Journal of New York

I think the traveling I’m doing from now on will be like this- with an imminent purpose. I’ve been remembering that I love words. People are powerful with their voices here. Needs are urgent, and there is no time to be distracted. Through stories we heal, we remember, we reflect.

Hey there. My names Raleigh. My dreams and ambitions lie with words, with technology, with humans, and with love. I want to think about interesting problems. I want to use my attention for good.

We arrived in a brisk New York framed with shadows bouncing off buildings.

Am I willing to care about issues that are significant? I’m listening to a lot of people from around the world speak on pressing issues, but am I really learning? Is my mind narrow and selfish or worldly and service-oriented? Will I always be driven by my limbic mind?

To Love a Daughter


I wonder what it feels like to love a daughter. One who never saw herself grow. She’ll never know how many shoes you bought her. She’ll never know how year-by-year you watched her. She’ll never know your nights of worry. What if she wanders too far? too carelessly? what if there’s a time I’m not there to catch her when she falls? You protected her, until she no longer was small enough to be held. You protected her, even as she strode away. She must remember that it is from you she was created. She must know you have loved her for more years than she remembers. Hopefully, she won’t be careless with that sacred life of hers. Golden is the light you’ve given her. Stay alive, dear one.

Lost Time


An empty journal
22 years of forgotten memories
Again, I won’t remember today.
A missed exercise,
a forgotten goal,
Grit slipping through numb fingers.
I won’t pretend I’ll be able to return.
I feel asleep most days
Like I’m in a body made of clay.
I’m a stranger to the mirror.
Was it you who chose this path?
Is there such a thing, as a choice?
And how could you have known…
You were so wrong about me.
We have too much to lose,
it’s too far to turn back,
so we carry our selves deeper.

Lost in a misty mess of never ending vines,
carrying firewood,
I colapse,
giving up.
I cry to the world begging for a path,
I’ve been lost for four hours!
I finally begin back the way I came,
Only to find the trail 20 meters away.

Skin and Dirt


Trekked barefoot through sticks and snow
My skin broke but my spirit held
Rocks of gold and silver
Now a part of me.
Light even in the mud
Steen green hillsides sprout wildflowers
At the base of white glaciers
Framed by tree tops
I once left only to go
My bag rubs red pelts into my shoulders.
Rocks merge with blood.
Butterflies land on plastic bags
Holy miracle of water
Dipping into effervescent warmth
My skin is cleansed
My head spinning
My toes soft.