a small step towards forgiveness is a giant leap into inner peace

I sit firmly clasping the heavy weight of yesterday in my hands

not to punish myself but to understand it

its been with me too long

my hands open and my heart listens

I gaze into the burden of my past guilty deeds

my heart whispers to me

let it go now

it slips from my fingers without hesitation

I let the moment breathe

releasing my grip on the past

I forgive myself first

for the words I wish I had chosen differently

for the silences that stayed too long

for being human in a world that asks for perfection

I sit in silence listening

my heartbeat comforts me

then I look outward

at the people who stumbled into my life

carrying their own storms

I loosen the knots of blame

and let them all walk free

when one of them trembles with regret

I show them the door I found

a simple kindness

an outstretched hand that says

you can begin again

no keeping score

no sharpening old anger into weapons

no revenge waiting in the dark

just small acts of mercy

moving quietly from heart to heart

grudges fall away like winter coats

on a warm morning

love travels lighter, faster and further than hate ever could

forgiveness shared hand in hand

and in that bright shining light

I keep walking forward

arms open wide and hands reaching out

peace growing inside me

with every step

Cardiac prison

seven years ago I first experienced Afib

A sudden rapid heartbeat woke me at 3am from a deep sleep,

no warning, no preface,

just the violent knocking inside my chest

as if someone had broken into my body in the night

I was tossed into a frightening tachycardia prison,

dazed and confused,

with no explanation why

there were hospitals, doctors, tests and examinations.

bright lights, cool hands, monitors blinking in coded language

the first episode lasted twenty-four hours

an entire day measured in racing pulses

after that, it came back at random times,

an uninvited warden with a master key

I took medication each time it flared up,

and within a few hours relief would arrive,

quietly unlocking the cell

my cardiologist is a great detective,

sifting through evidence and clues,

piecing together the pattern of my captivity

he helped uncover the lifestyle triggers

that threw me into the Afib jail:

dehydration,

caffeine,

alcohol

I learned to avoid their bad company

I passed them by like known criminals on a corner

my Afib jail time became much less frequent

the pill in my pocket became the lawyer

springing me out on bail

I could live a normal life

with that small tablet resting near my hip,

a quiet reassurance against my side

then, lest week, I was suddenly slung back into the Afib jail

wrongful arrest, I cried,

knowing none of my triggers had been around

calmly, I reached for the magic pill in my pocket.

I waited and waited and waited…….

as my heart beat incredibly fast,

like a trapped bird battering its cage

many hours passed

more intense and longer than usual

the pill had lost its magic, Mr Afib was running amok inside me

a hospital visit ensued

doctors, nurses, tests and I was admitted for observation

I lay in a hospital bed, motionless for long days and nights,

imprisoned within another prison,

walls outside and walls within

eventually they found a way to lower my heart rate with more medication

I was still in the Afib jail

but released from the hospital on bail

Afib took over my life

sleep became fragile and unreliable

exertion was impossible

relaxation unreachable

there was nowhere to escape

the new medication made me very tired

I became a couch dweller,

impatiently waiting for relief

more long days passed,

trying to live a normal life

while my heart fluttered and skipped,

every movement felt negotiated

with the erratic rhythm inside me

I prayed for relief, searched the internet for remedies, hoping my cardiologist would find a cure

The drums in my chest beat out a crazy tune 24/7

After seven days it abruptly stopped

no ceremony

no warning

no explanation

Mr Afib had left without saying goodbye

or leaving a note

Perhaps it was Mr Afib that was in jail,

locked inside his cardiac cell,

banging on the walls of my heart

demanding his release from me

Somebody sprung him free last night. 

