Circle of Safety

I read somewhere that the key to victory is a strong team. Not the ambition to search for riches, or the hunger to receive glory. It is not in the halls of fame that tell us how these heroes sacrificed --their blood, sweat, and tears spent for the job at hand.

Taking a risk and seeing failure on the other end is a big obstacle to survive. Most of your time is spent understanding why you let yourself do it in the first place. The people around you offer their sweet condolences --thinking that they are being kind and constructive. But no matter the intention, it becomes a session of fear and doubt, a moment to really cower in self stupidity. "How did I let this happen to myself??"

Though I feel exposed as an individual that has no thread of common sense, I do not let that tangle me. I have felt a part of myself harden because of my set-back, a part of my psyche that used to allow things to just happen to me. The wisdom that I have been blessed to carry far outweigh any benefits of "playing it safe" would have gotten me. 

I have a degree in both Film Production and Business Administration. Two college degrees should be accolades that one should be able to tote around any place and get what is need in life; no questions asked. 

That is a fool's errand --to think that by wearing your achievements as titles on your chest makes you deserving of success and wealth. If anything, being a college graduate is only the beginning of your true education; the pursuit for knowledge only begins with a strong foundation. 

The real show is after you walk the stage. 

And in my first forray into the real world, I decide to roll the dice on a business start up. I was excited and full of hope, excited for the moment when I can take charge of my life and tell my own story. This was my time for me to take what I believed was mine. 

I don't know if anyone has ever told you about starting a business, but its really....A LOT OF HARD WORK!!!

The saying "its not a sprint, its a marathon," really could not encapsulate the feeling of being at the helm of a small company. I've had jobs before, but in no way was I able to work as hard as I did when I was working on a start up. And what's worse than working for a start-up, is working for one that is dreadfully disorganized. That is a pain party that will crush you if you're not ready for it. 

I leave the details of what I experienced and how I learned from them in future posts. Otherwise, you'll be reading for another ten hours! The best lesson I learned from it is the power of having a strong team at your core, and how the bonds of trust will let anyone who is outnumbered survive. A circle of safety is real, once you find it. 

Be humble to those around you and work to cooperate with one another. Having a common goal is a powerful motivator that gets anyone through the desert valley. 

Crowded Living Rooms

Life without any sort of reflection can become lacking in the possible rewards of wisdom. Why do we do what we do?

 As I reassert my efforts into this new year, I try to stay focused and aware of the pitfalls that have plagued my past. A constant barrage of self-doubt and apathy towards presented situations caused me to under-perform during a good portion of my life. I became the weekend warrior, without a care for striving for the best-version-of-myself.

 The minimum was just fine for me and I didn't look to create any static about it. I had the comfy office job and the roof over my head and the car payments to satisfy any average materialistic notion of what constitutes happiness. But I soon became weary of it all--realizing that any motivation I had for getting out of bed every morning was beginning to fade. I needed to prioritize my values and look into myself to discover what made me my authentic self.

 In my heart of hearts, I am a writer, or better yet, I am a storyteller. All my life I had a vivid imagination that often times would run away from me--almost to the point where others would classify me as strange. I knew that my role as an adult existed somewhere between the creative arts and the fact that I isolated that part of myself from my everyday practice began to deteriorate me to my very core. I knew I needed to give myself a shot, or die trying.

 It is with that goal in mind that I made the tough and a bit reckless decision to leave my job to pursue a path that produces far more rejection stories than successful ones. The decision to leave a nest of security for a creative project that was underdeveloped and poorly managed would be my first test of real life rejection and failure. In no less than a month of taking a gamble, I was already a loser in the biggest way possible.

 There is something to be said when one can find strength when faced with trial and adversity. After my failed business startup experience, I sank into the deepest pits of self-doubt and depression. By this point I had never experienced true hardship in my own life. I do not wish to project this perception of myself that says that I survived real life tragedy -- there are people out there that are surviving much worse -- but I cannot help but feel a sense of growth after hitting my own sort of rock bottom. My life truly changed once I understood that in order to rebuild the strongest of foundations, you must meet the dirt, mud, and earth head on.

 Perhaps when enough time and perspective has passed -- and I have grown a bit wiser from my past mistakes -- I will better articulate my lessons, in the hopes that I can share for the benefit of others.

