Discomfort’s Sapling

How can I go another minute without kissing you? How can I refrain from hugging you, from tasting you, from feeling your warmth against my skin?

How can I remain still when the Universe is quaking all around me? How can I look at my empty hand and feign a smile? How can I find my rest when there seems so much to do?

To the fears I cannot censor, I raise my golden chalice. To the courage I cannot seem to muster, I utter a silent prayer. To them, I am just me.

I am discomfort’s sapling.

Lost, like a puppy dropped off in an unfamiliar place, inundated with newness, crippled in awe, cowering in an unfamiliar corner of my mind.

Found, like a man left on the shores of some deserted island, with no one to know but himself, with no songs to sing outside the ones ingrained in his own mind. There is so much to discover here, yet no one to share it with.

I reach out to the stars, they only stare back.

“Happiness (is) only real when shared.” ~Christopher McCandless

And so it goes. One set of footprints in the sand, with only the gulls to hear my laughter. I swear they’re laughing back at me.

I am not alone. I am with me, the rest of you are just illusions. I love the way you feel, the way you move in and out of my reality, but there has always only been one set of footprints in the sand that doesn’t really exist.

I’ve created the sound of the waves as a peaceful song in my mind to calm my wild beast. I’ve created such wonder in my heart as to wish you here, believing that the taste of your lips and the beat of your heart will somehow fill the gaps in the music I’ve created.

Another stanza, another verse. So the beat goes on.

I sit here, nearly naked, allowing the winter Sun to beat down on my longing skin through a giant window. It’s hot, almost unbearably so, but the discomfort creates some space for my vision to grow into the words I type.  This part of me I share, this part of me that is like the Sun, is that part of me I have not created but allow to be. I can’t imagine life without such a creation, without such space, without the tortured seeds that burn deep within me.

Maybe you are there and I am here because it’s the space itself we need to create this dream. Maybe if we were any closer we’d burn out. Maybe any further and we’d face a frozen death. Maybe I can’t count on the gravity of love to pull you closer. Maybe I should just be grateful you exist at all.

“Even after all this time, the Sun never says to the Earth, ‘You owe me.’ Look what happens with a love like that. It lights the whole sky.” ~Hafiz

Maybe the demand that you fill my hand and kiss my lips is too much for this universe to bear. Maybe the skies would burn and the sands would turn to broken glass upon our union. Maybe Venus was not meant to touch the skin of Mars, she was only meant to touch his heart and to tease his holy senses alive. Maybe the earth that separated them was meant to keep creation alive.

Perhaps, in time, wonders will cease to amaze me. Maybe the endless debate with mindless minions living in their past will end as I bathe in my own present moment. Perhaps my imagination will no longer be boggled, and my heart will no longer cry out any one name.

It seems right in its wrongness. It seems sharp like the blade of a well-honed axe. It will cut, I am sure, but to which trees do I choose to apply its mission? Which wood will I choose to burn?

Perhaps it’s not a choice at all. Perhaps its just a function of our Universal reality.

Love, I will leave this to you. I will do a better job of listening, of hearing that melody through the madness. I will see the patience in the lines you have drawn and the vision of the truthful shadows you have created on the canvas all around us. I will pay attention, I swear it as a sacred oath, and I will head your solemn vows.

Time for stillness, for a group hug with those whose arms are open. I simply have no other answer.

 

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The First Fire Call Back

So, yesterday I answered my first fire call in three months. It wasn’t but the end of October I believed that I would never respond to another call again. So, as usual, I had a realization in the response, and a lesson learned.

I’ve been responding to all kinds of emergencies for the better part of 23 years as a volunteer firefighter, EMT, rescue dude, etc. I had begun to take it all for granted, and had lost sight of the very special nature by which all responders do their thing.

Yesterday, I didn’t take the putting on of my turnouts for granted. I didn’t take the sounds or the lights or the brothers in the rig for granted. It was all so freaking special, so I slowed time down as best I could.

Yes, fire trucks have a distinctive sound, a guttural growl if you will. It sounds different from the inside, as it should, as if those of us who enter the bowels of the beast are graced with a different song than the rest of mankind. Then there are the lights and sirens…and yes, they sound different on the inside, too.

Yesterday brought back a pretty cool memory. When I was a kid, my step-grandmother (whom we called “Nana”) used to burn the tall weeds that stood about 50 feet from her small brick home. When they were burned to her liking, I got to put out the fire with a garden hose. I used to love that, which reinforced my desire to, one day, put fires out in much larger arenas.

