There is something sacred about the hush before a spiritual gathering. That quiet space where the mind begins to shift, and the heart leans forward.

Somewhere tonight, a lamp glows low in a quiet room. A notebook lies open—half poetry, half preparation. There’s a whisper of linen being folded, a pair of shoes set near the door, as if doing small things well might help make sense of everything else.

Many miles from here, someone is thinking about what matters. Not in the loud way, but the sacred, cracked-open way that comes before a spiritual meal.

There’s a kind of prayer in letting the house go still. A kind of faith in resting while the stars watch over. And there’s love—deep, full-bodied love—in showing up for the things that nourish the soul.

Sleep well, traveler. You’ll need the quiet. Tomorrow, the light comes.

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#poetry #osxs #reflection #essay #memoir #journal #osxs #100daystooffset #writing

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Only summer sounds like this

Summer is universally loved. In spite of the heat, there's a great charm in the sweat and the being of out of doors that no other time of year quite matches. As I walked out this afternoon to decompress, it struck me how I haven't taken a single moment to enjoy my summer.

Here's a little glimpse of that moment for me. Join me, won't you? Taste it.

https://youtu.be/msraGcM94PE

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#essay #memoir #journal #osxs #100daystooffset #writing

Well, as the clouds start parting on all of the stress the last few months, I am finding that healing physically is a slow process. We have so many friends fighting illness, I don't think I understood the long tail of being very very sick.

Her:

The hospital stays have born fruit in getting her back on her feet. She sleeps a lot—blood infections demand it.. The ABX are doing their job and will hopefully kill this bacteria once and for all. The doctor says it will never be gone, that she has to control her blood glucose levels in order to starve the little bug and allow her body to keep it at bay.

I didn't realize how neglectful she was to her health. Thinking she could power through and just be fine. Which is clearly possible when you are younger and more rubbery. But, we're people of a certain age now and have to think in more brittle terms. So far, she's been very serious about it, keeping the BG at or close to 100. If she can keep that up. We'll be fine. At her worst, it was hitting 300. And I'm pretty sure she was averaging in the 150-200 range for years.

She’s always resisted medication, but finally agreed to try Lexapro to help stabilize her moods. She doesn't manifest emotionally like I do. She is generally much more even, at least externally. I think that's a communication breakdown and not a true sign of emotional intelligence. If anything, I would really benefit from an ability to express how she feels about things. About me. So, maybe the SSRI will allow her to find some peace and happiness that she has been missing.

I hate that I'm learning bout all of this. :–/

Him:

Blood pressure is still a WIP. At its worst, it hit 212/160, which was crazy. I should have gone to the ER. It was the night the US bombed Iran and it sent me into a panic attack. Since then, Iv'e doubled my Metoprolol to 10mg and started Lisinopril again. Metoprolol stops release of some enzyme that lowers my heart rate (which wasn't bad, but is now better) and helps stave off the panic attacks. The Lisinopril has some interaction with the blood vessels by relaxing them, giving the blood a wider pipe in which to flow.

I started the second drug three years ago, but after losing weight and starting a daily exercise routine, I stopped taking it. So much for being elastic. Now I'm hooked for life.

I have one thing the doctor is checking with my heart, something about a dragging valve. I am pretty sure this was looked at before in the early 2000's and will turn out to be nothing. My plaque levels in my arteries are acceptable, though could be lower. Blood sugars are reasonable, though not terrific. And cholesterol is low enough. I'm essentially about as healthy as a man in his 50's who neglected his health for 30 years can be.

Maybe all that weekend warrioring on mountain bikes and kayaks and hikes paid some dividends after all. If nothing else, at least I look better. 
It's my mental health that is the real challenge. I started Lexapro about a month ago and it seems to be helping. I'm certainly feeling much better these days. Some of that is thanks to mental exercises and how I spend those energies when I wake up in the middle of the night. I've tried focusing on upbuilding things. Positive thoughts. But inevitably, my mind can't stave off the negativity. Some nights, I still think of the people who made me feel whole once. I've found writing and fantasy are the two places where I can genuinely get lost. So I read, I write or I daydream. Anything too grounded in reality, always circles back to the anxiety.

