All posts by Gyandeva

Gyandeva is a seeker, pathological meditator, a veteran firefighter and rescue tech, a poet, a blogger (new site) & writer. More importantly, he is a father of three—meaning he is also a lecturer, teacher, chef, order taker, taxi driver, coach, mentor and aspirin addict—and has found applying spiritual practices to all aspects of life provides a vast amount of possibility and abundance. While not adhering to any one religion, his practice of spiritual expression has shown that there is a unity in all things (even religions) and that in that unity we can find that Oneness in ourselves even as we enjoy the individual expression of that unity we are. You can also connect with Gyandeva on Twitter and on Facebook. Give his blog a Facebook hug at Tom Grasso, Writer.

Story One ~ Onward Ho! (Love’s Warrior series)

 

I gaze upon the Eastern way, looking for that spot where the Sun meets the Earth and a brand new day has dawned.  Slowly I inch my way forward toward my life’s horizon, looking at my empty hand and feeling awash in the empty feeling that suggests that such a place does not exist.  Not for me anyway.

The sands on which I stand are hot to my bare feet.  The sands give way to the weight I carry and the burden I have no choice but to shoulder.  Together we gazed upon the orange-crescent moon and shared the laughs of Lovers so caught up in the moment as to not know that this one could ever exist.  Yet, the barren landscape on which I know gaze has come.  A famine now exists where once stood fertile land, and the Sun’s once-loving gaze now draws the very life from all around me.  The cloudless sky allows the radiation to drive deep within the soil and burrow deep within my skin as I struggle to move onward.  I began this journey a gallant vestige of strength, able to stand tall among the trees and walk steadily through the grasslands.  Slowly a slouch became evident in my gait as the summer winds grew hotter, and the grasses dried to sharp pins that hardened my feet to thick pads of skin unable to feel much of anything.  Then came the sands as the dead grass blew away in the now brutal desert winds, and the brothel of mirages began their onslaught on my mind.  Even my feet with their thickness found a hell in the terrain they now were forced to endure.

There would be many oases in this journey, each giving me pause to believe that such a place as Eden did, in fact, exist.  I’d sheath my sword and drop my guard in each one; bathing in the springs and eating the nectar of the fruit each one had to offer.  Ultimately I’d eat the wrong apple and be cast aside. In some I had to fight my way out, others I had fought to stay in.  Invariably though in each I’d become an exiled warrior, and in each I could never return through some form of Divine curse, or promise, or a mixture of both.

Time would judge the battles waged as rarely worth the effort.  Even with this wisdom tucked safely in my mind I would always fight.  I loved the fruits; their sweet, supple nature as their flesh met my own.  I loved basking in the glow of the morning Sun as It shined through the trees, the birds singing loudly as distant bells tolled the hour’s arrival.  I loved inching my way into the crystal clear and cool waters freely provided as my body was caressed by Love’s great giving.  Such things would often wear out their welcome, either in me or in them and I would be forced to flee or escorted to the gates unwillingly.  My feet would always touch the desert sands, my brow would endure the desert Sun, my mind would battle the mirages set to ego’s great design.

In each experience, in each drop of blood and sweat, I would seek the understanding of the moment itself.  The scars would not endure, the voices would not win, the mirages would not create my reality.  No amount of false idolatry could replace the sweet caress of my Queen regardless of how many times the mirages would suggest such a caress was nothing more than a mirage itself.  It must exist, it must be real or this journey would be for naught.  Each distorted footprint left in the desert sands would be meaningless.  Each moment in the grips of pleasure would have no meaning.  I knew, if I just kept walking a moment more, that my Queen waited patiently for her King at that spot where the morning Sun kissed the Earth and conceived a new day.  The Divine conceived this new day, my mind gave birth to it, and my body would live it indeed.