he roams  elsewhere now,

looking for trouble in other places

I suspect he will be back sometime

next week I will see my cardiologist

I hope his detective skills are still sharp

we must work together to tame the beast

and keep me outside the tall walls of the Afib prison

In the meantime,

I am basking in the morning glory

of waking up without the pounding in my chest

My heart is bruised but not battered

Prayers have been answered

Normal service has been restored

Life is sweet

with a normal heartbeat

Manatees were here long before coastal developers and boaters

They drift like gray thoughts

beneath the flat glare of the sun

scarred backs breaking the surface

of warm clouded water

In winter they gather

Often in family groups

their bodies slow as old engines

their hearts steady but fragile

Boat motors carve the silence

Plastic tangles in grass they trust as food

The rivers narrow

The seagrass thins to memory

Still they rise for air

whiskered faces lifted

into a world that rarely sees

how gently they are trying to live

Cyclists and cars

We ride the ribbon at the edge of things

white line, gravel, guttered glass

legs turning small revolutions

against the empire of engines

We are not asking for parades

Just three feet

Just a moment of your patience

measured in heartbeats instead of horsepower

But you come like weather

A roar in the spine,

wind that slaps the ribs,

metal grazing air so close

it steals the breath from our lungs

You pass as if we are cones

as if the law is a rumor,

as if our bones are suggestions

Sometimes you cut in early

right hook, left cross,

forcing us to swerve into sand and storm drains,

into the soft shoulder where balance

becomes a prayer

And when we do not vanish quickly enough,

you lean on the horn

or roll down the window

to throw your words like bottles

Get off the road

Pay taxes

Learn to drive

As if the road were your inheritance

As if our thin tires

did not also hum on asphalt

paid for in sweat and hours

You do not see the calculus we carry

escape routes,

mirror glances,

the subtle shift of weight

that keeps skin intact

You do not see the families

stitched into our helmets,

the names we whisper

when a truck drifts too near

We are not saints

We curse into the wind

We memorize license plates

We ride home shaking

and call it a workout

But still we return to the shoulder of morning

clip in,

push off

Because there is a freedom in the turning

a stubborn joy in forward motion,

a quiet defiance in choosing

muscle over motor

All we ask

is space enough to live

Three feet of mercy

A lane change made with thought

A recognition that we are not obstacles

but people

balanced between gravity and grace

trusting that you will pass

like a decent storm,

wide and gone

Viva Las Vegas

the neon pulse finally falters

flickering out like an exhausted heartbeat against the graying concrete of the Strip

the air, once thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the frantic electricity of a thousand slot machines, now turns cold and sharp

a sudden reminder that the desert is still here

the sun casts cloudy shadows over the tall buildings

the city holds its breath

most of the gamblers have gone to sleep

streets are swept of their silver glitter

the silence is more deafening than the music ever was

Good morning Las Vegas

Am I a creature of habits or just a prisoner to my rituals

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I wake up straight away when the alarm goes off

I never hit snooze or go back to sleep

Leaping out of bed wide awake

Perhaps a legacy of working ten years as a first responder

My first task is taking my daily medication

Counting the pills and identifying each one individually

Disregarding the fact that I had carefully preloaded them into a weekly container

