There I stood, tall and proud,
Facing the raging sea.
I called to you, with no reply,
I had to turn to…me.
I begged and pleaded to no avail,
No savior came that day,
So I went within to find a source,
To find another way.
There began a battle,
I cursed, stumbled and fell,
It had become a bloody path
A path I knew too well.
I held my feet to fires,
That I had never set,
I owned someone else’s misery,
And earned some blisters of regret.
Then once I found my question,
And wanted to be free,
I withdrew from flames that others lit,
And the answer came to me.
There is no wrong or right in life,
There is no saint or sin,
The truth remains the whole of me,
True power is within.
There is nothing that I can’t simply change,
It all depends on what I see,
I am both slave and Master of,
Those things which I agree.
To walk the path of holy light,
You first must walk alone,
Then you find the Sun has dawned,
On holy ground that you have sown.
You are so perfect in yourself,
Despite what others say,
So stand up tall and take it in,
The brand new sunny day.
Absence... Like I was some forgotten beginning to a long story, A footnote, an unheard plea. A long forgotten memory. Her voice... Like an echo returning to its home, I smile, awakened in this time. Such music, I know her somewhere else. I know her... Somewhere else beyond this earthly bound, I feel her in the mist In the sweet scent of springtime fields. I've felt her... Somewhere between my first life and my last She's been the constant, The very nectar that brings me home. And in the darkness of absence, A light, her sweet sound, Jars me back to life, Although she seems resistant to such things. So an empty drop of sweat, A silent moan, a long-lost whisper, A forgotten time brought to the living Once again... I falter, Wanting to hear her song, Wanting more in a pitch she will not sing, I feign tone deafness in this folly. So, I say hello In each and every goodbye, I know somewhere there is love beyond the stars A ringing truth in every heartbeat. Until you ring again... May my heart sing true your name, My mind bring blue to this sunny sky, My body stay strong to its course.
There are times when my naturally joyful, loving, serene self needs a rest.
There are times when I’ve had enough, when it is time to let the Lion roar and have the world take notice. There are times when patience is a virtue I cannot offer and when my kind hand must recoil and return to its home.
There are times when I can’t hear your issues, or your problems, or your drama. There are times when I can’t center my heart on your needs, or your desires, or your comforts. There are times when my attention must return to its home, to the place where it was born.
There are times when I want to be loved, when I want to feel desired, and considered. There are times when I want to be chased, to have appreciation offered not out of some guilty recompense, but out of a sincere love for me, the man. There are times when I want to feel supported and cared for, loved and wanted.
There are times when my beloved words just will not come, and I sit and stare at the blank canvas of my life. There are times when I beg the Universe for some feeling, for some warmth, to course through the numbness. There are times when I just feel so fucking cold that even ice warms my limbs.
There are times when I throw up my hands in complete surrender, when I am ready to just give in completely. I’m ready to withdraw, to fall absently to my knees, and forget that a world beyond my hastily built walls even exists. There are times when I remember things I know I will never be able to forget, and forget things I pray I will never remember again.
Yes, there are these times. These god-damned fucking times when the only words I can seem to muster are, “fuck it.” These times when I give up on every one and every thing around me. These times when I have nothing left to give.
Yet, you will see my calm face and my warm smile. You will feel my strong arms hold you up when you are ready to fall. You will find my steady hand reach out for you when you need help off your knees. See, there are times when I am just a man, but there are never times when I am not who I am.
There are no times when I won’t let you feel the love that keeps me going. There are no times when I’ll hide the joy that defines even moments like these. There are no times when you call and I won’t respond, when you cry and I am not there to offer something to dry your tears.
You will see my shoulders rise even from the pits of despair when you call on me. You will see me stand tall despite the weakness in my legs when you need to be carried. You will see me hold firm against the onslaught when it is a warrior you seek. You will know me, maybe not as some painting of an enlightened soul, or as some sculpture of a god, but rather as a man. A man who succumbs. A man struggles. A man who always rebuilds.
There are times, in this awesome circle of life, when I need you. There are times when the idea of you lifts me out of the mud. There are times when the thought of you brings a smile in the drudgery, and then there are times when the thought of you cause me to curse the empty space where you should be. There are times when I want to be alone, but then there are times when all I can do is reach for you in the darkness, and utter a silent prayer that one day you will be there too.
There are times. So many times.