A moment’s pause, a deep breath, a quick exhale and I am ready to walk some more.  The desire to be a Queen’s King so enthralled in Love with one another sets my feet in motion. Imagine being carried by a Queen who I can carry.  Imagine being held by a Lover’s embrace so intensely as to never want to part.  Imagine being the first thought of a woman who shares her victories and her defeats with her man immediately upon the determination of either.  Imagine being the only desire of a woman regardless of how many options she may have.  Imagine being so important as to be the focus despite the distance, time, or thoughts that separate you.  Imagine such designs to be mutual creations of the human love shared by two Divine Lover’s in an eternal dance created by the Universe Itself.

Those thoughts make the miles fly by and ease the discomfort of each lonely footstep.  She’s there, I know it.  I’ve tasted her kiss, felt her move beneath me, felt her passion atop of me, and I’ve seen her beauty a million times with each blink of his eye.  I will not find her by sitting still even if the stillness has helped me know her.  I must continue on.  I must not falter.  She is looking for me as surely as I am searching for her.  She is calling out my name as I echo her cries in the valleys and peaks of this path.  She, too, is looking at her empty hand wanting mine to fill it.  We both gaze upon another orange crescent moon peaking above the horizon and know we share this moment and that place.  It keeps us pressing on, it keeps us wanting, and it keeps us knowing our destiny.

So, we move onward toward that destiny.  Separated by time and space made irrelevant by the knowledge that we live within each other’s heart and soul.  We close our eyes and see each other.  We make love in each other’s nightly visions as our song is sung loudly through the mist of our slumber.  We hold each other closely with the strong embrace of what must be.  Our cells merge, our minds replaced by Something more as our hearts beat in rhythmic harmony.  We are one even as we are separated, and our search will find us together at last in the eternal promise of Love.   One day…

So, onward ho we go, each footstep a prayer, each moment defined in the narrowing of the desert between us.

photo by: Moyan_Brenn

I Miss You

 

My Lover,

I lay and stare at the place where you woke up this morning.  I can still see the indent of your body on the sheets, and I move over to seek your scent in the spot where you were.  A tear wells up in my eye as I can smell you as if you were still there, stroking my arm and holding my head in your hand; our lips locked in a lover’s embrace.  I close my eyes as that tear rolls down my cheek, burning into my Soul the memories that Love Itself has created.  A tear born by Love yet shed by a Soul who is completely missing its mate; a tear that speaks loudly your name in the silence of a man staring at the place where he only wishes he could find you.

There are no words, my Lover, that I can create to describe this moment.  There are no methods born that would describe the emotion of your parting.  Your absence is the focus of this moment created only because of the absolute beauty of your presence.  Like the warm waters spilling onto a sandy beach you are missed in the chill of a summer’s breeze.  I have left these waters walking tall only to find myself kneeling in solitude hugging the sand longing for the sea.  I cry out your name into empty air with only an echo in reply.  So I lie in bed, seeking your scent  in the hopes that, as the waves break in the shores of my mind, the waters will spray my soul and comfort me.  If only for a moment.

I close my eyes in that moment.  I remember it all.  As sleep invades my weary mind I see you clearly, looking at me intensely.  I can feel your hands cupping my face, drawing me closer to your own.  I can feel the instant our lips touch and we began to move to a drumbeat not heard outside our hearts.  I can feel you reach for me, drawing me closer to the edge of ecstasy before pulling me back in for more.  I can sense it all, the sweat, the sounds, the way your soul speaks to me.  I want nothing more than to never wake, to stay asleep in this dream for eternity.  Dear Lord please…

~

Yet I awake, those prayers unanswered as were the ones that could keep us together until the sunset of the last day.  I looked over at where you woke up yesterday morning, praying that your leaving was nothing more than some cruel nightmarish trick my mind was playing on me.  Yet there I was, alone, staring once again at that spot where you were, seeking your scent if just for one more minute, one more moment of physical remembrance.

I will await your return, my Lover, and hold these moments as a sacred testament to that magic we call Love.  This empty hand will be filled once more as the Oceans of our Being will again merge in ecstatic remembrance.  Our eyes will meet, our lips will touch, our bodies will merge in that sweet harmony.  Until then I will close my eyes and find that spot within me where you reside; where your imprint has been etched forever and your scent shall never fade.  The tears that roll down my cheeks and spill onto my open Heart will only serve to water the flowers of my Love for you.  I can sense you…you are here, forevermore.

