personal essay – Poeaxtry's Prism

How My Passions Connect in my Time of Leisure

What do you enjoy doing most in your leisure time?

When people ask what I enjoy doing most in my leisure time, the simple answer sounds scattered. I hike. I rockhound, craft with what I find. Practice spirituality, and write poetry or even stories. I randomly game, I smoke mad weed. On paper, those can look unrelated, yet in practice, they are all deeply connected. Each one feeds the others. Each one works a different part of my mind, body, and spirit. Together, they form a balanced creative ecosystem.

This is not about killing time. It is about how I choose to live inside it.

Hiking, Movement, and Listening to Land

Axton walking in the forest toward lake superior

Hiking is the foundation. Especially in Ohio and the surrounding Appalachian foothills, the land holds quiet complexity. Short trails, long trails, winter hikes, summer heat, all of it teaches presence. Hiking gives my body something honest to do. One foot forward. Breath in rhythm. Attention outward.

On trail, my thoughts slow down without being forced. The noise drops away naturally. I notice rock layers, creek cuts, moss lines, erosion patterns. Hiking is where curiosity wakes up first. It is also where respect for land is reinforced. You cannot rush a trail and expect to receive anything back.

Rockhounding, Touching Deep Time

Rockhounding grows directly out of hiking. It is not about collecting endlessly. It is about noticing what the land reveals. Ohio is rich with flint, chert, fossils, and glacial remnants, each piece a fragment of deep time.

Holding stone changes perspective. Rocks do not care about urgency. They teach patience, scale, and restraint. Ethical rockhounding matters to me, knowing where collection is allowed, taking only what is appropriate, and leaving protected sites untouched. This practice sharpens awareness and reinforces accountability.

Crafting with Foraged Finds, Making Meaning Tangible

Crafting with my foraged finds is where movement and observation turn into creation. Stone that sat quietly for millions of years becomes something carried, worn, or used with intention. I cut, polish, drill, wire wrap, or leave pieces raw depending on what they ask for.

This kind of crafting is slow. It is tactile. It demands attention. Each piece holds memory, the hike it came from, the weather that day, the moment it caught my eye. Making something with my hands grounds me in ways digital work never fully can.

Spiritual Practice, Intuition, and Ritual

My spirituality is not separate from the land or the craft. It grows out of them. Walking, stone, water, fire, all of these are already spiritual teachers if you listen. My practice is personal, grounded, and experiential rather than performative.

Rituals, tarot, pendulum work, and intention setting are tools for reflection, not escape. They help me process emotion, clarify direction, and stay aligned with values. Spirituality gives language to things that logic alone cannot hold.

Writing Poetry and Stories, Translating Experience

Writing is where everything comes together. Hiking provides the images, stone – metaphor, spiritual practice – themes, crafting – texture, and poetry or stories translate lived experience into something shareable.

I write because it is how I make sense of the world. Poetry allows compression, intensity, and emotional truth. Stories allow expansion, narrative, and exploration. Both are necessary. Writing is not a hobby I turn on and off. It is a way of processing existence.

Gaming, Focused Escape and Pattern Recognition

Gaming serves a different purpose. It is structured escape. Clear rules. Immediate feedback. Achievable goals. After long creative or emotional output, gaming lets my brain rest without going numb.

Games sharpen pattern recognition, decision making, and problem solving. They offer worlds where effort is rewarded predictably, which is not always the case in creative work. This balance matters.

Weed, Slowing Down and Sensory Reset

Smoking weed is part of my leisure time, not as avoidance, but as intentional slowing. It softens edges. It deepens sensory awareness. Music hits differently. Thoughts wander productively. Physical tension releases.

Used responsibly, it supports reflection and creativity. It pairs naturally with writing, crafting, or quiet gaming sessions. It is another tool, not a crutch.

How It All Connects

None of these exist in isolation. Writing drains energy. Gaming restores it. Weed smooths transitions between states.

This is how I stay balanced. This is how I stay creative. Leisure, for me, is not passive consumption. It is active relationship, with land, with material, with imagination, and with self.

What I enjoy most in my leisure time is not any single activity. It is the way they weave together into a life that feels intentional. Each one reminds me to slow down, pay attention, and create something honest out of what I am given.

Time is not something to kill. It is something to inhabit.

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January 28, 2026

Exploring Indian Mound Reserve in Cedarville, Ohio – A Hiking Reflection

Visited 5/22/25 entry written 5/23/25

Cedarville, Ohio Indian Mound Waterfall

Yesterday, I took a trip to Cedarville, Ohio. My companions were two close friends, Luna, and one of my friend’s toddlers. It was my first time exploring Indian Mound Reserve. We took about two hours with stops. The drive itself was peaceful. We had the kind of conversations that set the mood for a day of adventures and recharge. The weather hovered around the mid-50s with an on and off drizzle. It was not enough to drench us. However, it was just enough to make everything smell like clean earth and wet bark. The kind of rain that makes the greens greener and turns even ordinary trails into something soft and cinematic.

I shouldn’t plan or control the map.

We planned to do the 2.5-mile Rim Trail, but thanks to some confusion on AllTrails, and my attention span didn’t help matters. So, we ended up doubling back and weaving in circles until we’d clocked over 4 miles. Despite the detour, it didn’t feel like a mistake, just part of the adventure. The trail wound us through a vibrant forest. Red and purple flowers began to bloom. These were early declarations of late spring. Waterfall views made the mud and missteps worth it. The whole area hummed with the sound of running water, and it followed us nearly the entire hike. There’s something about that like being gently reminded to keep flowing forward, no matter how tangled the path becomes.