Yesterday’s call was a grass fire that was close to someone’s house, which was out before we arrived. We had to pull a line off the truck to wet down the area, and I had an instant flashback to Nana’s house and those weeds. I felt the “coolness” of working the nozzle like when I was a kid, and again the realization that this time, I was in my gear doing what few people get to do. I get to satisfy my desire to help others and to feel the rush of excitement when we answer a call.

And yes, I was a bit excited getting to work the line. I felt alive, and a bit emotional in doing something I have done countless times before. The routine no longer seemed routine, the mundane came alive in excitement.

When we got back to the station, I stayed back to help the engineer fill the tank. I wanted to do all of the things I would have left to newer members before. Hell, I even rolled the hose back up and put it in its proper place. Where is newbie when you need one? :)

Sometimes, it seems, the renewal of that love of living takes us back to the beginning of things. That’s where the real zest is shown, a zest that is sometimes blunted by time and experience. Yet when you almost lose something you have always felt called to do, that zest becomes razor sharp again.

I’ve realized that I have been certainly blessed in my life. I’ve love and lost, felt the enormity of suffering and the bliss of relief. I’ve experienced the excitement of a kid in something that seems so awesome become routine, and I’ve experienced a renewal and rebirth not in the dramatic need for faith, but in the real desire to LIVE.

Someone once said something to the effect that to truly live is to see each sunrise like a newborn baby, as if each one is seen for the very first time. I can tell that master nearly lost everything once, and then realized how precious each moment truly is. Even the most mundane are special, they were once very extraordinary.

So, when someone now tells me about my fire service career, “you certainly have a lot of experience” I can smile knowing they don’t know that half of it. Part of me is relieved they don’t, it took a lot of tough times to get here. Yet, part of me is wishing they did. It is that freaking awesome.

Peace.

 

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Different Days

While I don’t often find the use of the word “better” to be appropriate (I use “different” in its place), I certainly find this song completely in line with my own experience.

I remember the series of days when I was “broken down to kneeling”. Once I was listening, the voices did come as waves of emotion that still stroke my heart. Those days broke me down to my very core so that I could build myself back up again. I have learned great love for me, and for others, in this process.

And now I’m bursting.

And I’m disciplined. Listening. Learning. Employing the knowledge I’ve gained as wisdom, the truth I’ve found as a passionate reminder of my, our, true potential. Every moment I am reminded of the limitless possibilities, and am sometimes saddened when I’ve seen the barriers constructed to keep us away from reaching our truth.

I was made the way I was for a reason, and it would be silly for me to hide that light under a basket. So why not just be me? I am that fucking awesome.

So says the Sun. “If you burn easily, hide. If you don’t like the light, turn away. If you find my shade of orange distasteful, turn your attention elsewhere. I will always be, unapologetically, me.”

And as such the world thrives. For each of us, in our own way. After all, the Moon has her lovers, too.

Hug a Tree

I wasn’t always this way, but the last portion of my life has involved tree hugging. Lots of tree hugging.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hug a tree as often as I’d like. In fact, I miss hugging trees more often than I actually hug them. Maybe it is high time I change that. In fact, there is a dogwood in the back yard that seems to need a hug.

The best part about hugging trees is that they always hug back. Always. Even when they are near the end of their life they find the strength to embrace whomever asks for a hug. They won’t question your need, or look at you strangely, or doubt your motivations. They’ll just accept, and give.

I love those wise, old bastards who just sit there, allowing. They grow in the direction nature pushes them. They’ll bend, and sometimes break, in the breeze; often issuing little testaments of gratitude in the rustling leaves or the splintered sounds of being broken wide open. They’ll sometimes fall to the ground and never try to get back up. Instead, they’ll hug the ground and understand that this place, too, is worth hugging.

I’ve never heard a tree try to pretend it is a man, or a deer, or some other being judged “better”. They never try to outdo their neighbors, or appear “prettier” in some state of meaningless competition. Oak tress don’t try to be pine trees. Pine trees don’t try to be birch trees. Trees are too busy being trees, too in love with being who they are to be anything else. They love their leaves, their branches, and their experience too much to be anything other than who they are. Everything about them is good enough.

Maybe that is why trees aren’t afraid to hug. You aren’t their competition, and they realize that you can always change your mind.

Trees are rooted firmly in the Earth even as they reach for the heavens. They adore the firmness of the ground even as they bask in the liberation of open air.

