#032 A Human Machine Racing to Help the Loved Ones of Fallen Heroes

March 21, 2011

The normal adult male’s resting heart rate is 72 beats-per-minute. David Goggin’s heart rate?

32 beats-per-minute

I discovered David via the amazing video I’m sharing today. His story is a profound one showcasing the depths of human potential when confronted with a challenge. In David’s case, he volunteers for the challenges…again and again.

You see, David is a US Navy Seal. That’s just about the most physically and mentally grueling profession known to man, right? Just the thought of being subjected to Navy Seal training is enough to bring most grown adults to tears. It’s a serious and tough business.

But David’s story isn’t about achieving the pinnacle of personal performance as a highly-skilled Seal, at least not in-and-of itself. During his tenure as an elite commando, he recognized an opportunity to perform at an even greater, more meaningful level.

Enter ultramarathons to help the kids of fallen soliders…
continue reading »

{ 2 comments }

#031 Every Morning I Try – A Poem of Everyday Greatness

March 11, 2011

Every morning I try…

to pronounce a divine name perfectly, knowing
I can’t really say its swallow-swing
or enunciate the syllables a mockingbird
loops in medleys, can’t whisper vowels

of an airplane’s rhyming trail.
Names like that must be repeated
as a flower lets pollen fly. I should mimic
the closed bud’s wise pause.

My human mouth can hardly shape
the million-zinnia alpha letter, let alone
the final plosive dazzle –
but I can hum the consonants
of this green-button day –

and add several bandaged overtones
to the morning-setting moon,
echo two doves speaking
to my dog, who rolls and rolls
on the name’s final Ah.
Since I cannot make that pure sound,

I will get down on the grass and roll with him,
then give the next being I meet
a courteous consonant
dangling an ocean vowel.
continue reading »

{ 1 comment }

#030 To The Slope Raker – A Poem of Honor and Humility

March 9, 2011

For Tim Norris…

Tonight I give thanks for the man
alongside the 38-meter jump my girl flies off
in her red suit, tipped skis so high up she looks like
the blot of a cardinal spread-eagled in air, then descending,
precisely alighting on the once-ruffed path the man has smoothed
with his rake, gently settling on her skis instead of bouncing toward the trees.

I breathe thanks for the man, bundled in down vest and hood, who
trundles out after each jumper to work without fanfare, so I
ring my cowbell for him and hope he can hear it. I wish
to say that though he never looks up, there’s moonlight
hung like silk over his January slope, another new
year begun in muted blue fire. I give him
thanks for safe landings, for the way she
and I have just glided downhill.
continue reading »

{ 3 comments }

#029 Dilated – A Poem of Enthralling Perspective

March 7, 2011

Post image for #029 Dilated – A Poem of Enthralling Perspective

Imagine the geode of this world cracked open,
the radiance of everyday objects revealed—
the tea kettle and its shimmer of steam,
the spoon’s hazy splendor, the window’s
white cascade, every bush burning.
How the river becomes a needle
strung with burnished silver thread,
how the goldfish beneath the pond’s surface,
restored of their luster, glimmer and glitter
like coins thrown.

It’s no myth that the body has evolved
conspiracies to keep us grounded, humble.
We’ve had it all backwards: Heaven is ablaze
with the fires that forged us, Hell the dark curtain
that keeps us from seeing it. The streets are packed
with haloed heads, oblivious to their own divinity.
What would be the harm in knowing that angels
walk among us, every face bright as a flame
hovering above the wick of their bodies?

When I try to capture the ethereal, the words
lift off the page, fade into the bright,
as transitory as my time in these wreathed streets.
So I take off the clunky, purple tinted glasses
the doctor provided for my own protection
and attempt to burn the auras of the ordinary
into memory.

The Backstory of Dilated

From the author, Jen Gresham…

“I have a strong aversion to anything near my eyes, so somehow I postponed my annual eye exam for about 15 years. Eventually I had to go, and of course got my eyes dilated.

When I went outside, I decided to take off the purple glasses and take a look. I was just dumbfounded. The ordinary world was transformed into a magical place. And I had to wonder: ‘what if this is what the world really looks like all the time, but we just can’t see it?’

This is, of course, a metaphor for life. How many of us focus on the dreary aspects of our lives without regard for the wonders? The take home message is: being enthralled with life is a matter of perspective.”

continue reading »

{ 6 comments }

#028 Delivering Hope One Pencil at a Time

February 25, 2011

You may not, at large, support the US’ war efforts in the Middle East. And I’ll abstain from sharing my opinions so as to avoid mucking up the focus of today’s RAOG story – namely the little magical moments that happen on the ground between soliders and civilians.

Today’s featured photo comes courtesy of the US Army Flickr account. It showcases a wonderful moment when a Delta Company platoon leader hands a freshly sharpened pencil to a young village girl.

Afganistan, where this moment occurred, is in need of genuine hope. It can certainly be argued if the US mission is the best mechanism of providing such hope. But hope, in all its forms, remains the crux.

This soldier, for one, is doing his part. He is helping fuel the hope of education (writing, knowledge, ideas, etc.) via a simple pencil. He is serving his country well, and we should recognize the greatness in that.

us army soldier

{ 0 comments }

← Older Posts