 Until then, I'm still searching.

 Stay vigilant, my friends. It will all make sense in time.


Crowded Living Rooms

 Haven't slept much, 
feeling how much a warm bed is a luxury. 

 Nights in crowded living rooms. 

 Mornings in empty cafes. 

The journey for change is 
an incredibly lonely process. 

Too much time to think about all 
the wrong turns. 

 Like living in a glass bubble, 
unable to touch anything that resembles
a former life. 

Short Story Part IV: Reflection

As part of my continued effort to share my writer's journey, as well as build my platform for my own published works, I will share with you now my next installment of my short story currently untitled.

 As I said when I first began posting this series is that this story would be a launching pad for a possible on screen adaptation that I am currently developing and perhaps act as a background story to one of the key characters.

 Your feedback is appreciated (though please treat with gentle gloves, as I don't have it as polished as I would have liked). I understand that this is all part of my overall evolution and that this by no means is the endpoint to where I currently am.

 I humbly say that I am still working at it! Enjoy!

Part IV: Reflection

Even up here I look for some time away. With a pen in my hand, it wasn’t too hard to find that place. I sat in the dining room finishing a sketching of sunrise. It was of the lake house. It looks like a dance across the water. Angela knows how I need the time. Kept me from unraveling.

It could very well be past three in the morning when I first hear it. The sound feels distant but I know it wasn't far. The bourbon must still be feeling fresh.

I put my scrapbook away when I hear it knocking again. Its soft, just barely. Probably wouldn't have heard it otherwise. Maybe I was waiting for it.

I turn towards the hallway, down the living room. The knocking is just above a whisper, just above... the silence.

A familiar ice-cold chill runs up my spine as I come upon the double doors, same heart beat ringing in my ears. I slide the doors open to reveal an empty room bathed in the moonlight outside. I switch a nearby table lamp to see the room just the same. Fuck me, I need to stop letting my mind wander. The drapes in front of an open window rustle against my uncle’s old liquor cabinet. It beckons to me.

Grabbing a bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, I begin to pour myself a glass. One more for the sandman. I savor the whiskey with my eyes closed, thinking of where I am and how things would be okay. It’s been close to a week and no contact from my guy.

“Leave us.”

I freeze. That voice. I was nine years old again.

“You need to leave,” it whispers.

In the reflection of the liquor cabinet mirror, I see him. A small child, frail and weak with hollow eyes, standing in the main doorway. I can't move and I don't dare speak. Through the dirt and rust of the cabinet mirror I recognize those same eyes off the mirror reflection, so many years ago.

“Please go now.”

My mouth, tense and dry, begins to speak, “Why?”

“You don’t have much time.”

“Who…are you?”

In a cold trance, I suddenly turn around. I'm staring at the living room doorway, empty.

“Fuck me,” I said.

In a cold sweat, I put the bottle away and close the cabinet door.

PART 1
 PART 2

Happy New Years!

First and foremost I would like to wish everyone a Happy New Year! I know this is late but it is still the first week.
I can't express to you all how happy I am to reach a new chapter in all of our lives and that another year is in the books. I am sure there are a mixed bag of emotions of how we all may feel about the last year (I for one have had my ups and downs) but I would encourage everyone to look forward with a sense of optimism.
I have never been the jovial, New Year-crazed type of individual that gets excited over new years resolutions. I tended to believe New Years was an excuse to party and that most resolutions are forgotten within the first 3 months. But I'm starting this year off with a new sense of opportunity for myself and for those I care about.  Last year was the year for tremendous growth. 2015 will be the year that the fruits of my sow will be realized.
I know for the most part, my aspirations for this year is to make serious strides towards my goals as a screenwriter, one of which being my first screenplay with my writing partner. We've made good progress drafting pages at the end of last year,  but the true challenge is ahead of us with the meat and bones of the story yet to be explored.
I also have desires to get back into community service, developing my own production business,  enjoy camping,  and get back into stage performing.  These are all projects that may encompasses a larger portion of a few years, but I hope that this first quarter of the year will be the beginning of those journeys. 
And finally,  the continued development of my first blog. I have taken a number of hiatus breaks from this site, but I am still committed to seeing that this page succeeds, even if it just becomes a simple blog. I want to share my thoughts and visions and ideas to the world, even if it is just a tiny space in the infinite digital chasm.