Trees love the sun and rain equally. Their dance remains the same regardless of the weather, as if to say “There is beauty even in the rainy days.” What’s not to love about such even temperedness?

Trees don’t complain about the change of seasons. Those who lose their leaves in autumn do so with a splendid display of loving beauty, never taking issue with the impermanence of it all. Even as those trees cry lovely tears of orange, and red, and mixtures in between, those tears lay perfectly upon the ground made hard by winter’s edge, softening that ground, making it a bit easier to tread.

Best of all you don’t even need arms to hug a tree. You simply need to walk among them and pay attention. Raise your level of awareness when in their home, and you will realize the reality of the truth you were born with. Sometimes the best hugs are offered in just being present, in receiving the presence of others while giving freely of yourself.

Trees do that. They will bask in your peaceful presence just as they will listen quite acceptingly to your lamentations. They will always accept what you bring to them, and they will always be giving of themselves if only you are open to accepting.

That’s why I’ve become a tree hugger in my later years. It feels good to hug a tree. They remind me of a place within me just like them. Peaceful. Stoic. Strong. Flexible. Accepting. I like being reminded of those things, even when the world is trying to cut me down for lumber.

Take a walk…and hug a tree. You will be glad you did.

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Westward Ho!

I can’t help the fact that I love you. And I need to leave you.

I can’t help the fact that I need to leave this place behind. I need to lace up my boots and walk toward the setting Sun, knowing full well that when I am settled I will see it rise again. In this journey, I need to feel the Sun on my back as the chilly morning air is warmed, and feel it on my face as the crisp night air surrenders to the evening sky.

I want to live simply, with the mountains under my feet and their people by my side. I want to close my eyes and feel the power of their grace as the thin air cleans out my tired soul. I want to know the fullness of nature as She brings me home, and takes me to untold discovery.

I want to bring you there, my little ones. I want you to feel the holy union of man to his Mother, of the soul to its Creator. I want you to learn to follow a different compass, to find your own true north through eyes not tainted by my ideas but trained by the lost art of self-discovery. I want you to write your own stories in your own way using whatever tools you wish to use. I want you free, guided by your own set of truths, by the words already written deep within you.

I will help you find those words, my loves, but it is you who must read them.

My days by the ocean I love are numbered, but it lets me go knowing what is best for me. To the altitude I will go, to the snow-covered peaks and happy valleys, to a place where the climb is upward and the run is downward. To a place where the rocks glisten with the rising Sun, and the hills cry out to a Moon they have always known.

That’s where my heart dreams, and my soul finds its Earthly home. There, the loner in me can find his solitude as the lover in me burns his relinquished veil. There, the artist in me can sing his hallowed song while the man in me curses the blisters born upon his feet. There I can feel a hand on my back and a rhythm in each and every footfall.

In my mind, I am there. Soon, my body will follow. Westward ho I go!

 

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Coming Soon to Elephant Journal!! “Two Artists, One Heart” (A Mature Excerpt)

When I closed my eyes I could feel her bare breasts pressing firmly on my chest as my fingers worked magic through her hair, our tongues wrestling in the glow of a moon in full worship of our love. I felt the full grasp of her womanhood as she took hold of me, and I knew deep down that this embrace would be difficult to end.

Coming soon to Elephant Journal! It will be shared on my Facebook page when it is published.

Love. Get Dirty.

In the rays of light that caress me through my window, I feel it.

Through her words, often spoken in moments of deep emotion, I feel it.

In the deepest moments of insecurity and loss when she offers you safe haven, I feel it.

Through the rapid wind where she vanishes like the mist, I feel it.

Love.

Love is often lost in the modern sense of things. It is like a drink we often drink too fast, like fine dining we have replaced with fast food and drive-thru windows. We seek it quickly, lose it rapidly, and then wallow in the effects of our choices for days.

We fall in love for various reasons, not realizing that every reason to fall in love is the wrong one. Love has no reason. In fact, love is often unreasonable, and it takes us to uncomfortable places we’d often never choose to visit. Love just happens for no reason at all, except that it wants to.

We refuse to fall in love for various reasons, not realizing that every reason to reject love’s advances is the wrong one. Love is often unreasonable, and when the undertow of the its great ocean pulls us in we can either choose to relax and go along for the ride, or fight and drown in its mighty current.

Sometimes we’ll drown either way. The point is, however, how we choose our demise. Do we choose it in ease or in struggle, in panicked chaos or peaceful acceptance of the realization that we are not really in control?