He’s so lost in those eyes…it’s like he’d run straight into an oasis, a space where the world collapses into lushness, a place where time stood still and all he could do is stand in awe.
When a man has walked, stumbled, crawled and danced through the desert sands of his life, relief comes in small things. A shady place to rest his feet. A cool stream to quench his thirst. A light breeze to help him in his sleep. He doesn’t ask for much, and he finds satisfaction in the smallest morsels.
Where once he needed a jug of wine a simple glass of water will do. Where he once needed unending attention a simple glance will suffice. Where once it was demanded of him to change, acceptance from the souls around him will brighten up his day. There is no need for hours, he enjoys his seconds. There are no need for crowds, he enjoys his moments of solitude.
He breathes in her eyes, her smile. Through the crusty strands of hair a smile crests his lips. Through the caked on mud of time a light shines through his skin. A memory, announced by the mud-streaked path of a tear down his weathered cheek, announces something new. He can feel her…through the ether of time and space…and he remembers her.
He’s pretty sure he’s never met her, yet it’s as if he’s known her all his life. He’s confident she’d never recognize him anyway, for now he is not a man she’d grow to love. He knows her, somehow, and he feels her throughout the ordinary jumps of the beating heart within his chest. He puts his hand on the glass the separates them, and waves of emotion flow around him.
There is so much he can feel.
He can feel her hand grasp his, and pull him in closer. He can hear her laughter as they walk down a pathway lightly shrouded with fallen leaves. He can see the white wisps of breath leave her mouth as she speaks until, finally, she can’t take it anymore as she leans in to kiss him. He can taste her Soul in the kiss, and feel his own body respond to the undeniable energy between them.
And such is the flow, the memory, the dream. He can feel her head on his chest, and the feel of her naked skin snuggled up nicely next to his. He can see her eyes look into his as he shares his wisdom, then her hand as it caresses his chest, his stomach, until…
They make love in the moonlight sneaking sweetly through their bedroom window. He basks in her pleasure, knowing the gift he is giving her is being returned in the heighten senses of his body. He feels every bit of her, every sweet cell, and his own respond eagerly to their truth.
“Move along, you bum” came the demand from behind. The man awakens, or sinks back into their dream, whichever. He looks again into those eyes of true love, then turns away to go about forgetting.
Love, an often forgotten game between human hearts, is never so remembered than by a lover alone with his own thoughts. There, he remembers every detail, every minute scent and whisper, every dark and cold reality. Then, one day, he stumbles upon a picture, and he loses himself in a moment of pure revival.
And, somewhere, a woman dressed beneath the torn and tattered weaves of yesterday, stares at his image through a single pane of glass. A lonely tear rolls down her weathered face as she remembers his words, his strength, and his fingertips as they gently played around her skin. She can remember grasping at his hand, and pulling him in closer while she laughed at the stories he would tell. She can remember the leaves falling lightly on their path, and the colors of autumn gently painting their moment’s picture. She remembers the passion, the love, and the power of a man whose eyes simply held her in the sweetest chaos.
Perhaps they’ll pass each other on their beaten paths. They may not recognize each other, but what their eyes can’t see their souls will surely know. Eyes bent down at the lowly ground will rise up into a glance, into a moment, and everything will stop. Everything. As eyes finally meet, and as two lonely tears begin to fall, a spring flower blooms and a butterfly announces the moment of their arrival.
The rest, they say, is history. Sweet, beautiful history.
I felt her passion through her eyes, Her heart beating through her lips, And a bit of me in each breath, In each whisper of her singing soul. I could feel her loving touch, Burrow deep beyond my flesh, And settle in the deepest parts of me, There, and everywhere, she became part of my soul. A thousand lifetimes passed, A stranger in the night, A scent, a scene, a distant memory Shows itself in a lonely, hopeful tear. Falling... Heading toward source, Splashing in some foreign soil She heard my cries asunder. And there, in the loneliness of night, She met me...standing tall. A warrior challenged to the bone, She touched the scar nearest my waiting heart. "Lover, please come..." I stood waiting by the foggy street light. "I am here..." She stood standing by her rocky trail. So crazy is the night we met. The insanity made so much sense, That the Earth itself rocked heaven's cradle And the Moon withdrew her sultry glance. So wonderful is the time we shared. The soft ground on which we laid, The rose's petals falling all around us, The frost melting into a puddle upon our skin. There, we gazed into heaven's gates, And sang the song of Love's sweet prize. Ecstasy, a lost but cherished moment... Forgotten in the memory of misery's company. The giggles, there we found our life again. The moans, there we found our souls again. The peaks, there we found ourselves again. The Sunrise, there we found our strength again. A sacred promise as two Lovers walk upon the day. Hand in hand, her head on shoulders made strong again. We stop, only to renew the gift and kiss again. Then continue, only to renew the kiss and gift again. And thus we live forevermore, Until the next lifetime calls us home again, And birth renews the Master's promise And we find each other searching in some other field. And there will be a tear, A single memory which can't be told, Yet felt, as I gaze into her eyes, And kiss her lips, and feel her heartbeat once again.