Your Lover

 

 

photo by: Kokabella

Until We Meet Again

I walk where I’ve never walked
See things I’ve never seen
Hear things I’ve never heard
And think things I’ve never thought
Just by putting my hand in yours.
 
I want so desperately to chase you
To ask you not to go
To kiss you one more time
And to bring your heart to places
It has never been before.
 
Imagine time more gentle
With the loving hearts of men.
Where waking and sleeping with you…there
Here, everywhere
That lonely side of parting never need return.
 
But I sit…here…
You are…there…
And you take a million dreams of mine with you
With that one kiss that said goodbye
Until we meet again.
 
~

Shavasana

A slight breeze swept across the flow of sweat that had covered my body.

The sweet torture of the work magnified even the slightest movement of air across my skin, highlighting the beauty of nature’s hand in every corner of my Being.  Inhaling deeply I set myself to another set, another round, and the sweetness of the work my body was doing to cleanse my mind and renew the understanding of this, my physical self.

No judgments beset me as the sweat poured off of me to the ground below.  Surely the grass beneath me found the salty taste of my work not to its liking.  Surely the Earth would reject the bitter effect of my labor even as the Universe within embraced each and every moment.  Surely as my muscles strained and my body shook in the heat of the Sun all that is in this moment would see a value to it all.  The Universe knows Itself in such a challenge; when utter devastation wreaks creation, where utter chaos offers itself to the beautiful order of things.

Chaos is nothing more than the mind playing tricks with what it cannot understand.

Beyond the human mind chaos does not exist.  This I see in the effort I am in as my mind creates havoc in the burn and the stretch while the Universe simply allows it to be.  It is as it must be everywhere but in my mind, and as the Soul’s river works there flows a beautiful sound that suggests I am alive.  The stillness after the effort allows me to hear that river flow majestically through the forest of my mind into the valley of my Soul.  Out of chaos comes order, and out of experience we find there is no chaos at all.

As I gazed upon the Earth in this pose I noticed everything.  I saw a tick crawling toward my firmly stationed hands as my sweat rains down all around it.  My mind screamed “get away!” as I focused on this predator.  It’s hungry.  It needed nourishment just as I do.  It smelled the sweetness of my blood through the air and it thirsted for a bountiful meal.  My mind suggested that I was too good to be this lowly being’s meal.  It could hurt me, it can could me pain.  Who taught me that?  Certainly not the Universe. Certainly not the tick.  No, someone somewhere along the way taught me that ticks were horrible beings, that they must starve if we are to survive.  Maybe it was through them that I learned the same thing about people.

I can remember having ticks pulled off me as a child, and burned.  I remember wondering if they felt pain as the flame enveloped their tiny being.  They looked so ugly, yet so delicate as they perished, my blood still coursing through the body I saw.  Somehow I was one with them, and they one with me. We were inseparable, and as they vanished from this place a part of me vanished with them.  Yes, there was a remorse in this cycle of nature that only a being who could see it would feel.  This tick was just doing what the Universe demanded.  It had no choice, it had no alternative.  I did.

I raised my head and look at the trees in front of me, the approaching tick no longer a concern.  If it could get me it could have me, and is I should see it I would remove it and let it go on its way.  Yes, I had a choice, and my choice would be to not harm anything in this moment, not even the grass now supporting my weight.  The Universe had decided to challenge me in many ways during this asana, and in one challenge it was to push the envelope of my mind toward acceptance; to make order out of the chaos.  I smiled as I changed poses in time with my breath, the sweat now heading in the same direction but from a different place.  I looked up at the cloudless sky and felt myself go there, following my outstretched hands to the very ends of my understanding.

 “I am alive.”

I noticed birds soaring high overhead as I melt into the pose.  A hawk circled high above me, perhaps believing I am nothing but a next meal.  What did it see?  A man working to hold a pose in the high heat of a summer day?  A man struggling to understand himself in the valley of his life?  A dead man not quite in the knowledge of his end?  I wondered as I wished I could talk to this magnificent bird of prey.  Tell me, my friend, what do you see when you look at me from your perch in the sky?  What do you see when you see any of us men scurrying aimlessly about?  How could you help me be more like you and less like me?