Lovers are unreasonable beings trying to make reasonable choices with ideas that don’t really exist. They fight with themselves often, as the pull of what they were taught opposes the reality of what they are experiencing. Gone is the “way it should be” replaced by “the way it is.” It can be a painful process, depending on how new the experience is.

Conventional wisdom doesn’t work with lovers. Love is unconventional, and applying the laws of physics to it drives it to oblivion. The best lovers dance to the song written within them, knowing full well their true partner will be dancing the same rhythm without even knowing it.

So, when the rays of sunlight caress me through my window, I feel it. I want to share it, and I want to know it. I want to pull her close and let her feel the warmth too. I want to kiss her while squinting in the light, pull her close as our bodies glow in its effect.

When she speaks, I can feel it. If you want proof that words are energy just sit still and listen to your lover. Regardless of the words, you will feel each of them. Her words will flow through you and over you like a warm fire during a blizzard. In fact, you may not even realize the blizzard until you listen to her speak. The tone and sound of her voice will give you pause, and you’ll find yourself needing more.

When you feel lost and abandoned, unsure of everything around you, she is there. Like bedrock in the sand she holds your weight, letting you know that you have nothing to fear. She’ll grab your face and your eyes will be drawn to hers like the Moon to the Earth, and you will know. All is in order even in the chaos, and all is as it should be even in the turmoil of your boiling cauldron.

When she vanishes, you will feel it. Whether it be an hour, or a day, or a week, her absence will scour your body like the roughest wool. When she gets busy with those “other things” you will feel her absence. It will sting you like the harshest wind-swept sand, and ensure that you never take her presence for granted again.

That is love. Unreasonable, unconventional. Painfully beautiful. Like the mud puddle your parents told you not to play in, simply roll around in that stuff. Get dirty, and she’ll get dirty with you. Then, if you are lucky, she’ll help you get clean.

But that’s another story…

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You Always Get What You Ask For (Just Not Always The Way You Ask For It)

I just reviewed what I had wished for in 2014. At first, I chuckled at the things I had scribbled down late last year. I looked at the rather short list and snorted in an all-too-familiar human way, thinking about how far off what I received from what I asked for was.

Then, I heard my son and daughter laughing at something in the next room. It gave me pause, and offered me a chance to reflect on what I had truly been given in 2014.

Here is the very short list I compiled at the end of a very tough 2013 detailing my requests for the coming year:

  • Love
  • Security
  • Health
  • Peace.

See, this is your generic spiritually active guy’s list. It stays pretty general, but does offer what I see as a non-greedy request of the Universe for things that could make this life a bit more enjoyable, this experience a bit more blissful. they are certainly in line with the life I wish to live.

Yet, when I reviewed these requests a few moments ago, I scoffed. I still have not met the love of my life. My life seems to be chaotic with no real clear sense of direction. My health is in shambles, having had both congestive heart failure and a stroke in 2014.

So, it seems that 2014 was a failure as that list goes. Yet, I am readily able to suggest that I have found one thing on the list that I achieved in 2014, and that is peace.

Yes, peace. I feel more at peace in my life despite the turmoil than I ever have. Despite the ailments, the uncertainty and chaos, I feel more at peace now than I ever have.

That peace allowed me to be quiet enough in my reaction to hear my children laughing in the next room. Then came the realization.

I had gotten everything I had asked for.

Love

While I have not physically met the “she’s perfect for me and I want to be with her for the rest of my life” partner, I have found love in many ways. I will say that when you feel close to death not once, but twice over the course of a few months, you begin to see things differently. Very differently.

First, I say I have not “met” that love. She’s there, though, and I know her. I write about her, and I speak to her often. She’s coming, that is clear, I just need to continue to be patient and be open to the possibilities.

Love, though, is all around me. It was in the health care professionals who cared for me. It was in the friends who stepped up and helped me despite my attempts to “take it on my own.” It was in the kids who missed me, the cats who suddenly lay with me, and in the reaction of those who read my writing. It’s in the sounds of the waves for which I never grow tired, and the idea of the mountains I will climb with my little ones one day.

Love is in the loss of friends who no longer serve a positive purpose, making room for those who will. It’s in the constant change I use to fear that now I accept, and in the new-found acceptance of my own mortality. It’s in the acceptance of me, the love I have for myself, which is something I never fully realized until this year.

Yes, 2014 brought me lots of love. Just not in the way I had thought I wanted it.

Security

On the face of it, my life looks like everything but secure. For reasons I can’t really share right now, my life seems like one chaotic, uncertain mess. Yet, I have never felt more secure. Things are happening around me that provide me with comfort even through the chaos.