Short Story Part III: Defeat

Am I angry???

Imagine a consciousness, tumbling within a void. I am still searching for the other side, or praying that I have already hit the bottom. They say that you can only go up after getting knocked down. But sometimes wallowing in the pain can be so much easier, simpler.
It's been a while since my last entry. Finding the time to stay creative and productive is very much an energy that takes strength to find. But as much as I wish to just stay and rest in my filth, I am ever persistent in what may very well remain my life's ambitions. 

 Short one this week I know, but here is another entry from my first short story I'm trying to work on. Links below to catch up on previous installments. 

Defeat: 

I see the kitchen empty, nothing but a plate of chicken, potatoes, and beans on the counter. I ate the plate right there, staring into nightfall outside the window.  

I can see my Jeep Cherokee parked right outside the back door, cooling in the moonlight glow. I love that car, got me to a few places. Got me out of some of other ones too. The roads were bad up here and you needed those horses to get through the mud. One wrong turn and you’re stuck up here, as if the mountain won't let you out.  At least that’s what I always thought as a kid. 

I finish my dinner and leave the dish in the sink. I didn’t even use a fork.

I see the light from the master bedroom as I approach through the hallway. The sound of the water already running in the background. Angela is in her usual tank top and shorts; her hair pulled back as she rinses her face. She sees me in the mirror as she goes for the towel. I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her belly. Her hair smells like spring and I begin to kiss her behind the ear.

“Thank you for dinner,” I said into her ear.

“Was it cold?”

“It was fine.”

I see Angela’s expression in her mirror. She’s worried.

“How much longer?” she whispers.

“Just a little longer.”

“We can’t stay here.”

“You know we can’t leave now. They’re all running tail on us. We have to stay low until JayDee calls.”

“So we just stay here, until…”

My throat's dry, “When I get the call.”

And just how I’ve disappointed her so many times before, she rushes right by me, towards the bed. It felt like I was losing the night.

“Why are you doing this right now?” the tension runs up my spine, “I don’t need you to act this way, not out here!”

She’s still unwrapping the bed covers. She didn’t even turn around.

“I don’t want to start a family like this.”

I didn’t have to see her face to know that sound. The sound of regret that, no matter what I said, couldn’t change what I’ve done to her and what I’m about to do. 

She makes sure she rolls under the blankets before I could see her tears swell. Defeated, I make sure I switch off the light before I walk out. I carefully close the bedroom door behind me.



Short Story Part II: Darkness

Part of my own motivation to tell this story is to find the source of what makes a central character human. Any meaningful story always has a main protagonist that we can identify with in one way or another. Although their actions may be shrouded in controversy and morally grey, we can't help but empathize with their wants and desires. After all, it is our own imperfections that give us dimension and identifying such imperfections is what makes story characters human.

The following is a continuation of a short story I wrote some time ago. I will be releasing the story in chunks and if you missed the last segment, Part I: Sunset, the link should take you right there.


Part II: Darkness
The tree line faded as day’s death continued to blanket the earth. I’ve forgotten how to walk the trail line at night. Now, being trashed drunk all to hell, walking around in pitch-darkness was starting to look like a stupid idea. I was looking for a sprained ankle. Maybe, I was looking for worse.

As a kid, my brother Jesse and I would come up here on summers. We never really paid attention to the rules. My aunt would always get mad at us though. Kept yelling about not playing out by the shed near the woods after dark. She had it in her mind that something was in those woods, and the closer we’d got to the edge, the closer it would get from taking us. Jesse would never fall for it, but I wasn’t so sure.

Made it off the trail with nothing more than a stub toe. I walked back into the clearing, the lake house looked serene. There was a single light in the kitchen window. Angela stood at the sink, probably washing away today’s dinner. Her hairs in a ponytail; she only does that when she’s stressed.

I stop just a couple yards away from the back porch entrance. I look up and just let my mind wander into the night sky. It felt like we were so far from it, but like a giant web, it just sits there waiting to catch us.
I walked around the back end of the house. The cellar door was closed and locked. With the key in my back pocket, I took the padlock off the door.

The air was stale and the wooden stairs groaned loudly in anticipation of my weight. I still remember how Jesse standing at the cellar entrance. We use to play a game on who could stay down here the longest. I held the record.