I originally wrote this on Facebook using an iPhone and, when I hit “post”, it vanished. Suddenly, about an hour later, it magically appeared. I edited it, given the iPhones propensity to make shit up, and proudly offer the original version for your enjoyment.
The Crown Within (mature language)
We love, we lose.
We leave the scents behind.
Some flowers live, and others die
And others bloom within our mind.
We give, we take
We stumble and then we fall.
Yet in our nature burns that will
Then we stand up big and tall.
Look into these eyes of mine
And hear this Lion roar
Take a drink and lick this cup
And come back wanting more.
It’s not some beaten part of me
Or some ego built inside.
I have no time to waste I feel
I want a warrior by my side.
I’m not some withered stick to burn at night
To light your fearful way,
I am the mother fucking Sun
And I burn throughout the day.
Yet feel my gentle touch my dear
Lightly on your skin
And know my power’s not out there
I wear the crown within.
Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose, Sometimes we leave those scents behind Some flowers live while others die, And some bloom only in our mind. Some mountains offer majesty While others a painful fall, Yet in our nature burns a will That has us rise up and stand tall. I'm not looking for a Angel's grace And though the emptiness is wide, I can feel her presence in the void She's a warrior by my side. She has no need for broken sticks That will light her darkened way. I am the mother fucking Sun to her Who lights up every day. I'm not some eager child of God She needs to save her from her fear, She knows her man who's conquered both Yet she holds me tight and near. No games are played in this paradise No battle lines are drawn. Two loving souls who have survived The darkness right before the dawn. She looks deeply in my loving eyes And still hears this Lion roar. She'll take a drink and lick this cup While always wanting more. Two warriors sit upon one throne No crown upon their skin. For both know there is no strength out there, It's the crown they wear within.
It’s a Saturday night and I am completely alone. I sit watching a movie in the vestibule of my existence, not quite wanting to enter the main room where I store my deepest thoughts and wildest imaginations. Yet the voice, that wild creator of mayhem and precious chaos, beckons me forward.
I’m fine here. I see the freedoms bestowed on me through time. Gone are the tired rants of misaligned ideas, replaced by the sanity of wonderful aloneness. I need count on no one here, I can imagine what I wish and think thoughts of unlimited potential. I can sit in stillness and wander the caverns of my mind, never quite scaling the sheer cliffs of angst and never quite setting the table to certain despair.
Yet my heart and mind push beyond the boundaries I have set upon them. I can feel the taut power of my legs as they remain ready to leap forward, yet I can also feel familiar chains wrap around the same limbs, preventing my escape. Am I ready to make the leap, or am I simply meant to honor my space without even a dream of moving beyond it?
Time will tell, or so I’ve heard. I notice I am far from unique. We all struggle for importance in the hearts of others. We find those who we wish would offer us such peace, and we prompt them into some sort of action. We are drawn to certain others like moths to a flame and we seek a solace in them that affirms our beliefs – either this world is full of liars and cheats or we can find an anchor on which to moor our sanity.
Silly man, I think. Stand your ground and fight. Don’t bleed here, in front of these voices. Pick up your sword and slay them, and lay down the weapons you use upon yourself. Do not struggle with their lies, instead stand strong and resolve your love to the truth. Your truth. And nothing but your truth.
I remember the sacred oaths of yesterday. I hold firm to the power I’ve built within the very cells that cried with me so very long ago. I can’t deny the visions and voices, and I won’t belittle the cynicism that seems to carry this baggage of mine up the mountain trail. There’s a reason I’m a lone warrior with many loves who illuminate the darkest areas of my path. There’s cause to be firm in my understanding of who I am. When I bleed, I keep those I love clean. When I cry, I keep those I admire dry. When I fight, I keep those I adore so very, very safe.