I once thought security meant a good-paying job in a sound market with no one getting in my way. I once thought making money was the way to security, and that the more I owned the more secure I was.

Today, after another tough year, I find security in simplicity. I see it as only having what I need, and needing what I have. I find security in the cuddles of my children, and the voice from within that just knows I am on the right path. I care less about what others think and find more comfort from within than ever before.

So, while 2014 didn’t offer me a lot of traditional security, it did provide me with the type of security that isn’t dependent on the whims of others, and that is certainly much more than I bargained for.

I’ve developed an inner strength I never had before. A confidence that I have never experienced in my life, and a courage that has never been matched. That, my friends, is real security.

Health

This is the most perplexing one. I had simply written “Health” on my little sheet of paper.

Yet, the answer to this provided me with every answer to every request I had made.

Six months after putting this list together, I was in the hospital with congestive heart failure brought on by malignant hypertension. Fluid had suddenly built up in my lungs during physical exertion and I couldn’t breathe. A friend rushed me to the Emergency Room.

For a man who is used to finding calm and serenity through breathing, not being able to breathe was more than frightening. I was gargling, coughing up large amounts of fluid, and unable to catch my breath.

Whenever I’ve felt fear, whether it was while working a house fire, or dealing with something while SCUBA diving, or climbing a ladder (I have a real fear of falling), breathing would bring me serenity. I learned that as a child, “just breathe” and I could get through anything.

So, when I couldn’t breathe, well you can imagine what that did. It seemed high blood pressure, that “silent killer” you hear so much about, had decided not to be so silent anymore. It nearly killed me.

Yet, I was released from the hospital with a prognosis that suggested with management of my blood pressure, I would make a full recovery and my heart would return to normal. I was quickly weaning off of the drugs they put me on as my body responded well to treatment, including eating a low-sodium diet. I was down to one pill a day within a month, much better than the 7 I started out with.

I’ll be the first to admit I am a horrible dietitian. Don’t get me wrong, I understand what I should be eating, but I’m horrible at eating it a majority of the time. Maybe it’s because I can burn water in the kitchen, and frequently have to ventilate the house after making dinner. Yet, I was on the right track, and I was really trying.

Then came the end of October. It seems that a small clot had traveled to a part of my brain called the cerebellum. I spent 24 hours feeling vertigo, and believed I was getting sick or some kind of ear infection. Then the numbness in my face began, and I lost control of the left side of my body. I might have “poked your eye out with that thing” if I was trying to shake your hand. I had no control.

I knew what was going on, and we got to the hospital quickly. The hospital seemed to think I was having a heart attack, and kept asking me “how bad is the pain in your chest?”

“I can’t tell, it’s numb,” I’d answer sarcastically until, finally, they got the hint.

“Code CVA” was what I heard shortly thereafter through the hospitals PA system, and I knew that was for me.

Soon, I was in a hospital that specialized in strokes, and from there my recovery was remarkable. I was provided contrast. Other people with strokes similar to mine were stuck with feeding tubes, unable to swallow. Some were bedridden with no balance, or ability to control their extremities.

Others were unable to see, their optic nerves completely disabled by the damage to their brain.

Yes, I got lucky.

When I first was asked to sit up, I couldn’t. I listed hard to the left. I had no sense of direction, no ability to tell left from right. My eyes were going haywire, unable to focus on anything at all. I just kept them closed, and listened to my first Eagles (that’s American football for those of you who don’t know) game with my eyes shut and my team losing. How dare they!

Within a week my eyes were getting better, and I was able to walk with much assistance. Within a week of that, I was able to climb stairs, with some assistance. I was discharged from rehab and sent on my way.

Today, I still struggle with dizziness and eye issues. Yet, I can walk for miles, work out to some degree, and have started developing my stamina again. I have new sense of how important my choices are, and how much I love to live this life.

Seems like I didn’t get my health, right? Well, the jury may be still out on this one, but I’d say I may have gotten exactly what I asked for.

Today, I make better food choices, and value my walks on the beach more than ever. I have regained my love of fruits and vegetables. I have a new understanding of my own body, and listen to it more than ever. I value my physical strength, and have made friends with the inner strength that has helped me through it all.

So, I’d say I have gotten my health request answered. Not just for now, but in the very long term.

In the loss of my health in 2014, I regained my sense of peace, my feeling of security, and discovered love all around me. In the gaining of those things I have regained my health. It’s been a beautiful cycle.