“You have to go down farther! I can still see you”

“What are you talking about? You stood way closer last time. I can touch the pole.”

“No way! I thought the rule was that we can’t see our feet. I can still see your feet!”

“Fuck! Shit!”
I’d inch farther away from the light. I don’t know what kind of stuff my uncle stored down here. I think there was old furniture and family portraits from when they used to live in the city. He never liked us playing down here.

“Okay, start counting!”

“One…two…three…four…”

“I counted way faster than that!”

“Thirteen...fourteen…fifteen…”
I would feel my heart start to beat. All I could hear was the breath inside my head.

“Forty-six…forty-seven…forty-ei--”
Wham!
The cellar doors slammed shut. Pitch black.
“What the hell!!

“It wasn’t me! I swear…I didn’t…”

“Stop playing! For real!”

“The door’s stuck!!”

“Open it right now!”

“I’m getting uncle!”

“No, no, no, no. Don’t leave, please!”
His footsteps faded away, leaving me alone in the darkness. My heart felt like exploding in my chess. I told myself that everything was going to be fine, that it was all going to be okay. I didn’t really know how to lie to myself at the time.

Then it went silent. All sound, all movement, everything living on this planet disappeared. And that’s when I heard them for the first time.

“You need to go…”

The sound came, soft and cold. The darkness froze and the ground sank.

“To live, you have to leave us behind…”

The voice, like a frightened child.

“You need to leave us now…”
I was terrified. Afraid of what was breathing in the swallowing darkness, I slowly turned my head. Out of focus, the dim glow of a child. Sad and alone, it delivered its message. With unknown courage, I spoke.
“Where do I need to go?”
A sudden rush of air and fire flooded the room. The sky was brilliant as the earthly light illuminated the staircase around me. It was an image of a child, frozen in glory, but ever bearing the joy of good news. I heard his words in my mind.

“Do not be afraid. For we will watch over you.”
I didn’t know why, but I was at peace, hearing its song, locked in eternity.
David! What I tell you about playing down here,” my uncle bellowed.

“You could get hurt down here. You could have knocked something over and gotten crushed.”
Jesse was standing a couple feet behind my uncle. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it, really.”

I wanted to hurt him, but I said nothing.

I never did come back down here again. Kids and their imaginations, really. I kicked backed some more of that brown liquor. It wasn’t so crowded down here as it used to be. My aunt got sold most of their things, mostly after my uncle died. I think she couldn’t stand to look at it much afterwards. The only thing left was a couple of wine crates and his old workbench.

Underneath the workbench is a large, oak storage cabinet. I make my way to the workbench and with a loud screech; I slide the cabinet door open. The black duffel bag’s outline was sitting in the faint darkness, still there right where I left it. I unzip the bag open and searched through the green bricks of paper bills, just about fifty large, and a loaded 9mm right at the bottom. Angela didn’t want it in the house. I should have been more careful; didn’t have to be such a hard ass about it. I guess I’m trying to make this easy for her. I zip the bag back up and slide the cabinet door close.

And for a moment, I listened to the silence, unsure of what I should be listening for. The dark room held empty, revealing nothing. With a sigh, I pulled back the last drop of bourbon, then left the empty bottle on the workbench.

When Victory Has Defeated You

One constant theme that appears to reoccur throughout the series of recent days is the notion that our current adult-selves has developed most of its own cognitive behavior from thoughts and memories from childhood. I am almost certain that this comes as of no profound revelation to anyone that reads this, but as someone who has been exposed to an enormous amount of recent self-reflection, I have to say that this understanding is extremely compelling. It is as if our adult personas are not a reflection of "new" knowledge, but a mere projection of our childhood habits and personality traits.

 As my own examination upon myself, I have to say that I have lived a fairly decent life. By no means did I come from a wealthy household, nor was I the high achieving scholar that received top honors in school. I was your average, run-of-the-mill kid with the sort of a sense of what I wanted to be, but never having any of the gonads to really set a game plan to go pursue it. I was fortunate to come from a solid home in a small town community and was blessed to have the loving parents that devoted their lives to insure that I have the resources and means necessary to create the man I am today. My life was simple and, for the most part, extremely happy.

