over the past little while

i left carly and sun river with a pinch of sadness, a little reluctance, sure, but i knew it was the right time to move. i thumbed it and road tripped with logan. the boy with the guitar. he’s all pisces, through and through. like me. he made the ride a joy - jiving and joking, bouncing and buzzing off a way-too-big caramel macchiato. he reminded me of three people at once - but for the life of me i couldn’t tell you who.

i met morgan, here, in hood river, like it was no big deal. like we weren’t reuniting completely out of context. in her hometown. in a place where she keeps all her memories and stories, through forests, in waterfalls along ridge lines, through orchards and wineries.

today we hiked to tamanawas falls. i was [illogically] scared of bears. mountain lions. wolves. i was walking while adrenaline was pumping, hard through my veins, all the way to the end. to the waterfall, which fell wide and slim. cold water. a glacier runoff. don’t drink it. she laughed. 

we scrambled across a rock face, loose and sturdy - who knew which was which - and found ourselves behind the falls. behind! do you believe it?! it was like magic. the water streaming down in front of us - looking back into the valley. into! do you believe it?! it was like magic. between the excitement and the adrenaline, i couldn’t think straight. we sat, for a minute. took photos. stared in relative silence [the sound of the falls overtaking all others] and marvelled. oh well done mother nature. well done. you served us well today. well done. 

we climbed down moss rocks and mud to the base of the falls. to where the spray saturated us. to where we looked up and whirled with vertigo. [to where the water looked like it could brutalise, bury and rescue you, all at the same time.] i lost my feet and slipped, on my bum, down gravel rocks and wet. adrenaline now doing nothing more than making me yelp and warn morgan, below me, of our possible demise into the base of the waterfall. 

alas! death did not come. not by falls, not by bear, not by sliding into a ravine [perhaps a place we shouldn’t have been.]

but thank you mother nature, for your kindness in keeping us safe. for your provision of a waterfall so goddamn, unimaginably, breathtakingly beautiful. for the hundreds or thousands of who-knows-what-happened years that formed this place in the very first place. oh man, this world. this land. this life. oh me oh my, this land this life.

"

I love being horribly straightforward. I love sending reckless text messages (because how reckless can a form of digitized communication be?) and telling people I love them and telling people they are absolutely magical humans and I cannot believe they really exist. I love saying, Kiss me harder, and You’re a good person, and, You brighten my day. I live my life as straight-forward as possible.
Because one day, I might get hit by a bus.

Maybe it’s weird. Maybe it’s scary. Maybe it seems downright impossible to just be—to just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them, hold them, touch them in some way whether its your feet on their thighs on the couch or your tongue in their mouth or your heart in their hands.

But there is nothing more beautiful than being desperate.

And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care.

We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans.

We never know when the bus is coming.

"

Lewis, Rachel C.. Tell The People You Love That You Love Them. (via wordsnquotes)

(Source: wordsnquotes, via commovente)

the other way

you feel around in the darkness, upon the coldness of small tiles lain in perfect rows along a half-wet floor. you’ve never been there before. it’s the bottom. you’ve heard a lot about this place.

and no amount of tears seem to bring you any closer to understanding what and how or why it might be happening. and the saltiness brings no salvation this time - but it usually helps, it usually helps! you let the tears go anyway and watch as they dry gritty on the floor. the grout and the salt become one and the same. you run your fingertips across the rough. you feel bruises form on bones [indented with the squares of the tiles that cool your flushed cheeks and mind] below your skin pressed into the cold for hours, you assume, in the darkness.

and you laugh at your hopeless, simple imagination that can’t even take your mind off the hard cold salty grouted tiled floor and further from the blackest darkness on the bottom. you have no idea what time it is or how long you’ve been idle but you’ll bet it’s 3am and you’ll hope morning brings a gloomy day and the sun will stay hidden behind a blanket of clouds.

and then finally after those seemingly endless hours
you drag yourself across the cold hard floor
across the tears that dried so long ago in the darkness you now know
and find the blankets of a bed
and steal them instead.
and you wrap yourself in sheets, in your own arms, and stare at the nothing until you see worms of light moving at the backs of your closed eyes and you listen to white noise that appears as a piercing hum from too much silence and you pull those sheets up and over your head and wait anxiously for light to break through curtains that try their best to keep the darkness in
and the happiness out.

[happiness doesn’t seem to belong here right now.]

because maybe you want to feel like this. because maybe ups and downs make you feel alive. because maybe
down is really just
up
upside down.

and you know, it’s always all about perspective.