Who am I to keep pushing you away? Who am I to not believe in you? Who am I to simply look the other way when I feel your eyes looking too deeply into my soul? It’s not your diving I take issue with, it’s your lack of looking that drives me away. It’s your fear the stirs my stable cauldron. It’s your resistance that is the stone the sharpens the knife I use to cut myself.
I realize the irony of the most difficult things being so alive in their naked simpleness. I feel your hand in mine but feel your heart out there somewhere. I see into your eyes but know your mind is walking in a different forest. I absorb your embrace but know your heart is so very far away.
The long and short of this is that I am fine with the apparition. I’ve made peace with the ghosts and the voices, having battled them to a draw in the final stages of this recovery. Once they won with ease, then I returned the favor. Now, I just embrace them as part of a process that began long before I can remember, back during a time when a boy thought he was helpless and a man thought he could find power in the rage of a liar’s mind. A warrior is he who has discovered that he could love without anger, be powerful in his surrender, and in the process battle his demons into angels, and transform his losses into wonderful victories.
Tomorrow I will awaken, and I will sit on my buckwheat throne and rule the only kingdom I will ever need. I will meet those voices there, and I will command them to speak. I will find my peace in the mischievous summer stream where I bathe, and see the footprints of those who walk with me not in some wild demand of weakness, but in the strength and power of a true love’s free will. Those footprints will be cast by those who wish to be there, and who wish to share the path with a lone soul carrying bags of gold for all to share.
I like that idea. The riches I carry have little value to most. To a certain few, however, they are priceless wonders of a warrior’s treasure acquired in the sweaty dance of battle and spent wisely on the souls who have decided to stand alongside him. There are no senseless games here, just kindred souls putting one foot in front of the other in total harmony.
Until then I will find my slumber, and dream my dreams, wishing you were there. I will awaken wishing you were next to me, knowing full well that you may never be ready for such a gamble. I will recognize the beauty in a security I may never find, in a space I may never see, and in a dream I may never fully realize. Yet I will smile in the recognition that I am were I need to be with whom I need to be there with. I laugh alone, and I bid a good night to the ally I fully trust in the blackness of this night.
I left her to go about her business, and I arrived alone in certain memories. I left a moment of knowing togetherness only to now lie among the stars, a man whose only lovers are thoughts created yesterday, who today bear gifts of a hopeful tomorrow. The space I now lie is my friend, the night air that surrounds me is my moment’s comforter, and the stars above my guide to a wonderful, loving destiny.
Find me there, if you wish, or simply go your way. In either case I love you, and in either way I know myself with nothing more to gain.
- Sometimes tears aren’t agents of pain. Sometimes those precious little drops are signs of growth, of love, and of an undeniable quest for liberation.
- If grown men don’t cry, as I was taught, then perhaps that is why grown men aren’t growing. They’re grown in stature, but small in the face of Universal truth. Love scares them, pain frightens them, and suffering is their constant companion.
- Tears sprout from the great ocean within us. The more we try to contain them, the more powerful they become. Let them flow, let them rise up and rain on us. You, the flowers of this space, need watering too.
- Ever just sit there, feeling the powerful wave of emotion, basking in the warmth of human interaction, of truly being saved not by some character of fiction but some truth of realization, and just let it go? We call that crying, and it is an art unto itself.
- I see her crying, the tears rolling down her face. Tears are like the surface of some great sea. If we stop and focus just on them, we ignore the depth that they defy. If we ignore them we can be left in treacherous waters. Instead, see them for what they are; the soul speaking through the ether in ways only it, and its mate, understand. Feel her tears, and find the truth of a gospel rarely read but often seen.
- Ever wonder why all tears taste the same? Oneness…now chew on that for a while.
- I’d rather anoint myself with my own tears than some holy water somewhere. At least there is truth in my tears.
- Few things are better than tasting her salty drops as they land on me from up above and realizing I can’t tell if they are drops of sweat or tears of pure joy.
- Raindrops may not come from cloudless skies, but rainbows aren’t born without the Sun. Tears may not come without the contrast of pain, but a smile is not born without joy.
- This too shall pass. Now, cry it out so you can make space for what’s coming.
- Some say tears are a product of sorrow, and laughter is a child of joy. I say you can’t have one without the other. So maybe, just maybe, tears and smiles are siblings born of parents who not only need each other, but exist in the world only for one another.
- I love you, so cry on my shoulder and watch the flowers bloom there.