 I suppose that at the ripe old age of 30 is when you begin to look back and really examine how all these events in your life really fit together and what is the direction that will lead you to where you are supposed to go. As I sit here on a warm summer night, I really begin to wonder how I got to this moment and all I can say is that I have been extremely spoiled, having never really felt the true pain that this life is capable of.

 Although I am humble by nature, my current set of accolades would bid that I should be extremely proud of who I am. Graduated with my Master's before 27 and being a property owner before 26, I have the gusto to say that what I aim for is what I get, period. My path in life has always been dictated to me by external circumstances and I believe that it has resulted in something much more dangerous; my senses became numb. I looked for the obvious choice, as if life was plowing the way for me, hoping that I would hop along closely.

So what happens when the pathway runs dry and life looks at you and asks, "what do you want from me?"

 Isn't the whole idea of finding yourself is that the answer should just appear, clear as day, in front of your eyes? That quickly becomes a childhood myth when the realities of day soon come crashing on your doorstep, asking questions that you are not even close to prepared to answer. I look back upon the lessons that I have learned throughout childhood, in search of a clue, only to leave with one final conclusion; I didn't have a clue.

 In the last few months, one of my biggest influencers for making the leap into my dream chase has been motivational speaker and preacher, Eric Thomas. Known for his viral sensation If You Want to Succeed as Bad as You Want to Breath speech, Eric Thomas illustrates how life will punch you hard in the mouth and that those who are accustomed to success will quickly fall to their knees. The video below references one of my favorite speeches, not only for his reference to Batman --which has become one of my all time favorite film franchises-- but because he really hits home how a life with hardship is essential for the realization of true potential.

Beautifully spoken, Eric Thomas illustrates how the darkness of our lives can be embraced in order for our own true selves to reach the light. As I walk upon my own true awakening, I have come to accept this sense of "no direction", understanding that one must be lost in order to be truly found. Recognize that the trials of life are beset so that you may rise above adversity and live to tell the tale. My own failures and setbacks are but a stepping stone for something greater across the horizon.

My Desert Rat

 The Desert has always been a tough place, 
burning dry under the summer sun. 

 Growing up, I was always prepared for the raging fire;
a tidal wave of fury racing down the mountain side. 

 But we fought and we won 
and I continue to call this wilderness my home. 

 The barren desert becomes the proving ground, 
testing all would be travelers' character and will. 

 Just as the blistering deserts without a spring in sight
embody the long stretches of struggle and adversity,
will too our conquering of such a struggle prove our own merit?

 Just as the lone traveler struggles and falls along His wasteland, 
finding the strength from within and up above,
will He live on and become the savior of man.

Short Story Part I: Sunset

I gave myself time to really try and develop my own voice and style in terms of how I convey my imagery and character development on the page. When I decided to myself that I wanted to try and carve out my own legacy as a writer/author/storyteller I couldn't help feel fearful of the decision that I had made so many months ago. All my life I always looked at my written skills as some what of a weakness of mine. I was an outdoors kinda guy, with having numerous camping and sports related activity to add towards my identity of being a guy's guy. In school I was always good at history and english, but I dreaded the research and essay assignments only for one reason; I HATED WRITING!

So now imagine the irony of having attended all my years of postgraduate and graduate school to try and find my direction towards what the heck I was supposed to do with my life, only to settle on the idea that I enjoy a good old fashion story and that I may have the talents to prove that I could take a pretty good crack at it. I was never the student that enjoyed reading for work and I was the first to reach the infamous Cliff Notes that so many students used to get that passing grade on that weeks quiz. 

Although I was always looking for the quick out to avoiding reading as an assignment, I found pleasure in reading as recreation and how it translated so well into actually conceptualizing, developing, and actually writing out the story beats that would drum in my head for months. Imagine me, a kid who failed college English because he couldn't "effectively state an argument through a comprehensive essay" finally dabling towards the notion of becoming a writer. 

Perhaps it is a case of failure becoming the ultimate teacher in life. Writing has always been my own nemesis within my mind; a sort of battle against myself. The love hate relationship that I have had towards this medium can only be described as poetic as I am constantly reminded of an old African Proverb, "When there is no enemy within, the enemies outside can do us no harm." 

