Sometimes, it is difficult to write, not because words or thoughts don’t come to me, merely sometimes I never know exactly where to start. There’s always a back story to it, some context I feel compelled to frame and introduce, and quite often it devolves into a series of incoherent tangents…

I painted this picture about 15 years ago on a vacation in Wisonsin. It was the first water color painting I’d ever really done, and had no clue about how they behaved or what I was doing. I still don’t, really. As the years go on, though, I’ve grown to love the naive and genuine nature of it.

Anyone who has ever read this blog with regularity knows, often I seemingly pull shit out of the air and try to weave it together. It may seem flippant and arbitrary, but I’m coming to discover it is my most sincere and genuine style. That is exactly the way I see the world, and what makes life most interesting for me. You never know what you’ll find in a day, what thoughts pop into your head, or why certain things transpire. Sometimes they just do, and that is your day; an odd dream laying about in some cloudy haze of your half conscious, a recollection, a hope, a spritz of inspiration, a chance meeting, something completely out of the blue…

Sometimes I think that is where the root of religion and true spirituality lies, in sitting back and wondering a bit why and how these things relate, why things are. I often wonder why people don’t spend more time caught up in daydreaming about such confluences, why they don’t wonder about it at all.

I say this because years before I ever went off to college and found that people studied philosophy in classrooms and could wind up with degrees in it, I’d already begun authoring my own version of it. I’ve always wondered why that wasn’t a priority in higher learning, or life in general. I still wonder why people don’t encourage one another to go off and sit on the fringe and have genuine thoughts of their own, or what the conversation might be if people did.

The beauty and magic of philosophy isn’t about learning what someone else thinks; it’s about knowing that to this day, no one knows what it is really all about. No one knows why you are here, why you are wired the way you are, why you love the things you do. No one knows – not even you. But it’s ones only true journey in life, I think, to find out as best you can, to write your own gospel and learn to become resolute in your own existence…

There’s no greater gift or imperative than to be the author of your own story, the painter of the things you dream, a complete amateur, in every way, at everything…



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