Then its off to hunt for my favorite mug

Tea does not taste the same in anything else

I watch the kettle heat up close to boiling

Switching it off before 190F for my green tea

I always make a second cup for the wife even if she is still asleep

If the dishwasher has run I always unload the top tray first

The bottom tray is next with the cutlery last

I put them in the cutlery drawer like little soldiers standing to attention

Knives are first in followed by forks and spoons

The dishwasher is always reloaded in reverse order

If its a bike riding day I will pump up the tires next

I always pump up the rear tire first

I imagine the front tire would eject the air if inflated before the rear

All my riding gear will have been neatly laid out the night before

No need to hunt for anything in the morning

Next up is my protein shake

I line up the ingredients in the same order every time

Allowing myself a few minutes of browsing while drinking the shake

Now its time to load my drink bottles on the bike

The front bottle always in the holder first

Clipping on the rear flashing light before the front

Next is a quick shower with its own set of ablution rituals

I always shave my face before shaving my head

It seems like the essential order of grooming

Now its time to get dressed for riding

My left foot always greets the first sock

Not sure why because my right foot is dominant

My right leg is always first inside my shorts or pants

Once ready I wait to the same exact same daily time before opening the door

It would not feel right to be a minute early or late

Wheeling my bike outside into the fresh air

I always take a few breaths to meditate before riding

My right leg swings over the bike to mount up

I have never tried mounting from the other side

My left foot clips into the pedal first soon followed by my right foot

Next task is to verify all the sensors have connected to the bike computer

I could not imagine myself riding with a sensor was missing

Once rolling I change the gears up and down and test the brakes

My helmet rear view mirror must be perfectly aligned

I never start a ride without all these “pre-flight” checks

Before coming to a stop I always unclip my right pedal

Leaning the bike to the right as my right foot finds the ground

I would probably fall off the bike if I tried to stand on my left foot

Pushing off with my right foot when moving again

The end of my right bike shoe is almost worn away from starts

My left shoe is unblemished

My conscience is seriously blemished by all these OCD rituals

This child of the 70’s has finally grown up

I have always identified myself as a child of the 70’s

Those late teenage years bonding with rock music

Leaving home and going to university in the 70’s

Graduating and starting my career in the 70’s

Getting married and buying a house in the 70’s

I kept the 70’s spirit with me at all times as my life evolved

Setting ambitious goals and striving for perfection

Always reaching for higher than before

Continually learning new things and reinventing myself

Taking big but calculated risks

Recognizing opportunities and seizing them

Emigrating to a new country and learning a new language

Working hard and reaping the rewards

Designing and building a large dream home

Pushing myself to write something every day

But something has happened recently to change it all

I still love 70’s music and strive to have fun

But I am less focussed on material possessions

My priorities in life have all been reevaluated 

Making a conscious effort to slow down and smell the roses

Downsizing to a smaller but comfortable home

Spending more time with family and loved ones

Riding my bike for pure fun rather than breaking my speed and distance records

Leaning more towards experiences and less towards acquiring stuff

Taking longer vacations and relaxing cruises

Only writing when I have something meaningful to say

No longer saying yes to everything

Recognizing that time is a precious resource

Letting go of my perfectionism

Not worrying if things on the todo list are made to wait

Decluttering my possessions and decluttering my mind

No longer rushing through daily activities

Having a leisurely breakfast and savoring every morsel

Taking more time to marvel at sunsets and the nocturnal stars

Finding inner peace through forgiveness

This child of the 70’s has grown into a child in his 70’s

Wedding Celebration Reading

Today’s the day, the moment is here

Abby and Addison—we’re all full of cheer!

Soon the I do’s and promises will be said

A brand-new adventure for them lies ahead

Now Addison’s other passion is something ever so cool

Football, AKA soccer and his team is the mighty Liverpool

“Come on you reds” is the song he sings like a vow

So Abby you must learn to sing along with him now

While Abby may smile at his game-day obsession

She knows that his heart is her true possession

Because love, like football, takes teamwork, passion and great insight

And if you play really well you might get lucky and score every night

But marriage is a lot more than a 90 minute game

Its a lifelong match without a referee to blame

Together they’ll enjoy what marriage may bring

like dirty dishes, financial decisions, and watching Mo Salah running down the wing

They’ll dance through the highs, laugh off the lows

build a strong team where the victory grows

Now marriage is not just one single shining day

it’s cheering each other in every good or bad play

Please remember this day with affection and pride

Stay loyal to each other and never drift offside

So here’s to the Wests—forever the best

may love be their anthem, their cheer, their quest

Listen to the roar from your wedding fan zone

They’re singing “Addison and Abby”

“You’ll never walk alone! ”

Country life

English countryside

East Sussex

Rolling hills

Green fields

Windy roads

Tall hedges

Tiny villages

Local pub

Warm beer

Pub lunch

Good banter

Friendly people

Slow pace

Afternoon stroll

Sunny intervals

Dark clouds

Passing shower

No shelter

Soaking wet

Trudge home

Warm fire

Dry clothes

Feeling hungry

Heading out

Pub food

Fried cod

French fries

Warm beer

Country life

Ideas

Ideas arrive like small sparks

Not enough to light a fire

But bright enough to to distract you

Some cling to the edges of your thoughts

Thin as spider webs

Trembling with the weight of expectation

Others stagger around aimlessly and fall into oblivion

Ideas do not come with a manual or a tool kit to finish the build

They do not explain themselves

They press against your silence

Asking to be acknowledged

Not seeking approval

Simply wanting recognition

Left untouched they will fade away

Leaving a feint trace

A memory of what might have been

Embraced ideas will sometimes flourish

Especially if you develop them with a passion

Occasionally emerging from the sea of your imagination onto the dry land of reality

Waiting patiently for that inevitable question at a dinner party

And where are you from?

Replying

I was just an idea before