I switched back in time with my breath.  My mind seemed to be screaming at me that there must have been a million ticks now aiming for various part of my body.  In the pose I settled the drunken monkey back to more meaningful tasks.  I could feel the sweat run down my head and drip off my face.  I could feel it run like a morning dew down my arms which were now supporting all of me.  I could sense nearly ever stream, every drop, every bead of me run down like water from a stone.  My mind suggested that the grass was screaming at me to get away from it.  How it hated the stringent taste of my work.  How it despised holding my weight where I deemed it must.  My Soul suggested something different.  The grass beneath me loved me more than my mind did.  It accepted my sweat with joy.  It took on the weight of my struggle with an acceptance my mind could never fully comprehend.  The grass wanted the experience of me even as much as my mind seemed to reject it.  Yes, the yoga here wasn’t just me and my body, or me and my Soul, or me and my mind.  It was a simple understanding that everything is yoga, everything is united and only separated by the drunken monkey those who killed ticks taught me was the only thing that mattered.

“I am alive.”

Switching to the other side and gazing back up at the sky I noticed the hawk had flew away.  Or perhaps he never existed to begin with?  All I knew is that he was no longer there.  Maybe he had decided that I was not among the dead or dying yet, and that there were easier things to munch on.  Perhaps in his yoga he had seen that his needs could be met elsewhere, or everywhere, or nowhere.  Either way, I followed my outstretched hand once again beyond the bright blue sky into the space.  I could almost see the light come out of my fingertips and flow freely out there, toward a place I so wanted to visit.  I wanted to see what the Sun saw, but I also wanted to see the Sun as just another dot in the horizon.

I wanted to know the entirety of this place and the smallness I could see that allowed me to understand the enormity of who I was.

Someday, but for now my body screamed at me to end my practice, and to find peace in the work I had done.

Shavasana.

~

 

The Marriage Issue is About More Than A Chicken Sandwich

 

This “issue” involving Chick-fil-A has certainly stirred up a debate (I love understating the obvious). It has even stirred up a debate on whether or not we should be having a debate about the debate about the issue.  Amazingly, we are not only fractured about the issue itself, but also on the importance of the very debate!

After getting caught up in the emotion of the issue (I favor equality for all people), I decided perhaps a few moments of contemplation and introspection were in order.  The reaction I was having was about me, and my feelings, and not about the issue at all. In the mix of anger and hostility I was feeling towards those I have deemed as “oppressors”, it didn’t feel right that I continue with such a reaction.  I can’t be so attached to any principal or opinion in a way that sacrifices the very mindfulness I have so worked so hard to develop.

So, contemplation ongoing and mindfulness somewhat returning, here is what I have come to understand.

Denying marriage to any two consenting adults is discrimination

There, I said it. In this society marriage isn’t just a religious ceremony but also a civil contract. Civil contracts fall under the auspices of the judicial branch of our government. Therefore, government has to be involved in the issue of marriage from a strictly legal standpoint. Anything from purchasing real estate, to investments, to decisions that affect the children of the marriage all fall under the civil contract that marriage provides.

Therefore, in my opinion, denying any two consenting adults the rights that marriage provides for under law is an act of discrimination.  Doing so by law is oppression.  Doing so by law under religious pretense is religious persecution.

Government must take the lead

Why?  Because that is why we have one.  Part of the role of government is to protect the minority from the majority.  Mob rule is not tolerated in this nation, and should not be tolerated under any circumstances even if you are a member of the mob.  Remember folks, one day you may find yourself on the other side of this mob rule mentality, and you will hope and pray that the insane majority does not get to oppress you.  You will look for your knight in shining armor, and in this nation that knight comes to us in the form of legislation and judicial oversight.

One reason I love the ACLU (yes, that seems to make me a bleeding liberal, yet I see no evidence of blood anywhere) is because they take on the most unpopular causes in support of liberty.  I don’t even agree with them often, but I see the value in what they do and love the fact that someone out there is willing to take on the mob in the arena our founders have designed for just such a purpose: the court system.  Even when I am part of the mob I love that there is someone out there who is willing to challenge me because, frankly, I am not right all of the time (in fact I am wrong most of the time) and need to be challenged.

