Tag Archives: deep reflection

Just Heart ©️

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Good morning, Cicely.

There are some journeys we take alone. Not by choice, but by storm. Life has a funny way of rerouting the road just when you think you know the map. And suddenly, you’re not the person you thought you were going to be.

You’re not the golden boy anymore.

Not the rising star.

Not the dreamer with the straight path and the perfect arc.

You’re something else entirely.

You’re someone who went through it. And I mean really went through it.

I’ve spent time in places people whisper about—psych wards, jail cells, corners of the mind where the lights flicker and nothing makes sense. I’ve lost years to silence, confusion, and pain. I’ve watched dreams get shattered like glass on stone, and had to pick up the pieces with shaking hands.

There were nights no one called. Days no one knew where I was. Times even I didn’t know who I was.

And still… somehow… I’m here.

My family didn’t always understand. How could they? Mental illness doesn’t come with instructions. It doesn’t wear a name tag. It doesn’t sit politely in the corner. But even in the dark, they loved me. Fiercely. Imperfectly. Consistently. And I owe them everything.

There was a love once—a young one. One of those first-flame, heart-open, foolish-and-forever kind of things. I let it slip away. Maybe I ran. Maybe I wasn’t ready. Maybe I didn’t believe I deserved it. And I’ve never found that kind of depth again. That’s a ghost I carry. Not with bitterness, just with a quiet what if.

I never had children. And maybe I never will. That used to haunt me. But lately… I’ve started to see things differently.

Because while I may not be a father, I’ve become something else. Something I never thought I could be.

I’ve become me.

Not the broken version.

Not the could’ve-been.

Just me.

Someone I trust.

Someone I’m proud to carry through this world.

This is Chris in the Morning—KBHR 570 AM—and if you’re listening, and you’ve been through the long night… just know there’s still morning. There’s still music. There’s still time.

And sometimes, surviving becomes your greatest work.

Part of You ©️

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What if humans are not outside observers, not passengers, not even offspring — but instruments the Earth built to sense itself?

What if the world, in its great slowness, reached a point where it could no longer bear its own silence — so it sculpted a new kind of organ, not a tree, not a stone, not a river, but us — a nerve ending wrapped in flesh, a sudden flare of thought capable of asking what it is made of?

Maybe mountains need us to feel tall.

Maybe the sky can only be vast because something small was born to marvel at it.

Maybe a forest is not complete until something can walk through it and feel awe, like touch returned to the hand of the world.

We look at the ocean and say: There is the sea. But maybe that’s not quite right. Maybe when you stand at the edge of the waves, the sea is looking back, using your eyes.

We think the Earth made us to live here. That’s backwards. The Earth made us to feel here. To taste its wind and flinch at its lightning. To tell stories about its storms. To feel the ache in its rivers when they are poisoned, and the hunger in its soil when it’s stripped.

You are not a guest here. You are a sense organ of the planet. A walking, weeping, wondering extension of its desire to know itself from the inside out.

When you cry — it’s the sky in you.

When you burn — it’s the core remembering its heat.

When you love — it’s the Earth trying to hold itself together.

We are not part of the world. We are the part that notices. And when we forget that, the Earth loses a piece of its mind.

Juxtaposition of Souls ©️

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Out of Her Mind ©️

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The cicadas hum their eternal song in the thick, syrupy heat of the plantation’s late afternoon, a hymn to a moment that stretches infinite yet fleeting. The house looms above the cotton fields, its white columns casting long shadows across the earth, shadows that seem to hold the weight of generations. But not today. Today, those shadows are empty, no longer tethered to the stories that birthed them. The past doesn’t live here anymore.

The breeze stirs, slow and deliberate, as if it knows this is the only moment that matters. Not the hands that built the bricks, not the whispers of things done and left undone. Not the echo of traumas buried in the ground. No, all of that has dissolved into the stillness of now.

Here, time isn’t a thread; it’s a pool, deep and reflective, swallowing everything that came before. The cracked leather chair on the porch holds no memory of the men who sat there, smoking cigars and spinning stories to fill the void. The fields don’t recall the hands that worked them, nor the voices that sang sorrow into the soil. Everything before this moment is weightless, scattered like cotton tufts on the wind.

And you? You stand here, barefoot on the cool planks of the porch, feeling nothing but the wood beneath your feet and the air on your skin. The past is a trick of the mind. Trauma? Just another ghost that dissipates when you stop feeding it.

