to believe that there was a reason why

-

Art by Gustav Klimt

Story by Andrew Froelicher

[ripplesofregrowth]

I never thought I would sink this low

So I reached out to the hand of god

I was gone but how was I to know

Because this mother fucker likes it wild

My eyes brighten as I get closer

but Instead of the hand of god, to my surprise

What reached down was my own.

[ripplesofregrowth]

-Life asked death, “Death…” ⏳⌛️

"I want to tell you a story," Jarad said, his voice low. He leaned forward, fingers laced, eyes flickering with something between amusement and warning."It’s not true," he added, with the faintest smile. "Except for the parts that are."

He let the silence breathe before continuing. "Life and Death were walking through the woods..."As the words left him, his tone shifted—slower now, almost reverent. "With every step Life took, the ground awakened. Grass pushed up through the soil. Flowers bloomed in her footsteps. There was something in her presence... a quiet promise, maybe? Like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for something beautiful to begin."

Jarad now comfortably sitting in his chair, "a little fluffy bunny" he said mockingly "saw Life and went to greet her but as the bunny got closer, it stopped. The bunny paused cautiously as the unmistakable image of Death seemed to float behind Life. A grey mist from Deaths cloak cascaded down until it hit the ground and slowly dispersed around him.

Death saw the bunny sitting in the middle of the path, its head slightly tilted- curious, but in a leery way. Unlike Life, Death brought stillness. The kind of stillness that made time hesitate. The kind that made even the wind forget to breath.

Death fixed his gaze on the creature. Slowly, the darkness beneath his hood began to shift. What had once been empty -black and endless- now shimmered with two bright blue flames that pulsed and danced like two stars poking out of the vastness of space. Slowly the flames illuminated the shadow of a skull, piece by piece, until there was no mistaking it, hovering in the endless darkness was the face of death himself: Ancient and cracked. Its surface lit from within, the flames burned where eyes should of been, casting light through the fractures like veins of fire. It watched the bunny- not with malice, but with inevitability.

"The bunny's ears..." Jarad put his hands above his head to symbolize the bunny, "had dropped." His own hands flopped lazily infront of his face as if to bring together the performance. "Death glared at the bunny as his jaw slowly separated until it was ominously hanging in the endless black."

"The bunny was frozen with fear."

"From the gaping mouth revealed a vortex of purples and blues that swirled with chaos and entropy that seemed to beckon the bunny to come closer.

The bunny had enough. Squealed, ran off and hid in the tall grass."

"Life paused." Jarad held up his index finger to convey patients "and when she did, long strands of grass and marigold flowers began to blossom at her feet." Jarad rested his hand back on the chair. "Life turned her head to find Death walking to a nearby tree. Life asked death, "Death? Living things love me but seem to hate you. Why is that?" Death reached into a hole that has been opened up from the bark of the tree revealing a dying bird that had been abandoned. Death held it in his hand and with reverence whispered, "Fear not my friend, you won't be alone any longer." Death bore witness as the bird took its final breath.

"You are a beautiful lie." Death began speaking to Life without acknowledging her. Death opened the cloak with his bony hand and when he did the energy of purples, blues and blacks flowed out of his chest. Death gingerly moving the bird closer to the outreaching energy flows that seemed to dance around the corpse and began to disintegrate into dust that shimmered in the suns rays as it fell onto the grass where life had grown at her feet.

"But I am a painful truth."

"As Death stepped into the distance, grass behind him withering- but only slightly, as if to challenge the earth to grow back. A bird landed on Life's shoulder and began to chirp bright and unbothered."

Jarad's eyes gazed drifted, not to anyone in the room, but somewhere further.

"Beautiful indeed." He murmured, almost as if to himself.

[ripplesofregrowth]

- Look up at the Stars, "what do you see?" 🌌

Some are as old as the universe itself. Some shine bright, some glimmer and sparkle while others serve more of a purpose: to guide us.

On special occasions, one will even reach down from the heavens in the form of a shooting star. Once an embodiment of influence, insight and revelation dances for us one last time as it burns in the atmosphere before crashing into this hard unforgiving earth.