I see denying anyone, homosexuals included, the ability to marry one another is like denying a person a seat at the counter I am at simply based on who they are.  In our rather short but dark history, we Americans protest we are about being the “shining light of freedom” but rarely let this line shine first in our interactions with one another.  We have invaded a land and uprooted an entire civilization often killing, raping, and creating great suffering in the process (yes, we invaded North America and got a lot of the continent for our efforts).  We have bought and sold other human beings, enslaving them under deplorable human conditions.  We kept people from voting based on race and gender.  We have killed one another for profit, and imprisoned record numbers of people in the name of an idea that suggests intoxicants are horrible. We have instituted death as a punishment without ever being able to prove with certainty that all those we kill are guilty.  We’ve kept an entire race of people separate from the rights, power, and dignity afforded to those in the majority.  Yes, those people we sought to segregate from our society were ancestors of the people we once kidnapped, bought, sold and enslaved as nothing more than property.

But the good news is…

We learned from our mistakes.  The picture I paint above is factual even if it paints a very dark picture of the American experience.  However, part of that American experience is in realizing the mistake and correcting it.  We now honor (albeit not enough in my opinion) Native Americans in their remarkable way of life and in recognition of their place in this continent’s history.  We passed laws giving women the right to vote.  We ended Prohibition even if we haven’t learned the lesson fully yet.  We emancipated the enslaved and fought to save a Union in the process.

We even passed laws making discrimination illegal.  Despite sitting at a counter not being any right provided for Constitutionally, we protect human beings from the onslaught of stupidity that deems them less than another.  Despite wage equality not being a right Constitutionally, we protect human beings from the stupidity that suggests that who they were born makes them less valuable than who they are.  Rosa Parks could end her life sitting anywhere she damned well pleased on a bus because we heard her loud and clear, and we debated, discussed, fought, died, and did what was necessary to right a wrong.

It’s not about sexuality…

It’s about humanity, compassion, liberty, freedom, and ensuring all of those things for not only ourselves or our gay brothers and sisters, but also our posterity.  Any one of my children could be gay.  Or my grandchildren to come way, way, WAY in the future.  Would I want my children or grandchildren (or any one of my posterity to come) to face segregation, humiliation and religious persecution because of who they were born to be?  My Creator created each and every one of them, and I simply refuse to allow what I see as idiotic ideas of man to interfere with the beauty my Creator as endowed to this Universe.

It’s time we end the idiocy.

So, to me, it’s not about the sexuality of the couple who wants to enjoy the full legal benefits of marriage without being separated from the rest of society( civil unions suck for that reason in my opinion).  A church does not have to marry anyone the religion itself discriminates against, but the governments of this nation should have no choice but to marry anyone who wants to marry.  Period.

It becomes about fairness, equality, and the fact I never want to be an oppressor.  Yes, I see anyone who gets in the way of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness as an oppressor.  I see anyone who supports those who gets in the way of someone enjoying life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness as an oppressor even if all they do is make horrible food for people to eat (it may taste good, but so does rat poison to a rat).  Eat it if you want, it’s a free nation and you should be free to do whatever you want to yourself (even smoke a joint if it helps you with the ailments eating MSG-laden chicken sandwiches gives you).

The debate is not only important, but necessary

Yes, we need to debate this.  It’s how we have evolved as a nation.  We take a wrong, discuss it until everyone is in a good fervor, and

I Love this woman

then fight it out somewhere. Or we wait until Snooky has her baby and forget the entire thing.  Whichever.  We need this debate though.  We need a Rosa Parks to stand up and say “enough”.  We need to a Susan B. Anthony to suggest that a woman owning her own property as only fair.  We need an Abraham Lincoln to have the balls enough to not only address an idiotic idea, but defeat it wherever it may

choose to fight.  Dare I say that we even need an John F. Kennedy to stand up to the George Wallace’s of the world and say “not on my watch.”