I am now coming to grips with this realization that my own enemy can very much be my own hardest teacher, giving me the essential tools required to take me towards the next step of my own development. So I have for you now a piece of my very own short story that I have finally decided to flesh out. The background to this story will relate towards my central character from Beneath The Ink. This is the first part of a multi-episode series that I will be continuing developing.
   
Part I
          The sun was warm. Perfect. Setting across a distant horizon. I couldn’t tell you how many times I didn’t notice those kinds of things. Never gave it much more then a passing glance. But I’m here now, with the long flowing grass beneath my neck. The western sky was set ablaze as I wondered; will I see the sun again?

          “Hey, I want to go back in.”

           A steady rising and falling to the steady rhythm of my breath; Angela’s hair lies across my chest.
          “I thought you were into these kinds of scenes,” I mocked.
          “No it’s getting cold,” Angela was already getting up, “I’d like to go while we still have light out.”

          She stood there waiting for a response, but I was feeling my usual today.

          “Just go back alone then,” I spurted out. 
          I don’t know why I said it. I wasn’t even mad at her. I held up the bottle of some brown liquor and through it back. I let it set, as the liquid burned the back of my mouth. Maybe I needed the silence; maybe I wanted the pain, 
          “A little bit longer, okay.” 
          Without so much as glance, Angela turns and makes here way up the dirt trail.
@alexantonio00

Beneath the Ink

As an aspiring screenwriter, it's easy to get wrapped up in the dream of seeing your name up on the silver screen, hearing your name called out at that BIG award show, or just simply sitting at some cafe off of Cahuenga Blvd on a Saturday morning putting the finishing touches on a studio first draft. I am one of many choosing to run the race in a pursuit of something only few can ever really hope to achieve.

So despite those immense odds, what gets me up in the morning? 

Knowing my own convoluted self, the answer is never really that simple (please bear with me as I ramble this part). I would have to say that I subscribe to a very particular belief system that my ideas are my ideas for a purpose. Of course I wish to entertain through my own voice, but I also wish to spread my ideas and have them represented in a way that brings new thought processes to audiences and readers alike, even if it is for just a moment.
As I said before, our stories represent a certain cognition that can be described as indefinitely human. They represent our same hopes, fears, and dreams that should transcend far past cultural or racial barriers. Not to get too hippy on all of you but I suppose my purpose is to try and make the world a better place, or at least an image of one through the lessons and teachings of each story. That is a tremendous challenge for any aspiring writer/screenwriter, but in some way it drives my own purpose to continue on through the challenges set before me everyday.
With that being said, I know that for any long journey to start, one must begin with one single step. I share with you now a piece of my creative pursuit of a small dream. In collaboration with my like-minded creative brother, we pieced together a short film with quite an ambition to become something larger. Our first draft of our short was considerably longer and it was more inline of a television special, but with today's YouTube generation of 2 minute attention spans, this scaled version would be more appropriate.
As a quick synopsis, the short is titled Beneath the Ink, which follows the path of a troubled tattoo artist, Doc, as he sheds his dark past in pursuit of life in a tattoo parlor. Slowly realizing that his visions and dreams of his past are more than just his imagination, Doc must soon come to terms with the reality that he must face his demons in order to find true peace. 


The short was a great experience for us because we got to work with tremendous talents on and off screen. It was our first ever collaboration with talented producer, Lanlin Wong and amazing Director of Photography, Johnny Ching. It was also the first time helming a project of such caliber as a tandem of writer/director with Chris Anthony. With hard work and focus, we were proven that something amazing can come out on top. 

Since then we have dabbled with the idea on how to expand our beloved main character into something more and began the process of envisioning his world within another medium (i.e. film, television, web series). As one of the creators, I'm challenged into finding what that story really is. As I reflect on this particular short story after three years, I come to believe that we were trying to tell a larger story through such a small window and perhaps it did not resonate the way that Chris and myself would have originally intended. 

So the chapter and novel for Beneath the Ink is still very much open for Doc and his colorful cast of angels and demons. We are actively exploring all possibilities and I have begun my part to that discovery by engaging in the origins of Doc and how he became to be. I would like to invite those who read my blog to come along this journey with me as I attempt to discover the larger picture. After all, it is in the searching of the unknown that makes the telling of a great story half the fun. 