Now I see how I got exactly what I asked for even if I didn’t get it the way I thought I would. What have I asked for the coming year? Well, that list will be a secret until the end of next year but I assure you that I have a feeling I’ve already received most of it. We’ll see at the end of next year, if that ever comes, but until then just know that I realize that I will get what I ask for, just perhaps not in the way I expect it to be given.

See, I know now that what I ask for isn’t actually a statement of what I want, but rather a statement of what I feel I lack. Once I realize that there is little I lack, the list not only grows smaller, but also becomes inconsequential. It becomes a meaningless exercise in focus on what I don’t believe I have, instead of taking note of the things I’ve been truly blessed with.

So…off I go with my short list into the great beyond. Maybe.

 

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The Things I Need to Tell You

Hurry baby…please.

There are so many things I need to tell you, so many things you need to hear.

Words alone won’t do them justice; such words have never been invented. They don’t exist, yet I need you to hear them.

Not with the ears that hear my sounds or the sounds of insanity in the world around us. No, I need you to listen with ears that don’t hear. I need to speak to you with a mouth that does not utter a sound.

Hear the rush of certainty as our fingers intertwine, as the heat of our bodies meets somewhere in the chill of the human realm.

Hear the call of my fingertips, answered quickly by the raised bumps formed as your skin to listens to my touch. I hear those beautiful, inaudible sounds of pleasure echoing in every space, repeating in every spot.

Hear my heart as your eyes begin to moisten, answering the lone tear dancing happily down my cheek. Such emotion fuels the raging fire within us; a fire that does not burn, but warms, that does not destroy but gives birth to eternity.

Hear my desire as your lips part to accept my kiss, our bodies growing limp in surrender. Feel the freedom in our embrace as we squeeze the weight of the world out from that space between us. Feel the light air in our heaven as we shed the veils we place around our human form.

Feel our love as we move to the beat of our own drum, our sweat mixing in dramatic pools and oceans that only we can see. I will hear you shudder your release, roar the song of a Lioness, and take from me all that I have to give.

Hear me speak now, my love, in ways left for the gods and goddesses who have found their altar and who have discovered their church. I need to tell you these things, and I need to listen to you.

Patiently impatient I am waiting, an empty hand reserved for you, an empty space left where you will lay. I know the wind knows, and when it catches your sail it will speed your ship to the port where I will be, waiting.

Hopelessly hoping I stand here, basking silently in the light sometimes hidden by strange clouds that will, eventually, blow away. With a still mind and closed eyes I can see that light, and with an open heart it warms my very Being.

Forever I will wait even as I implore you to hurry. Found I will be in the lost episodes of the people around me, for in the blur of their sleepwalking a sea will part, and there you will be standing.

A sigh. A pause. And then a quick run to your open arms when, finally, I can speak to you and tell you all the things I need to tell you. Be ready, for there are countless volumes I need to share.

The Tube

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Thoughts of You – A Poem (Well, sort of)

I feel the tide rising. I light an incense, and then sit with the feeling. Something is brewing within me, something is knocking at my door. I close my eyes, then breathe deeply, allowing it all to simmer.

Then I write.

I have no idea what is coming, or from where it comes. It just is, it just does, and I just allow.

So, in fond deference I offer to the Universe that which is offered to me.

Thoughts of You (A Poem)

I cannot seem to escape
These lonely thoughts of you.
The way your voice raises me to mountaintops
And settles me to the plush grasses of the valleys below.
I cannot seem to run away
From these awesome thoughts of you.
The way your eyes take me to someplace else
While never leaving the space I’m in.
The way your lips invite me inward
Toward a treasure hidden by my soul
A lonely map…a risky voyage,
A lone sailor bends his back to row.
I cannot seem to turn away
From these impassioned thoughts of you.
The way your breasts break my sturdy will;
Discipline lost in the Warriors stoic stare…
You beckon me there…you ask me for reprieve
Release…
Or so it seems.
I am easy prey
For these longing thoughts of you.
Dreams foretold as my fingers paint your lovely back
My mouth takes in your betting nape…
The rest of me?
Well, let’s wait to see where the lines all converge
I’ll meet you there, my love.I cannot stop…
These eternal thoughts of you.
I enter you…or have you entered me?
Lost chaos in this moment of perfect order,
Certain perfection in this moment of complete rapture.
I offer you all I have…
Just me, just us…just these loving thoughts of you.

 

photo by: Denise Mayumi