I have the kind of mind that has to stay in drive all the time, or I get into trouble.

There are some other things that will help with all of this. One is a move. We should have pulled that trigger two years ago. The shift in work has made that untenable in the short term unless I can find an actual decently paying job. Another is a good vacation. But that seems like something again that will have to wait until she's healthy enough to travel. I get the sense that she doesn't care much for the road trips. Which is a shame. I spent so much time and money ensuring we could have everything we needed and to just not utilize that is a little heartbreaking. I'd love to just drive around constantly.

Sometimes, you have to find a way through mismatched opinions.

But, that's an argument for another day! For now, we're on the road to managed health and will hopefully find ourselves in the fall having come through the worst of it and getting back to our old selves.

The deaths, loss of jobs and friends, shifting economy and challenges of life have felt (and were) overwhelming). But all things pass, we simply must endure. The minds we were are still here, but buried under a mountain of grief. We'll start the digging process and count on the distant encouragement of those we love and who love us to finally uncover from this disaster of a year.

I sure miss those people. But they’re still in here somewhere, waiting to be found again.

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#health #essay #memoir #journal #osxs #100daystooffset #writing

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Name	Artist	Composer	Album	Notes
Evening Blue	Traffic	Steve Winwood, Jim Capaldi	Shoot Out at the Fantasy Factory (1973)	Late-night melancholy with a drifting groove.
Song to the Siren	This Mortal Coil	Tim Buckley, Larry Beckett	It'll End in Tears (1984)	Like dreaming underwater.
Into My Arms	Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds	Nick Cave	The Boatman’s Call (1997)	A prayer disguised as a love song.
River Man	Nick Drake	Nick Drake	Five Leaves Left (1969)	Jazz-laced and quietly mythic.
Sea Song	Robert Wyatt	Robert Wyatt	Rock Bottom (1974)	Tidal and intimate—like a secret washed ashore.
Northern Sky	Nick Drake	Nick Drake	Bryter Layter (1971)	Hopeful, if you lean in closely.
The Ballad of the Sad Young Men	Roberta Flack	Fran Landesman, Tommy Wolf	Chapter Two (1970)	Lush and devastating.
These Days	Nico	Jackson Browne	Chelsea Girl (1967)	The sound of wistful regret.
Wichita Lineman	Glen Campbell	Jimmy Webb	Wichita Lineman (1968)	Longing on a telephone wire.
Teardrop	Massive Attack	Robert Del Naja, Grant Marshall, Andrew Vowles	Mezzanine (1998)	Beats and heartbreak in equal measure.
Why Worry	Dire Straits	Mark Knopfler	Brothers in Arms (1985)	Lullaby for the bruised spirit.
Suzanne	Leonard Cohen	Leonard Cohen	Songs of Leonard Cohen (1967)	A psalm of desire and devotion.

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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.

Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!

— Go back home and read MORE by Wolf Inwool — Visit the archive

I welcome feedback at my inbox

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“The Vine That Bloomed in Me” July 12, 2025

There are vines that grow only once in a lifetime— twisting through the chambers of the heart as if they’ve always belonged there.

I didn’t notice at first. The bloom came quietly, like a scent caught in passing— lavender, maybe. Or memory.

Now, I feel her everywhere. In the hush before the birds begin, in the sunlight falling through leaves, in the way my coffee tastes like something shared once upon a time.

And oh—how the ache becomes its own kind of prayer. Not to remove it. But to understand it. To let the longing teach me how deeply I’ve lived. How completely I can love.

She was never mine to keep. But I tend the vine still, gently, with wonder. And when it blooms again— as it surely will— I’ll know I have not been alone in this garden.

