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Sometimes suffering looks like prayer.
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Back from a few days in the desert with my little brother. 
Yay, shooting!
We have a good time out there. Shoot all day, sometimes late into the night. Learn a lot, teach a lot, push each other, work hard, laugh and take it easy together. When it’s just the two of us we talk a lot about family, how we came up together, what we think it means to be a good man.
It all comes down to love.
And the path of the warrior.
They’re intertwined.
Now my brother is a much, much more serious warrior than I. Where I dabble and play in fits and starts, he puts his head down and plows ahead, ever deeper, ever stronger and more capable. For every hour I’ve spent in the gym he’s spend a month. For every hour in the ring I’ve got he’s got a hundred or more. He has more heart and grit and determination in his little finger than I’ve got in my entire soul.
He both inspires and rebukes me with his example.
I love him without condition. And pity those who would cross him.
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Since my return I’ve been working with the Woman on The Verge on the trailer. Painting painting. Installing trim. New flooring. New table. 
It looks freaking awesome.
She did a bang-up job on the mad stenciling. Detail and drudgery and madness all while contorted and smashed into a shoebox with odd angles and hard corners.
That lady. Tenacious as a pit bull and gifted as aphrodite.
Do I love her bad?
Fuckin’ eggs, bacon.
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Here’s a peek at what we done:
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That enough color for you?
It’s like a goddamn magic carpet ride in there!
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Still a ton of stuff to do, but she’s coming together. Can’t wait to take her out again.
Hope you have a happy fourth!
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Namaste.
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