To the Mysterious Goddess, a heart-filled song.

What language does my heart speak to yours? Can you hear it? Can you feel, in the depths of your soul, the lyrics on which I rest?

Are my dreams but a one way street? Do I sit in active stillness, feeling you, hearing you, sensing your very existence as part of some game my mind plays on itself? Are the promises of a beating heart nothing but idle fantasy; a dream of some heart healed knowing it will surely die alone?

What does the figment of my dream need to do to complete the masterpiece my heart so implores be painted?

To the gods I beg an answer. In mortality only the whisper of a winter’s wind replies.

It’s so easy to give up hope for the brethren I know around me. The insanity of a world gone senile, the lies bantered about like the sullen oaths of a drunken man. Our hearts have been so covered with the concrete of our misgivings that they cannot beat to save themselves. The mind, once crisp with the delight of a child seeing truth for the very first time, dies next. All that is left after our earthly carnage is the shell of flesh meandering about like a zombie; lost and not knowing, helplessly divine yet not knowing its own immeasurable greatness.

I beg for something else. An enlightened soul free from the games of its parents, a strong and courageous warrior free from her bullshit testament of power. She finds her greatest strength when her knees buckle, her greatest power when she freely submits to a truth she not only makes love to, but shares as freely as the breath she exhales. A kindred spirit is she, together we are team unstoppable in the annuls of lives meant for such a purpose. We shall roar together in the windswept plains, and climb each and ever mountain we face in rugged simplicity.

I do not need luxury save the moments I am bathed in your attention. I do not need comfort save the moments I am swaddled in your arms. I do not seek for pleasure outside the whispers you sing to me in the night, in the breaking of the dawn, in the nestling of the Sun at high noon. I need no drink save what is offered me from your chalice, and I need no truth save the testament you offer when your hand takes mine, and off we climb again.

Yes, I sing to you this night, unafraid. There are no demons in the shadows of my mind, and no monsters tucked neatly in the closets of my soul. Either there is courage in you or there isn’t, either there is truth in your veins or nothing we can share.

Soon, another night, another dream. Goodnight, and I will meet you somewhere, sometime, and await your answer.


I’d Like to Know

A cloudy morning morphs into a hazy mind, and I sit still staring into the abyss around me. So many things fill that space, so many barriers between my heart and what I truly want from this life.

My thoughts often get cloudy when wondering about my purpose. Sometimes I feel like a wayward ship left helpless, only floating where the purpose of currents and winds shall take me.  I once fought so hard against the flow that I had little energy to see where it had brought me. Distractions are, as they will always be, what the mind sees as saviors saving us from a certain truth.

Even when the storms come I can be left distracted by the waves buffeting me about. I rarely pay homage to the winds, or the crashing thunder, or the waves that bruise my ego. Those things are there to be honored, for they awaken in me the truth of who I am. I often press those wounds just to be reminded that they are there, for no greater gift do they offer than the reminder that it is I who bangs my head against the wall, and it is me who continually puts his heart to the fire, then writing the story that best suits the occasion.

That leads me to this now. The moment where the morning chill arrives, and the divide between us seems so insurmountable.

The lesson is, of course, that this is all my doing. I gaze at the prose on my wall and the symbols I use to remind me that when the winds blow hardest it is not time to hide, it is time to face the storm. The storm is, after all, rarely out there but rather is always in here.

In here. That spot that ceases to be a place, but rather becomes an action. Nouns do not exist in here, only verbs. In here is where vibrations exist in questions asked, and in answers offered. It is like a heaven where everything is action, the observation ceases as a thing, as does the observer, as does the messages that echo from its walls. So it is in here I go, to write a question on my heaven’s walls and to wait for a response.

“I’d like to know….”

Perhaps more a statement than a question, but in here grammar does not exist. Every question and statement has the power of intention behind it, and it is that power that is seen, felt, and understood. The words are irrelevant, only the formless sense of intent is recognized.

What comes is formless and wordless, but I will try to explain in the best way I can while being limited by my human imperfections.

I see a face, her beauty expressed by the waves of surrender that course through my soul. Rose petals flow around her, gracefully surrendering their sweet fragrance as they sacrifice their own existence to her moment. There is a golden thread that I cannot see, yet can feel, between us. I can feel her smile, and her scent, and trust the recognition.

