Once there was a way to get back home
That way lost itself in perilous joys and heartbreaks
Once there was a way to return to innocence
That way crumbled under the decisions of experience

Once there was a way to get back home
A tattered, littered, obstacle-filled trail
Peppered with pain, delusion,
A perpetual carrot
Always in view, always beyond reach

Once there was a way to get back home
Home being that idyllic landscape which both never existed and forever lives in our hearts
A shiny, dewdrop laden blade of grass on the way to elementary school
Filled with wonder and beauty
A moment in time where the vociferous voices of angry parents ceased to exist
An escape into a continuum only you could enter

Once there was a way to get back home
Never out of our reach
Forever in our wounded hearts and jaded minds
If only we could stop the world and search out that moment
A moving target becomes our sole view
When in truth there exists no target
Only a willingness to grant permission for entry

The way home lies broken and obscured by Life. Death.
Living encapsulates home in a boundless infinity
Stretching not to the ends of universes or galaxies
But to the infinite heart deep within

Once there was a way to get back home
Once every nanosecond
Once every breath
Once every heartbeat
Once every thought

All we need remains our own permission to travel…

My mentor and friend died a few days ago in his recliner in his apartment alone. This likely was how he would have preferred passing on. For me, his loss has shocked my heart just like a few dozen other deaths throughout my life. I cannot imagine he is gone. All I can grasp at this moment is that pieces of him, quite valuable pieces for me, live on within me. My ascent into the writing world, no matter how bumpy, varied, and full of mistakes, owes much to Rikki Ravioli, otherwise known as Rik Feeney. He lifted me, mentored me, was an incredibly good friend to me, for which I will continue to live in gratitude for his kindness toward me.

I have completed my sabbatical from writing. Once again, he has prompted me to action. RIP my friend. Wherever you are now, I’m sure you’re stirring up hornets’ nests…

I cannot write more in this moment.

Thanks to you, Rik, I WILL write more…