These simple balls of hydrogen enchant us. We look up at these awe inspiring marvels but the empty hunger of our souls yearn for more and instead of being content with their individual beauty, we connect them.

Our ignorance shapes the sky into forms that paint the night into a beautiful mosaic. Once you activate a little bit of imagination; the shapes pop out like they have always been there. You stare up at their majesty and smile with a tear in your eye, "how foolish am I? How could I not have seen it this whole time?" You think.

Now you see these stars for what they are! Animals, warriors, supernatural whimsical mystical creatures but even more powerful: A story.

These shapes that we create on the night sky tell a story that desperately gives meaning to the mundane, explains our suffering and gives us hope. When we pass down a story long enough, cry out to these shapes with enough passion and fervor something happens... These stories create gods. Gods demand worship, worship demands obedience, obedience reliqueneshs us from responsibility and when you free yourself from the responsibilities of this life you become controllable. Wars, sacrifices, needless death of millions have been because of one man or woman looked at the stars and yearned to see more. They offered hope, grandure and salvation but these shapes that we worshiped were never real, they were made up by lonely dreamers.

Now, let me ask you again. Look up at the night sky,

"What do you see?"

Story by: Andrew Froelicher

[ripplesofregrowth]

- Screams replaced the stillness, and through the smoke came the shadows of charging creatures.. alive with fury, fearless in the ruins and ravenous with blood lust 🌒

How many pushups can you do without stopping?” the first soldier asked, grinning as the bunker shook around them. Dust drifted down from the ceiling, settling in his hair like snow.

The second soldier glanced up at the trembling concrete, unsure if it would hold. “A hundred and twenty-five,” he said quietly, shifting his weight.

“Not bad!” his friend laughed. “I can do one forty-three. Strongest in my class.”

Another blast ripped through the air — the shriek of shells followed by the sound of the earth groaning. The two men ducked, hearts pounding, waiting for the echoes to fade.

When silence returned, the first soldier crept toward the narrow window slit. “Look!” he whispered, motioning for the other to join him. Beyond the trench line, a massive barricade stretched across the battlefield. “That’s the Great Wall of Karath,” he said with awe. “Built by the finest engineer our army’s ever had. We’re safe here.”

The second soldier stared at the wall. For a moment, he wanted to believe it, to trust that stone and pride could hold back the chaos on the other side.

Then the sky screamed. A round of mortars tore through the clouds and the impact on the ground came like thunder.

The “impenetrable” wall shattered into flame and dust. Screams replaced the stillness, and through the smoke came the shadows of charging creatures.. alive with fury, fearless in the ruins and ravenous with blood lust.

The bunker door burst open. A figure filled the frame… tall and draped in armor but calm.

“Captain Zurgo,” the soldiers breathed.

“Follow me,” he said, “We attack.”

Story by: Andrew Froelicher

[ripplesofregrowth]

- What have you kept? 🌾

The Winter equinox the year of 2025 was December 21st.

With the change of season should come a change in mindset and direction. Winter is a time of renewal, regeneration and gathering with community to share knowledge. If Autumn asks you to harvest what you've grown than winter asks what have you kept? What was real enough to store and preserve?

During this season it's important to contemplate our understanding of and relationship with the concepts of nourishment and rejuvenation while also recognizing that survival itself is sacred.

I have an Olive Bonsai tree that I keep in the window of my kitchen and I was convinced I had killed the Bonsai by leaving it outside for to long but the pot was kind of badass so I thought I would give it another chance.

To my surprise, after a couple days I watched the root system of the tree begin to spread out and look for nutrients in fresh soil. Days turned to weeks and I noticed how patiently the roots began to form and dig deeper, pushing the tree up with each passing day. Nobody that i've ever met would cheer on a root foundation of a tree but here I was ecstatic when I saw the tree digging deeper into the soil.

Like the Bonsai tree, winter should be a season of tending to your roots and being patient with the process. The widsom of nature knew that for there to be a season of growth (spring), there must also be a season of perserving (winter).

For me, winter is not a season of achievement, it will be a season of letting the roots of the pillars of my life spread out to create deeper structural integrity and I will measure my life not by what I achieve, but by what I strengthen beneath the surface.

My inner light bows to yours 🪶🙏

Picture location: Death Valley