Yes, we do.  It’s the American responsibility that comes with having the American dream.  Discuss it, debate it, realize the error and then fix it.  One day, and I hope I am alive to see it, we will look back on this discussion just as we look back at our segregationist history. Our grandchildren will review this era in our history and say “what on Earth were they thinking”.  I also hope that they will look back favorably and honor those who stood up and changed the idea.  The idea that somehow this society should discriminate, and that it was not the role of our government to end the insanity.

One can only hope.  And pray.  And, yes, work to get it done.

~Peace.

photo by: ep_jhu

I See You

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
~
 
I see you in my heart
I see you in my soul
I see you in the everything
In the glue that keeps me whole.
 
I see you in the morning
I see you in the night
I see you to the left of me
And I see you to the right.
 
Know this here and now
This simple truth of me
That when my heart is opened wide
It’s only you I see.
 
~

Police attempting to talk man down from railing on bridge

Police attempting to talk man down from railing on Delaware Memorial Bridge

For nearly five hours, police have been attempting to talk a man down from his perch on a railing of the Delaware Memorial Bridge.

I’ve been on this bridge at least a thousand times in my life, both literally and figuratively.  I actually saw a man jump from one of our area bridges one morning when I was a teenager.  We were coming home from some work in Philadelphia when a man stopped his car in front of us, got out, and jumped over the railing of the Walt Whitman Bridge.  They dredged the Delaware River and found his body later that day.

I remember wondering what would drive someone to kill themselves.  I faced many bouts of despair in my youth and I could not imagine the depths one needed to sink into in order to end his or her own life.  Not only end their life, but do so in such a way that for seconds after they made the leap they knew there was no return, no chance for survival, and no remorse until they finally hit the water.  It was dramatic in that they knew they were dead for seconds before they died.  I often wondered what that man thought as he sailed through the air to his end.

Life would, invariably, provide me an insight into the very depths of despair I once questioned.  Now I have some idea, and I am happy to have survived to know such a thing.

Today it appears a man has reached his limit.  He is the face of countless others who, today, have reached their limit.  Some will end their lives.  Others will fake a smile at continue on.  Still others will seek comfort in alcohol or some other drug of choice.  Yes, some will recognize their condition and make a choice to change it.

*Warning: Soapbox is out and I’m stepping on it.  You have been warned!*

I know some who have said “pray for this man”.  I say “to hell with the prayer” unless your prayer is one of action.  Display compassion and Love to everyone you meet.  Empathize with them to the best of your ability.  Don’t be so mindless and unconscious in your daily interactions with others.  Work to come from a place of service and offer whatever you can of yourself to others in the best way you can.  I wonder how many people interacted with this man before he decided to sit on the ledge, and I wonder if even one random act of compassion could have kept him from it.  Even if it did so for just another day.

I believe as a culture we have to either change the definition of prayer or stop praying.

Why?

Well because we seem to rely on some self-serving idea that talking to whatever we talk to is somehow us doing our part for humanity.  Imagine if Mother Teresa adopted this attitude and simply muttered a few phrases to her God for the poor and hungry.  Imagine if Gandhi has simply uttered a few phrases to his God for the independence and equality of his people.  Imagine if Martin Luther King, Jr. had simply closed his eyes as asked his God for equality of the races.

Imagine if Jesus himself did nothing but spew off a few sentences about saving mankind from sin.  Imagine if Moses simply recited some proverb about freedom for the Israelites.   Imagine if Buddha has just “prayed” for enlightenment.  Imagine the gifts this world would have never seen.

Honestly, prayer to me is more about walking and less about talking.  Rather than utter a “dear Lord, please feed the hungry” why not simply feed the hungry?  Which is the more effective prayer, the talking or the doing?

Exactly.

If I want world peace, how about I be peaceful?  Does it not make sense that this glorious Universe we experience communicates much more efficiently in action then it ever could in words?  If the story in Genesis is true, did God actually utter those words, or did He DO those words?  Did He create the Universe or talk about it?

Exactly.

