The things I have seen, the places I have been, the memories I have made, have made me in the process. I am the sum of each and every part of the planet my eyes have glanced across. I am the combination of all things I have endured.

Paihia, New Zealand, in the moonlight.

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Typewriter Series #389 by Tyler Knott Gregson

Text for tired eyes:

On the occasion of my death, how will I be remembered?
Will it be sobs and soaked handkerchiefs or will it be laughter
and heads shaking in collective acknowledgment
to the silly and completely ridiculous stories that will be told?
On the occasion of my death, how will I meet the one that will
usher me through the crossroads of this life and the next?
Will it be with a bang, with a silent whimper, or with my forehead
to the clouds a grin upon my fading mouth and my hand reaching
out first to take her hand before she asks for mine?
Will it be painful, will it hurt, will I scream for it to be over
or will I, pushing through frozen bits of frozen moments,
understand the reason for the pain and the explanation behind
the hurt and instead turn and bask in it, the final sensation
this skin and these bones will ever feel this beautiful lap
through a breathtaking life.
On the occasion of my death, what will be the weather on the instant
and dizzying transition into the occasion of my rebirth?
Will I enter through a storm or through the gentle breeze of
a sunny day? Will the rain drops be my baptism and will my first
scream be only the echo of my last scream in the flesh I used to
wear, and wear proudly?
On the occasion of my death, will the explosion be felt across the
planet or will it be the single falling star spied by a single
lonely soul sitting on the roof of some creaking house in the
cool early Autumn night? Will they feel me flicker and fade
and burst back into glowing life or will I just fall into line
as the next star in a crowd of many that will make up some
constellation?
Will sailors guide themselves by me, will two young souls
freshly in love wish upon me when I come out while the blue
still hangs in the sky and will I feel those wishes?
On the occasion of my death, what will become of all that was?
What will become of all I was to be
on the occasion of my death?

-Tyler Knott Gregson-

Is it what we see or how we see it? Where we are or how we are? I have a distinct feeling that if we love How we are and choose wisely How we see all the life around us, suddenly where we are will seem precisely right, and what we see will never stop astonishing us.

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Typewriter Series #388 by Tyler Knott Gregson

There is a strength that comes in silence, a strength that never needs to announce itself or prove its measure. The mountains have never needed to scream of their own grandeur, nor whisper of their might.

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Typewriter Series #387 by Tyler Knott Gregson

They are better than we, More than us. How they are, we should be. How they are. How are we?

(Source: TylerKnott.com)

No matter what, they love us still. What a lesson in that, what a perfect model for our waltz through our days. Love and don’t stop loving.