The creak of the rocking chair breaks the silence, and for the first time, you realize it’s your own breath syncing to its rhythm. Inhale. Exhale. Each breath is an anchor, rooting you in the now. No faces linger in the glassy windows of the plantation house. No voices call your name from the fields. The past has no teeth here, no bite.

The sun dips low, painting the sky in purples and oranges that bleed together without lines, without boundaries—like this moment. There are no borders between you and the world, no yesterday to weigh you down, no scars to press against.

This is the truth the Southern air carries in its heavy embrace: the only thing real is what you feel right now, in this singular heartbeat. Let the rest fade. Let it fall away into the bayou mists and the tall grass whispering secrets to no one.

This moment is yours, untangled, unburdened, and as eternal as you choose to make it.

Just Between Us ©️

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Scene: A quiet, reflective evening. Present You sits across from Future You, who radiates calm confidence and wisdom. The room is timeless, bathed in a warm, golden glow.

Present You: I don’t even know where to start. I feel like I’m at a crossroads—marriage, career, where to live. There’s no one in my life now, but should I even get married at all?

Future You: (smiling knowingly) That’s a big one, isn’t it? Marriage is more than just a question of “if.” It’s a question of “why.” So let me ask you—why are you considering it?

Present You: (shrugs) I guess… it feels like the thing to do. Like, at some point, shouldn’t I be building a life with someone?

Future You: (leans forward, voice steady) Marriage isn’t about ticking off a box. It’s about choosing someone who expands your life, not narrows it. You don’t need to rush into it just because it feels like something you’re “supposed” to do. When the time comes—and it will—you’ll know because the idea of life without that person will feel incomplete.

Present You: But what if I never meet them? What if I’m one of those people who never finds “the one”?

Future You: (laughs softly) You’re forgetting something important: your life is full without them. You’re not waiting for someone to complete you—you’re building a life that someone amazing will want to be part of. And when they do show up, you won’t feel desperate or uncertain. You’ll feel ready.

Present You: (nodding slowly) So, I just keep living and trust it’ll happen?

Future You: Exactly. And don’t settle out of fear. Love isn’t about convenience; it’s about connection. Focus on being the kind of person you’d want to marry. Trust me, that changes everything.

Present You: (takes a deep breath) Alright, I can wait for the right person. But what about work? I’m in this job that pays the bills, but it’s not lighting me up. Should I stay or go?

Future You: (smirking) You already know the answer to that. Let me ask you this—if you stay where you are now, where do you see yourself in five years?

Present You: (pauses) Probably… doing the same thing, feeling the same way.

Future You: Exactly. Look, I was in your shoes once. Comfortable, but restless. You don’t have to quit tomorrow, but you do need to start thinking bigger. What’s the one thing you’ve always wanted to do but were too scared to try?

Present You: (hesitates) Start my own business, maybe. Or write more seriously.

Future You: Then start. Small steps are still steps. I began by carving out an hour a day to work on what mattered to me. Those hours added up. And eventually, I built something that made me excited to get out of bed in the morning.

Present You: (leaning back) And where does all this happen? I’m in Montana now, but I keep wondering if I should move back South.

Future You: (smiling warmly) You already know the answer to that, too. The South is in your blood. It’s where you feel connected, grounded. Remember the sunsets, the slower pace, the way people actually talk to each other? That’s where your soul feels at home.

Present You: (quietly) I do miss it. But isn’t going back a step backward?

Future You: Not if you go back to build something new. You’re not escaping; you’re returning to your roots to grow. Life isn’t about proving yourself in a place that doesn’t feel right—it’s about thriving in the one that does.

Present You: (pausing, thoughtful) So you’re saying I should take my time with marriage, take risks with work, and trust my instincts about where to live?

Future You: (grinning) Exactly. Stop waiting for perfect answers. Start making choices and owning them. You’re not building someone else’s dream—you’re building yours.

Present You: (smiling faintly) It sounds so simple when you say it.

Future You: (leans forward, voice firm) It’s not simple. It’s messy and uncertain, and you’ll doubt yourself sometimes. But every choice you make with intention brings you closer to me. And trust me—you’ll love who you become.

Present You: (sitting up straighter) Alright, then. I guess it’s time to stop overthinking and start doing.

Future You: (standing, offering a hand) That’s the spirit. You’ve got this. And remember—you’re never alone. Every step forward brings us closer.

[Fade out as Present You stands, looking out a window, feeling the weight of clarity and the pull of possibility.]