THe flowers on the trails around Indian Mound Waterfall

The trail itself was a bit rugged in parts, especially after the rain. Tree roots snaked across much of the path. The muddiness made for a comical dance. This was especially true since I had worn my etnies. I rarely wear hiking boots. I slipped or slid numerous times. Each slip reminded me that I probably need to actually wear my boots. Still, I wouldn’t change it. There’s something about feeling the ground fight back a little that makes me feel more alive.

We crossed numerous wooden bridges and steps, weaving over and across the large creek that cuts through the park. Some of the trails we passed weren’t even marked in AllTrails yet. This tends to happen in less populus areas. My little unofficial footpaths and secret side trails waiting to be explored another day. The water access points were everywhere. With so few people on the trail, it felt like we had the whole preserve to ourselves. That kind of quiet is rare. It is broken only by the babble of water and the chatter of a toddler discovering nature. This is especially true even in Ohio’s backwoods.

One of the water Access points at Indian Mound

Even though I wasn’t alone, the experience was still refreshingly personal. There’s a rhythm I fall into on hikes like this, a balance between noticing everything and thinking about nothing. It’s where I process things I don’t have words for. I watch Luna splash, sniff, and smile. Then, I remember why I do this. The road and the forest matter to me in ways that a house or a routine never could.

I’ll eventually return to Cedarville to explore the other trails and waterfalls. This first visit was only the rim of what’s possible there. I want to hike them all, but honestly that’s nothing new. There’s something sacred in learning a place like that. One muddy mile at a time.

A group of shroomies growing together in Indian Mound Preserve

May 24, 2025

Daily Prompt 18 – Do You Have a Collection? My Rockhounding Journey

Do you have any collections?

Do I collect anything? Oh, just a few things…

I collect the Earth, stone by stone, crystal by crystal. Not usually ones bought in bins, but treasures I hound myself. I trade with other rockhounds too, offering my finds for theirs like stories passed between old souls. Some I tumble. Some I slice. Some I slice and tumble or polish. Some I polish by hand until their true colors and patterns shine through like secrets whispered by time.

You’ll find them transformed into necklaces, keychains, and little “Stoney Homies.” Some are left whole, smoothed and gleaming. They rest on altars, shelves, or windowsills. I carry slag glass with me that glows beneath UV light, found in the sands of Lake Superior. Not all glow from here either. I also have its bluer, non-reactive cousin from Lake Erie. Leland Blue, yopperlites, pudding stones, labradorite, Petoskey and unakite. Jaspers, agates, quartz, flint from Nethers Farm on Flint Ridge (some sparkling with quartz inclusions).

Hiking = Hounding

Every hike becomes a hunt for treasure. Every shoreline offers gifts. I have a special UV map for the Great Lakes region. I use a 365nm light to spot the glow in the dark. Chisels, buckets, hammers, even an old 1970s Sears tumbler join me in this ritual. I can tumble up to 14 lbs at once, and still find joy in spending hours hand-polishing just one stone.

Alongside the rocks come ancient echoes. These include crinoid fossils, coral fossils, and brachiopods. Some are cleaned and gently polished, while others are left mostly raw. Nature’s memory is preserved in stone.

So yes, I collect.

But not just rocks

I collect moments, beauty, and the deep magic of the Earth itself.

If you want to explore the physical and digital side of Poeaxtry, the stores are always open. Physical items like handmade pieces, ritual tools, and select creations live only on Etsy. Digital books, zines, and downloads are available through Gumroad, Etsy, & Payhip. As well as some being available on Kindle & Amazon. Same hands clicking keys across all, just different formats for different hands, needs, and screens.

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May 23, 2025

What Freedom Means to a Trans Man: Raw, Radical, and Unfinished

What does freedom mean to you?

Freedom isn’t a buzzword or a flag on a bumper sticker. It’s not just fireworks and barbecues. It’s not the illusion of choice sold to us by systems never built for all of us. For me, freedom is visceral something I had to fight for inch by inch, name by name, scar by scar.

As a transgender man, freedom started with survival. It was the right to exist without apology. To wake up in a body I could live in, not just endure. It’s having the power to say, “This is who I am.” It is reflected on my ID, my prescriptions, and the way I’m addressed by the world. I legally changed my name. I transitioned with hormones and surgery. Doing this helped me achieve the ability to define myself instead of being defined by others. That’s a freedom some people never get to taste, and one I don’t take lightly.

I come from West Virginia. It’s a place where the word freedom echoes loudest around gun safes. It resonates in hunting camps and alongside American flags. My grandfather was a cop. My family served in the military. Guns weren’t politics, they were just part of life. And I still believe in the right to own firearms. I believe in the right to protect yourself. This right is important, especially when the systems meant to protect you decide you’re not worth protecting. I believe in free speech, even when it’s messy. I believe that the Constitution wasn’t perfect. However, the ideals in it about liberty and justice for all are still worth chasing.

Freedom means being able to walk down the street without being seen as a threat or a target. It means my medical decisions are mine, not the government’s. It means I get to live out loud and still feel safe. It means art without censorship. Relationships without judgment. Life without someone else holding the reins.

And it means more than just me. True freedom means no one is left behind. It means immigrants, disabled people, queer folks, people of color, and the poor have the same rights. We all deserve the same chances and the same humanity. If your freedom depends on mine being taken away, then it was never freedom to start with.

Freedom, to me, is raw, radical, and unfinished. I’ll keep writing, speaking, and living until it becomes real for everyone.

Click me Daddy

Click me Papi

You’re being weird again

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