You cannot keep the story at bay. It is always being written.

There are so many secrets between a bed and a door. Often times, they remain under the blankets of judgment, labels, and shame.

The desert is armed and beautiful, and filled with blooms and little swords competing for sunshine. In our personal deserts we can bloom, be armed, and compete for attention.

Why are we so scared of one another? Why do we seek to shame and disregard? How does this serve the brilliance of our love?

The Route 91 Harvest music festival was interrupted on the evening of Oct 1st, 2017 when a 64-year-old man fired more than 1,000 rounds into the audience from his 32nd floor suites at the Mandalay Bay hotel. He killed 60 people and injured 411 with his bullets; the injury total ballooned to 867 with panic factored in. His arsenal: 14 AR-15 rifles (12 with 100 round magazines); 8 AR-10-type rifles; 1 bolt action rifle; 1 revolver. He hung ‘Do Not Disturb’ signs on his doors before he began.

Love is the meal our hearts sit down to. Colors free our love the way flavors free our food and open our palates. We consume. Physical meals fill our days and evenings and bodies fill our minds and mouths.

Time will take everything down, but the energy of it all remains.

Our arrogance in the journey, ‘the snubbing of our nose’, is the easy tide that carries us back. Time hides beneath us, where the ‘shadows have lain down,’ and we bind its rules to our wrists.

This is a photograph in an album. It is of a field at nighttime. The individuals in the photograph are out of focus. There is a blinding light behind them. The field is tall grass. We have such a necessity for speculation and conspiracy that it sets the ease for which a picture is interpreted, or represented. The media’s touch, not just the news, but the entire world of media enters our lives like the floodlight in this picture-field, beautifully or tragically washing us out, compromising our experiences, and igniting our imagination.

Sound shapes our world.

We spend our time at keyboards while nature goes through its cycles of rebirth. We were once so intimate.

If you believe one soul is worth less than another, your definitions are wrong.

Notice these themes: mothers, the desert, journeys, sound, erosion, Jesus, love’s movement, water, canyons, and shapes.

We share a soul.

Whomever presents the statistics, tells the story. The story is defined by borders. Statistical borders are in charts and graphs. Physical borders are in the room.

Existence is an honor we, in turn, honor through participation and growth.

A slave is taken advantage of - power and strength and promise are invited to the world.

Borders define. Definitions are how we box possibilities, and use the boxes to model our world. We get lost in this.

Ode to the carving and the carver.

We made this.