"i was born lost and take no pleasure in being found."

john steinbeck

"And men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins."

200 days

i’ve been away 
for 200 days. i’ve been gone, traveling, wandering, far from home. and i feel and sense and taste and realise the depth of all the wonderful ways i’ve grown. 

i never knew a life like this, i had only ever dreamt it. but now i see how perfect living can be, crazy, spectacular moments made of
beauty,
freedom,
magic.

but it’s all about you, it has always been you
[the places, adventure and people i choose]. 

it’s always in
magnificent things
a life made from spontaneity and saying yes and all the rest of all the beautiful, meant-to-be mess and chaos and ideas so farfetched, that just seem to work out when we push and wade through all the doubt and the struggle and the want to live the life we do, the life we’ve always wanted to.

in the 200 days that i’ve been away, i’ve found myself, my everything. it’s everyone, it’s every mountain, ocean, city street and stream. my spiritual someplace, my heart’s passionate rhythmic beating, 
my yearning for home 
for nowhere 
for everything in between.

oh these days of travelling, oh my soaring spirit, oh my soul so full and free. i’m living. i’m feeling. it’s searching and growing,
oh i am becoming exactly who i’ve always longed to be.

"Take a deep breath and realize how completely insane it is that you’re alive."

for all

where will we go from here?
what will we make of the lives we’re living?
what will we find in all the craziness of all the days we squeeze
and squeeze
and squeeze for all their worth?

seek out the happiness
and the hopefulness
and the humming of the whole of it.
find the measured moments
and crack them open,
with breaking limitations
and bending expectations.

with honesty, and a purposeful fulfilment of all our heart’s most treasured desires - that’s exactly what we need and that’s exactly all that matters. because as we close our eyes each night, we find all those things live so wildly in our dreams.

so why not make them real life? just watch, they’ll send you flying free.

Photo Awards « Yen Magazine

rumanating:

One of my photos from Nepal is listed in the Yen Magazine Travel Photo Awards for 2014. Would love if you could skip along to the link above and vote for the peoples choice award if you likey.

Love you guys.

iselle and julio

there’s something in the air. a change. an eeriness. an energy i can feel and sense and taste.

a hurricane is coming. well, two hurricanes are coming. i feel nervous, a little scared. a little worried, sure. but part of me feels like it’ll pass without a worry, in this bubble of paradise and perfection. it’s like the winds i’m feeling and hearing right now, i’ve felt and heard before. but this seems different. because we know what’s coming. we can see it: on radars and weather channels, on news reports from near and far; in the closing of businesses, the empty shelves where bottled water is usually stocked; in the eyes of people, so nervous, so over-prepared. so intensified by the emotions and paranoia of the locals and the media and the tourists. it saturates the island air. 

there is so much going on, in all the people on the island where i’ve kept my heart for the best part of this year. i can feel it. vibrating, pulsating, echoing against the walls of fear built around homes of weatherboard and plaster. on the coast, waiting for the storm. waiting for the rain. waiting for the wind and floods and chaos. waiting for the damage and the fallout and the disaster and the worst. 

well what pointless waiting that will be. 

weather the storm. it’s wild and wickedly yelling all its secrets in spurts of showers, sun and empty sky. for now. 

we wait.

thank you

and last night we all slept in one big bed and pearl was tossing and turning and her feet and legs were all over the place and i couldn’t help but laugh aloud, and i did, and so did she and so did leah and then i went silent as tears took over laugher and i wept.

i wept.

i cried in a way i’ve never cried before. i cried for how much i miss her, even as she sleeps right next to me. i cried for the amount of love i have for her. i cried for all the things i won’t be around for once i say goodbye again. i don’t want her to leave, i don’t want them to leave. i love them, so much. i miss my family. more than ever. the homesickness feels physical, emotional. i had it figured out, it was buried deep in my aching heart, but having them here has shifted all that has been hiding it from plain sight and daylight. it’s not a 3am feeling anymore, it’s 24 hours of every heat-filled day. and the heat seems only to be building in each hour and minute i’m away. i love this life, the uncertainty of my future, flying by the seat of my pants, chasing dreams and summer, the unknowingness. but i miss my biggest loves,
more than i knew,
more than i can say,
more than my quiet heart knows how to feel. 

i can’t tell you how grateful i am for you to be here.
it’s nothing, she said.
it’s everything, i said right back.

my heart breaks as i think about them leaving. i don’t know if i’m ready to miss them all over again.

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