I have always been enamored by this old adage.  It has always resonated loudly with my outlook on life.  The first time I came across it was 2002 during my summer in Alaska.  I had just moved 4000 miles away from my home in Alabama. It was this summer that my venture down the corridor of adulthood began.

This summer was coincidentally the last time I was consistent albeit genuine with my writing habit.  Some that have known me have always said that I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve.  I never disagreed, passion is incendiary and tends to ignite with even the smallest of sparks.  So here it goes.

This summer was essential in the development of me. A girl that I liked more than most boys should like anything, minus the dirt, followed me.  It fell apart. The pieces were hard to pick up but I met some life-spanning buddies that built me back to where I needed to be.  It was only fitting that an angelic vessel, built-in the fashion of eastern Europe came in delicately to set me free from a juvenile obsession.  There’s that whole ship talk again.  Noticing a pattern?  Enough with the distractions.  I’m sure we will delve deeper into the roots of said tree farther down the winding road of word-smithing.

I had always felt so drawn to the aforementioned quote because it seemed to mirror the feeling building up inside of me in the days leading up to leaving home. This quote carried an emblematic manner with it.  The ship of my soul was about to sail from the only harbor I had ever known, one that was anchored in comfort and familiarity.  The convenience and warmth of home had been superseded by the urgency inside of me to explore the uncharted waters through the ever-expanding, raging sea building up inside of me.


I vividly recollect the euphoric feeling I felt as the plane began the initial descent high above Anchorage (Ship Talk).  Butterflies were dancing like Sly & the Family Stone in the depths of me.  My nervous demeanor morphed into a feverish pitch of bewilderment within the blink of an eye.  I was warmly welcomed with solace in the onslaught of solitude that awaited my naivety. There was a loneliness somehow layered in logic, that swarmed my sanctity and swallowed me whole.  As I am revisiting these memories in the present moment, I am now realizing in a thunderous fashion that it was indeed the Holy Spirit who was benevolently blessing me in this moment of glory.  Would you believe that it has taken me 15 years and until this very moment that I have finally escaped the stubbornness of my youth;  and as the symbolic ink is drying on the paper, it is definitively that I see the light that is indeed God leading me through the depths of the ocean within myself via the vastness of the Last Frontier. His eloquent way of encompassing the hesitation I held inside, vanished with a simple breadth of his reverence.

I guess in hindsight, you could say that I was shaking hands with the Holy Ghost.

My desire to wander aimlessly through a desolate daydream was being fed to me through the hardened hand of God.

All along he had been serenading me with a ceremonious message.

And here we find ourselves left with the solitary idea of inspiration that light always penetrates darkness with a shine that leaves the sun speechless.

Ladies and gentlemen you are in the midst of a righteous reckoning.

I reckon you better stay tuned.

“Shine A Light”


My roots are buried in the Dirty South. I grew up learning the importance of God and Southern Charm. I began writing in my late teens mostly through heartbreak and music. I moved out west 15 years ago and live right around the corner from the Fountain Of Youth. Most people refer to it as Lake Tahoe. I play Chef during the day and search for ways to save the world by night, through reading, writing, and believing. I enjoy the side of life that is less abrasive. I look forward to joining you on my quest through Spiritual Sobriety with the Promised Land as our ultimate destination.

4 Comment on “The Solitary Idea of Inspiration 

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