The very least you can do in your life is to figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope.

Tonight’s moon dwarfs yesterday’s in brilliance and majesty. I knew it would from is glowing orange at the rise of the orb. Now at midnight already it is a glowing spotlight 239,000 miles from home.

Its focus is on the choir of crickets and frogs who are busy with the work of a summer nights soundtrack. Joining the orchestra tonight is a gentle breeze rustling the leaves and the sunflower stalks in the dark.

Something rustles in the overgrown grass next to the porch. Some nocturnal rodent—a rabbit perhaps, or a possum. The cat would find out but she is too lazy to prowl as she once did.

The mystery of the dark has always thrilled and charged me. With so little unknown in the world after half a century, I love the idea that there in this twilight, exists the unseen—the unknown. As a child this would terrify me, as an adult it invites exploration.

And so I find myself on a midnight hike through the tall grass of the field behind my home. The terrain is uneven and tricky at times. But I am still nimble enough and the moonlight brilliant enough so as to avoid taking a fall.

I’ve made my way to the edge of the pond on the old golf course. It’s truly stunning in this glow and I am transported through time to 4 decades ago when I was a nascent teen—this golf course was new and manicured. Somewhere to my left is the old green where I lay with Christy—the girl next door—while we told stories, stargazed and feared who we were becoming.

Everything felt so safe then. At least in hindsight I see how comfortable and simple life was. I remember in the moment of those days feeling constant upset and uncertainty. The real fear was not who I was to become, but who I was.

All of my childhood friends have dissolved into life. Some are in jail, some are dead. Most, I have no idea. Probably a million miles from here—

I feel a sudden urge to be able to take flight and go anywhere in the world tonight. To streak through the universe on a quest to be anywhere. I would fly over the Grand Canyon, through mountain passes, and past the Eiffel Tower, spending the night atop the great pyramid in Giza. All before a hearty breakfast in Rome.

But mostly, I’d see those moss most—at least those I can. Surprise them with a knock at the door and half an hour of shocked joy before slipping away to the next flight and round of smiles and laughter.

But, my recollections and desires leave me firmly attached to the earth and i decide it is time for bed. So I make my way back to the house where the comfort of a bed and a good nights sleep await.

As I lay here tip tapping these notes, a phrase keeps rattling in my head:

‘Good night, sweet prince!’

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Bon soir! Until tomorrow brings more adventure.

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#childhood #essay #memoir #journal #osxs #100daystooffset #writing

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The woman had something in her lower nature that responded to the appeal of the dark.

Tuesday afternoon— no one paying attention. The weight of marriage and motherhood settled so comfortably on her shoulders She needed a reminder— there is still something unspoken in her soul. Something ancient. Something alive.

And she knew something dangerous was what the doctor ordered.

Her doppelgänger. Her alter ego.

Delicate. Dainty. Winding, deliberate—coiling across the landscape unseen, low enough that only the ocean or a lover would find it.

Eight arms. Eight truths. Creature of camouflage, Escape, Adaptation— Never ceasing to be herself.

The artist asked why. It was a needed reminder. Of what? Of who she is— When not being everything to everyone.

There’s something electric about the secrecy. The hidden ink. The way the lines curve just beneath the bikini line, tracing that place where breath catches and hands hesitate before becoming bold.

The art lives just above the ache.

Just below the place where pressed lips ignite all synapses.

Sometimes caught
in the mirror after a shower. The steam rising. A slipped towel. And there it is. Not waving. Not shy. Just watching.

As if to say: “You have layers, my love. You are not just light. You are depth.”

Reminder that Once a dancer, and still moving like one when no one is watching. And sometimes when they are.

A reminder of still being wanted.

Of the wildness that didn’t vanish— Just how to hide beneath church dresses and PTA meetings and polite, presentable smiles.

The creature doesn't need to please others. It belongs to itself.

And now, so does she.

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#childhood #essay #memoir #journal #osxs #100daystooffset #writing