“Yes, I know…”

I want to grab her face and kiss her. A rush of heat fills my serenity. Yet, there is nothing there to grab. There is nothing I need hold on to. There is only her, and me, swirling in a wind of essence. So beautiful is she that I lose all strength, and yet I have never been stronger.

She beckons me forward, and I follow.

There is a mountain whose purple majesty is capped in a beautiful white crown. While no path is made clear I am drawn to its peak, and I need to be there. I hear her voice beg me to follow, yet I cannot see her now. It’s almost as if she is the mountain itself.

I hear her laughing as I make my way up. When I stumble on the loosest rocks, she lifts me. I can feel her help me up, yet still cannot see her. I want to tell her that I should be the one helping her, but she silences me with a “shhhhhh” that sounds like a breeze rustling through the trees. I let go of my ego and stand, and continue upward on our way.

Finally, we are sitting on the summit, gazing at the valley below. There, the vision of small cottages with white smoke billowing from their chimneys meshes with the colorful mixture of snow and earthly life. There are souls keeping warm in their shelter, and I am keeping warm next to mine.  Comfort has never been my way, but this is something different.

An overwhelming feeling of contentment and peace flow over me. There is nothing out there for me. All I have found in the moment is still in here, as much a part of me as I am of it.

“Yes, I know…”

No matter the distance, we are near. No matter the space, we are never empty. No matter the storm, we can always find peace.

I can feel her smile, for she is love recognized by my soul for who she is. I need not see it. It’s always there.

“Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.” ~Rumi.

As surely as I am in stillness, I dance and swirl to the truth I know within me. I can see the walls I’ve built, my soulful desire to be challenged. I can hear the rivers of milk and honey just on the other side of one of the walls I’ve built, and can feel the laughter of my lover on the other side of another. I can hear her gasps of ecstasy, and feel my own, just over the traverse. Another Rumi quote comes to me as if written in a gold, neon sign.

“Our task is not to seek for love, but to break down the barriers we have built against it.”

The same can be said for peace. Or abundance. Or health. Or purpose.

Or purpose…

Fuck….yes! The answer I’ve been searching for won’t come from out there. Rather, it is just on the other side of the wall I’ve built against it!

“Yes, I know…”

My eyes have opened, albeit not gently this time. I laugh at myself, and I wonder if she gets it, too. I wonder if our hands will start tearing away at the wall that divides us until, finally, our fingertips touch. Our names are written in the sky in one cloud, in one sky, by one wind. It is up to us to master it, and write the words we wish to see.

Yes, I know…

photo by:

Her Song He Sings

There was a man,
He loved a woman,
Who was nowhere near his touch.
So he slept alone,
And wrote her songs,
He loved her soul that much.

He’d walk along,
And hum her tune,
A lone figure against the Sun,
He knew one prayer,
That she would come,
He knew she was the one.

He’d touch his scars,
And mend his wounds,
Swim strong against the tide,
He’d kiss her lips,
In fancy dreams,
And snuggle by her side.

For things that come,
Are things that go,
But truth remains the same.
The Sun may rise,
And the Sun may set,
Eternity resides within a frame.

Forever known,
Yet forgotten still,
Love blossoms where it can.
To live so strong,
To live so free,
Few can understand.

He’ll hold his heart,
He’ll bite his lips,
And wait to tell her things,
He’ll walk alone,
And when he does,
It will be her song he sings.


Little Light

Little light up in the sky,
I watch as you pass me by,
I wish that you would land my dear,
Come visit me and snuggle near.

Dreams seem broken long ago,
In waves that seem to ebb and flow,
A mirror shattered, shards of glass,
Drops of blood as minutes pass.

Time gone lost, I say goodbye,
You stay aloft up in the sky,
No knock comes at my bedroom door,
I think I’ll sleep and say no more.

When that final breath is drawn,
And I’ve seen my final dawn,
It won’t be tears of joy I cry,
That little light has passed me by.


photo by: michaelmoselle

She Shall See Again (A Poem)

Through twisted tales of Neverland,
A soul that’s born as thee,
Was told a lie that many tell,
That blind girls cannot see.

In misty dreams and darkened caves,
Her heart was bent and torn,
Yet through the dust and crimson grime,
A warrior was born.

One day to never doubt again,
One day to never bend,
A warrior’s snarl shall crest her lips,
When she shall see again.

She heard an honest poem once,
A man who loved her so,
She could not drop her sword and run,
Her shield would not let go.