@alexantonio0






Finding The Internal Compass

Today is another day in which I wake up and ask myself "what am I to do today?" Several things are beginning to mix in the melting pot but its yields have not presented themselves to me just yet....and that is the key part to all this. The day and age when all things are at an instant command of our fingertips, we lose our own sense of what our time on earth really holds. The structures and expectations of our cultural norms forces us to continue on, without a stop, as if the machine that protects us all depends on our active compliance to just keep going.

I took a chance so many months ago to begin this blog as a platform for my creative writing and to actively take steps to pursue my own creative endeavors full time. Though I was warned so many times before, I don't think I truly registered the full reality of what it means to place your destiny in your own two hands. To see so many "potentials" turn into false hope in such a short amount of time can cause anyone to questions themselves and their true motives. Everything within themselves becomes an issue of self-doubt and that perhaps my judgement on what I really wanted in life was just flat out wrong.

And so I face another day in which I wonder what my schedule will be and that every move on my part must be justified in accordance to my overall plan. I trust my judgement and I do not have any regrets towards this process that I have decided upon so passionately. The seeds of prosperity have been planted and I am the humble farmer waiting patiently to reap its harvest. Not to be cliche but patience really does become a virtue that can lead to the higher, prosperous ground. The ability to stand in the face of adversity and all your own enemies from within and just say "one more day." Though my smile may not appear across the surface, I stay diligent in the idea that I am building my own strength; forging my own steel that will one day cut through the greatest of adversaries.

For those who read my message and come upon the same crossroads in life, do not give up and falter from what you and only you have decided for yourself. We are the masters of our own craft and it is our purpose of our own lives that we seek to make that destiny realized.

"One more day"

Time begins and ends in a beat.
I can't seem to grip how much time passes us by. 
We trip over our own feet to reach the next day. 
Wondering if we made our efforts good enough
to reap our rewards. 
Stop and listen to ourselves. 
We cannot continue to burden ourselves with indifferent meanings of purpose. 
Let our minds wander and search its nether realms.
Our deeper response lies just outside our thoughts. 
Our time is now, for everything becomes a memory.
Let today reign supreme and give thanks to a sun
that continues to rise across our horizon. 
The path awaits us. 
Until then, I shall wait and watch the sky in awe.  

Beautifully Human

The mind stays active long after sleep.

I grew up with the notion that ambition is admirable and that true success towards a fulfilling life was always driven by ambition. That true purpose and the pursuit of life's ultimate goals revolved around one's relation towards ambition.

I have to say that idea can lead many into a false calling. Desire and ambition can only lead one so far and without a clear sense of purpose and the passion the can only fuel that inner fire, desire can only go so deep beneath the surface. It is extremely necessary for the psyche and spirit to assess self purpose.

with that being stated, I know that my avenue in this crazy thing we call life is not just to become a story teller,  but to become a teacher of some sort. I am not referring to chalk board and glasses type of fellow, but some what of a leader or consultant. I want to help people find their own purpose some way, some how. My own experience and credentials would deem me the last person that is qualified in any way to counsel people with their lives, but I know that my talents held within my words on a page can somehow cultivate people's way of thinking into understanding, perhaps life.

Someone very special to me described my way of expression as a utilization of a constant form of analogy, continuously using some point of reference to express my inner thoughts. I always understood this method as a quick and simple way to relate to people and to connect to people on a visual spectrum. I suppose that my need to relate aspects of life into a "story" has always been my path to connect with understanding life and I suspect to why I've loved great storytelling. 

I would not boast myself as a particularly religious man, as my path from God has reached a bit of the outer reaches, but I could not help but coorrelate my desire to express my thoughts and beliefs in short form analogies to how Christ tought about his kingdom of love through parables. I believe that it is a fundamental quality of being human that we as a species relate towards stories and that teaching methods revolving around this aspect are the most impactful. 

Now, in no way shape or form am I comparing myself to be Jesus or that my ultimate purpose in life is to be "Christ-like" (that, my friends, is a discussion for another blog) but what I am trying to say is that my relationship with storytelling goes towards the most primitive level. I seek to teach others in the hopes that they walk away having at least thought about some aspect of their own lives differently. 

With the launch of our video production website, Bernal Pictures, I only ask that everyone that may enter our domain come with an open mind and heart, because we are in the business to not just entertain but to teach an aspect of ourselves that we can only describe as beautifully human.

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