This is a part of an introduction from something different that I’ve been working on. With the next post we’ll swim back into the tilts in the compass and meditation. Thanks for reading.



Trying to understand the moment. The feeling, my reactions, my senses and the fluctuations between the heaviness and the lightness of the air. Every day I see myself reaching for a new part of it or stumbling across a new piece by accident. A tilt in the compass… magnetic amongst other things. Exploring with every step forward, learning with every step forward, feeling with step forward. Fleeting and beautiful, the moments mixed in with the innate magic of well, everything around us. The push and pull of the subtle winds and the infinite blink of the horizon’s eye. How often I take for granted and miss the subtle movements around me. Even though the speed of everyday life is something I’ve grown accustom to, it’s also something that I am still slightly confused by and at the same time in awe of.

An abundance within the moment, magnetic amongst other things, as we stare up at the horizon’s eye wondering about the mechanics of it. Often, I forget how amazing the people and the different places around me are, and much too often I failed to notice the little things. The reflections expand the world around me and the floor beneath me, as the moment stretches different things become beautiful new things become understandable. The moment we all share stretches, making it easier to notice and highlight the beauties and the intricacies of the innate magic of and within everything around us.

A simple look at the moment and a simple feeling within the heart. The adventure that sits within each moment, even if it isn’t expanded upon, the energy that heightens the basic, that same glow is coming from all around us. Neglectful with how I use my own speed, haste unnecessarily showers some moments, but mustn’t we keep up with the shuffle? Nonchalant as time strolls by. The beautiful is the mundane.

 Slowing down only long enough to realize what I may have missed, only long enough to valet my scuba gear and continue on to the tour. Here’s to each nothing nestled in the infinite that we’ll never get a chance to swoon over.




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“My life amounts to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean. Yet what is any ocean, but a multitude of drops?”
David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas



“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world — above, below, and across — unhindered, without ill will, without enmity.” – Buddha

Helium River

The steps feel like leaps.

Existence then awareness.

From my heart to around my shoulders.

I often had trouble understanding what I saw when I looked directly at the flame, nor was I sure about how it really worked, I considered the origin of the type of fire that I was familiar with, this seemed to be a little different though. It had been there long before I had the coat. Sometimes it would react to different moments or changes in my surroundings. Sometimes it felt like things slowed down whenever the flame would begin to spiral.

The split second faded into its connection with forever, that same glow coming from all around us.

We converse, adding to each other’s holograms and bouncing thoughts off all the reflections surrounding us.

The reflections had more of a shine when we spoke to each other.

The sky ahead of us was calm, and the smell of water evaporating off of metal began to fill the air. The steam created its own metallic clouds.

Sailing further with the wind of the shuffle. From my heart to around my shoulders.

The steps feel like leaps.

Existence then awareness.

Synchronization then reflections.

We set out hoping luck will come hang with us, the steps feel like leaps.

The magnetics and reflections push and pull with the winds. The wind from the shuffle kept the swing suspended in midair. As each push and pull takes the swing higher, the view becomes wider, showing more and more of the reflections within the shuffle at the top of each swing. At the highest point in the air the swing would stop for a split second just before it came back down. In that second— no gravity and no time— just that moment of being weightless.

The potential that sits with each moment eventually becomes forever just as the future will eventually become the now.

The split second faded into its connection with forever, that same glow coming from all around us.



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A few more interesting poems:







“Reality and imagination are threaded and sewed with the same needle, a needle that has ink and a cap.” -Arron Leland


The potential that sits within each moment eventually becomes forever just as the future will eventually become the now.



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“Reality and imagination are threaded and sewed with the same needle, a needle that has ink and a cap.” -Arron Leland

Imagination’s Parachute

For a split second I thought I saw my reflection in a passing breeze. After a moment, the breeze sat still. Then it spiraled into a small tornado, while somehow maintaining its stillness.

Lending my desire for perfection to humor for the clumsiness that follows. The entire journey goes by in a split second, and the other half of that second hasn’t happened yet. The reflections stutter then speed shuffle all in one motion, blinding me for just a moment.

A taste of radiation poisoning. I could smell the rain. Wonder seems to be the warm background, static at times, blue and static.

The wind at this altitude was different, magnetic amongst other things. A tilt in the compass, millions of maps flicker during the shuffle.
Gravity affects the surrounding clocks.
The arrival of a copper taste distracts me from what is going on.
Just as my imagination’s inkwell began to fill up, turbulence shook the room. My reflection in the oil slick stretched as the ink spilled out. It fell backwards, missing the engine schematics sitting on the table. The small ink bottle rolled toward the open window in front of me. I watched as it spiraled through the rain clouds. Left-over ink flew out, creating an oil spill in the second and third sky.

Sometimes I digress with description. Will you go blind with me?

Another tilt of the compass
Further away my steps make the edge.
Discovery expands the floor beneath us.
The sky appeared glassy, like the sky was its own telescope. It seemed almost linear, layered, with levels behind it, so that from where we stood we could look into another universe.

A few more interesting poems:



Image by: https://www.shutterstock.com/g/genova
1st poem written by Edna St. Vincent Millay
2nd poem written by Orlando White
Main poem written by Arron Leland
I’ll try to catch the part of me that is falling. Until then I’ll try to learn how use my wings from the butterflies that hand me the phone when you’re calling. – Arron Leland

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