- Sometimes the saltiness of tears is the sweetest nectar.
- Sometimes when I kiss her cheek I can taste the saltiness of tears cried long ago. I realize that they’ve faded, but are not gone…bitter testaments of times not yet healed, of moments not yet lost to now.
- We’ve sown the seeds of our discontent, so maybe our tears will help them sprout.
I’m not sure when I became so afraid of you.
When the very idea of you began to spook me. When the notion of falling started to send those waves of fear up my spine. When those vibrations of love became so foreign to me.
Maybe it was when I hit the bottom. I doubt it, I found my strength there. Nothing comforted me like those cold slabs of rock bottom on my bare feet. There’s something remarkable about the darkness there, about the certainty and the uncertainty, about the idea that I’ve fallen, but I can get up.
No, I don’t think that was it.
Maybe it was when fall. I don’t think so. The fall is where I found my wings, and even if I wasn’t sure how to use them I was focused on learning. I wanted to fly, but even the strongest wings need time to unfurl. Besides, I hadn’t met the rocks below, and those would become invaluable to me.
If it wasn’t the fall, or rocked bottom, maybe it was the jump. Maybe it was the view from up there on that ledge.
I don’t think so. I sat there, staring at the unknown, questioning the abyss. It wasn’t until I landed that the realization that I feared the fall and the landing set in, and that I had grasped at everything I could to prevent that demise. Yet the fear of falling and landing wasn’t created on the ledge, it just manifested there. I had no idea then that the jump would not be an end, but a wonderful beginning.
I realized that the fear was all created sometime before the fall, and even before the ledge. I was taught stores where the fall was a failure, where the inevitable surrender was sinful, where the death was a certain ending. I was taught to grasp at branches that stemmed from trees planted by others, and that letting go was a sign of mortality to which one could never recover.
I was taught to fear the fall before I even knew there was a ledge. I was taught that clawing at empty air had a value, and that being fixed was the most value I could bring to another’s life. I was taught I was broken…
And then I chose to accept the lessons, to become an idle participant in a life I was given to live.
I was lucky. I found great acceptance of the loss of my former existence. I found unending value in the loss of all I once held dear. The choices of my life were shown to me, and as I accept full responsibility for my life those choses began to change, and I started to make new agreements.
New agreements. A rebirth. A mighty bird risen from the ashes.
And now the truth.
I am not afraid of much anymore. I’ve been dragged to the ledge. I’d been forced to look over the precipice, and then I was pushed.
But I decided to fucking land. And I decided to dwell there for a bit.
Now, I’ve decided to fly. Fearlessly spread these fucking wings, embrace the wind, and fly.
I don’t fear you. I love you. I embrace you. I see you. Your fear does not scare me, and your past has no authority over me. Your decision to stand your ground has no bearing on me as I decide to jump, and perhaps your hearing my screams of ecstasy will propel you to not look back as you take one foot over the threshold and…
I’ll catch you and we’ll fly together. We’ll shine brightly on the world’s horizon, and we’ll burn brightly is the fortunate stars in an eternal evening’s sky. we’ll share the value of some great cosmic event of which very few will even notice.
Or you’ll decide to remain firmly in your space. I will love you from the ether but in the ether I will be. You’ll embrace the security of frozen ground, the knowing of a past repeated in resistance, the realization that some dreams are best kept at a distance.
It’s a silly thought, this wondering. It is a frivolous worship of a future never set in stone, a prayer to human stupidity and a gospel to nothing that has ever worked before. If the bedrock taught me anything it is that there is no greater value that loving the struggle on the mountain, finding joy in being pushed off a cliff, and basking in the wonder of a free fall over which you have no control even as responsibility is being learned.
The fantasy is a lie, of course. So, I’ll just sit there and admire you from across the table. I’ll just embrace the jolt of power I get as you take my hand in yours. I lay in the sunshine of your smile and not think about another fucking thing.
How’s that for a lesson? In an instant I grasped at straw upon a hill, was pushed from a ledge, felt the wind flowing around my skin and landed upon a wonderful awareness. In less than a blink of an eye I lived, died, and was reborn. I lived in past, died in a future, and was reborn squarely in the arms of a present moment where I could feel nothing but certainty and love.
That is where I live, in spaces unafraid of the story, unfettered by what could be, inattentive to much beyond the beauty sitting across from me and the smile that seems to light up an entire section of the Universe. Fuck the rest of it, it’s just nonsense.