Through words and whimsies she told those lies,
She thought that she was blind,
One day she’ll come to realize,
The blindness was in her mind.

One day she’ll rise to claim her throne,
She’ll decide just where and when,
In that moment a Sun shall rise,
And she shall see again.


photo by: porph

Under the Moon

I once heard a sparrow’s song,
“Tis me, your soul, in Spring,”
To which I replied “hello my dear,
I never did learn how to sing.”

I walked a little further til,
A flower called out in bloom,
“Won’t you come and rest here awhile,
And share a song Under the Moon?”

A man so full of wistful thoughts,
Who’s seen this life’s sunsets,
Knows the path his heart and mind must take,
From all his life’s regrets.

In the end the sparrow always leaves,
The rose, it wilts and dies,
But the man who’s learned to love again,
Forgets to say goodbye.

One day will come that final dusk,
For some it comes too soon,
But the lucky one, he got to sit,
With you Under the Moon.


It’s There

I know you are hurting. I know you are weak even in the strength you have described. I know you are afraid despite your protests of fearlessness. I know you feel alone despite the throngs of people around you.
You are never alone, my love. Within you resides a voice, a voice that is begging to be heard. Go within to hear it. It’s there, singing a song you need to hear. It’s there, hitting notes that you, yourself, have written long before you were born. It’s there, offering a harmony that you, yourself, have composed.
You feel that fear. It travels through you like a jolt of selfish electricity, yet within you there is a flame. Go within to find it. It’s there, warming up the coldest reaches of your heart. It’s there, crackling and raging while lighting up the pathways that you seek. It’s there, consuming all the debris and lies that fear will leave scattered about your mind. Let it burn, and let it burn freely.
You know that weakness. It leaves you dizzy in the high places you wish to climb, and leaves you paralyzed along the valley trails when you wish to see the greatest heights. Go within to find your courage, it’s there just waiting to be awakened. It’s there dancing among the demons you think you see, and the dreams you hide beneath your veil. It there, growling at the lies you tell yourself, howling at the pretense you have chosen to make your own.
I know you are hurting, my love, but know that you are loved. Know that all you ever have been and ever will be is neatly kept within you. Know that when you decide the time is right your song will be sung, your fire will burn brightly, and your beast will rise above the ashes. Choose wisely, and know that I am with you.

To the Ledge and Back

I remember once sitting on a cliff, overlooking the vast expanse of land and sky before me. I felt so alone, yet so alive. There was life, and death, before me in a sea of rest and commotion. I sat in stillness, completely active as a breeze gently rustled the autumn leaves around me.
Thoughts went back to moments that seem an eternity ago, before my own death and resurrection. There seemed to be a simplicity in the anger, and a comfort in the darkness. I was born into a sea of black, scourged by the mindless and conceived by a mind lost in the chaos. I believed the fault of their sin was all my own, and took their misguided thoughts as some gospel to which I owed my sanity.
Great loss and pain cascaded over me like a cocoon. I became but an infant, a chrysalis hung to a branch. Though I fought and struggled, the confines of my prison tightened around me. There was no escape as the blessings of fate’s love embraced me whole, with the very blessings that I cursed, the very blessings that would save me.
I smiled at the recollection. There was no simplicity or comfort in those memories. I had adapted, and in a way adopted complexity as my simplicity, and suffering as my comfort. I remembered the instances where the beast would rear its ugly head, and I laughed in the instant. I would remember the moments of despair, and offer love to the boy as he cried. I would remember the times when the darkness was all I had to share, and I offered forgiveness to a heart left broken.
On the cliff I pray we all will sit one day, remembering the ledges of windows and rooftops we once stood, wondering if to jump was to live again. One the ledge we seek our own redemption, and we search our own inner peace. On the cliff we recognize them both. On the ledge we choose our own eternity, and on the cliff we pay homage to time that ceases to exist. We can learn so much from the ledge, and the climb we take to get there.
Today I sit with the vision of you, I want to feel your soul as your arms wrap tenderly around me and your lips gently kiss my shoulder. I want to feel a smile crest my lips as you call my name, and a tingle shoot down my spine as you take my hand in yours. I know I can endure your absence for a little while more. I been to the ledge and survived, now a lion with a forceful purr, a beast with a heart whose roar cannot be ignored.
I have fallen and risen; forgotten and learned to walk again. I have loved and lost and lost and loved and discovered who I am. I have been left alone to die in burning room of fear and found life anew in the smoking embers. What else is there? What else but fire can temper the strongest steel? That I do not know, but I long for the challenge sure to follow the Sun above my life’s horizon.
One day I’ll hear a sound come from behind me, and feel that shiver roll down my back. I’ll feel your hand brace itself on my shoulder, and watch you sit besides me on the cliff. There, we’ll think about the ledges we have stood, and when that scene is over in our minds we’ll turn, look in each other’s eyes, and kiss as lovers often do.
That will be a purpose of our journey. Each step, each climb, each fall, each forgotten moment will have brought us to each other on a cliff. There could be nothing wrong with any of it, and we’ll sit and stare across the vast expanse of land and sky and point to moving things that capture our attention. We’ll tell stories that excite us in the moment of our resurrection, and laugh at our own remarkable will to arrive. We’ll make love in the mountain grass, lost in the profundity of the moment. Then we’ll wash the grass stains off our knees, and walk quietly back to the cliff where it all began. Where it all continued. Where, on day, it will all end.
photo by:

Embracing the Zenith

Fear not, my dear, you are loved.
Though mountains may crumble as the seas toss in the throes of mindless quakes,
You are loved.
Though the angels may stop singing and the dreams may disappear,
You are loved.
For in the swirl of living melancholy you held my hand,
And I will never leave your side.

Know this, my beating heart,
That though the skies may fall and the stars may dim,
I will not falter.
For I’ve faced the demons of my mind and tended the cracks in my open heart,
Preparing for your arrival.
And though a faulted human I may be,
A warrior stands, basking in the glow as you rise above the horizon.

For in the shards of flesh I’ve left behind,
In the drops of blood and tears I’ve left to stain the footprints of my life,
I’ve always heard your whisper.
As I stand, love’s devoted sword in weathered hand,
Clear, mountain air filling my tested lungs,
I now whisper in reply.

I whisper as these fingertips write soulful messages upon your skin,
A sweet kiss placed somewhere gently, a moan echoes in reply.
My mouth follows the pathways of your heart, until, you can no longer hear a thing.
You, my drink, body quivering in its sweet repose,
Bathing in the sweat that seeps from every pore,
Knowing we have earned our time upon this sacred altar.

Love has tattooed you in me, and me in you,
Forever etched upon the annals of eternal memory,
Meshed with a solemn vow, nothing to be the same again.
Courage has opened the door to truth,
We’ve chosen to step through the threshold,
Into a room where no walls exist at all.

I shall not forget your absence as I relish the sight of you,
I will give the night its gratitude, darkest before the dawn.
There will be the testaments of an orchestra tuning up their sound before the show,
Then a silence, now in honor of the symphony we are writing,
Your heart ablaze, my soul on fire in return,
The maestro sets the tempo.

Then, a respite as we crumble to the floor,
Exhausted, love reigning down like drops from a single cloud,
A raging torrent, still and calm in its fierceness.
Truth, it seems, is like that when you’re embracing in the zenith,
Remembering the valleys down below, and the heights we’ve had to climb,
Forgetting all we’ve lost to get here.


photo by: JohnnyLCY

Patient (A poem)

Could you ever know,
How patient I have been?
Waiting in the line of life,
Trembling with anticipation,
Feeling the lost grasp but knowing still its possibility.
I trust where I am going.

Though beautiful it may be,
The flesh only excites the surface of me.
I seek the core where light is born,
The space where you truly exist,
Not singing human praises to human ears,
But whispering solemn hymns, known in parts of me that only know the sacred chants of love.

Yes, these fingertips wish to draw on you,
Raise bumps of sheer delight from your soul,
This heart wishes to touch your own,
Hear rhythm ringing through the ether like a drumbeat,
Calling out your name,
Hearing you echo in return.

I don’t miss the sand between my toes,
I have the view of thousand of steps before my eyes,
Come see it with me, like a stairway to heaven,
And know that you are found,
Alive in safety, alive in love, alive in truth,
Seeking the flame that lights the way.

I desire, and I have waited.
You may never know how patient I have been,
Stepping lightly around the potholes,
Sweetly jumping over the crevices on this path,
Resting on the jagged boulders that line the way.
Knowing that soon…

What you feel is life, what you live is another story.


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