I certainly understand that the feeling behind the prayer is important.  I understand that we send out a vibration in our prayerful intention.  Yet, I see a much better statement of intention can be found in our action.  Yes, a hug is better than a prayer of love to me.  In fact, a hug is probably the most effective prayer of love we can utter for all of humanity.  Give hugs, not words.  That should be our new mantra.

Or at least it should be mine.  I can’t tell you what to make yours.  And so it is.

Ok, so my rant is nearly over.  I will send out prayerful intentions of love, peace, harmony and hope to this man.  I will also make it more of my daily work to say many “prayers” each and every day that involve absolutely no words whatsoever.  Who knows, that anonymous stranger I share myself with along my daily journey may be heading for a bridge of their own somewhere.  Maybe my prayer reaches them before they get there.  Maybe theirs soothes me before I reach mine.

Amen.

 

 

The Unknown Path – Found in the Darkness (Mature)

Imagine.  He once put so much faith into this.  

He had counted on it.  He had wanted it.  He had stayed up late chasing it, and had looked for it in every movement of the Earth.  The birds once sang its praises, and butterflies would kiss it softly onto his flesh.  He could hear it in the hum of the bumblebee as it hovered near his ear.  He felt it as the darkness gave way to the first glimpses of light above the horizon as he felt the day’s first wave of warmth caress his Soul.  He had searched for this, he had wanted this, and now he sat alone staring at the walls around him wondering what he had actually been looking for.

Love.

Right now such a thing seemed like a silly notion.  He had felt it, but now in its absence it was as if nothing had vanished.  He looked at the picture that brought him to this place, and felt ashamed at what he had done.  He had put faith this, in this picture, and now he wanted an escape from the ideas it had brought him.  Gone were the glorious affirmations of Light.  Gone were the touching protestations of desire.  He was left to wonder why, and as he simply shrugged and as a butterfly landed on the back of his neck,

he felt nothing.

He wondered out loud which had been the lie.  Was it this, the absence of Light?  Or was it that, the wonderful moments of intense pleasure that brought him to the heights of ecstasy?  Whichever it was, right now he felt lied to.  Either this was a lie or that was a lie, but a lie was being told to him regardless.  He could feel his fists clench and jaw tighten at the suggestion.  He could feel the familiar shiver race down his spine as his body said “prepare” even as his mind stayed focused on the present moment.  He closed his soft eyes tightly and uttered a now-familiar prayer while his heart searched for an answer.  He then slowly opened his eyes; his gaze now fixed and intense even as his heart was not sure that this is right.

Indecision.  It would not matter.  The winter was coming and he must be ready.  The fire now found in his eyes reflected the fire that renewed itself in his heart.  With a calm determination he marched forward, toward the dark path laid before him.  He could see the outline of the trees that created the doorway into the unknown, but nothing beyond it.  Ah, the unknown. He would crush this fear and move inward toward the blackness.  He could feel that temperature drop with each step onward as he ignored the warm sun on his back while embracing the chill that now touched his bare chest.

When had he become naked?

He had no idea.  Somewhere between here and there he had lost every stitch of the veil that once hid him from others.  Oddly, he felt no shame, no fear.  His Eve could have been there and she would see him as he was the day he was born.  He would look at the apple in her hand and growl, “not this time.”  He knew her game and he knew his place in the story.

“Lure me in with that body, those words, that gentle touch and then condemn me to wretchedness.”

It was a familiar one, they had replayed it often.  He looked at her as pure Love looks at Its child,  but felt no bond.  She had broken that with her distance, her listening to the serpents of her mind as though he was a toy to be played with.  He would suffer for her and when the winter chill came he would suffer for her more.  Such was the beauty of the summer sun that the winter only became colder, more grey.  He would long for the songbirds of the spring and the heat of the sun upon his face.  Oh how he despised the ice forming on his brow, the cracking of his lips from the winter’s wind.  He knew her summer, and he longed for it but it was hers and she wasn’t offering it anymore.

Indecision.

She held the apple out to him.  The summer called to him as tears formed in his eyes.  He could feel the stirring in his manhood as his heart began to sing.  He looked back at the place he once sat, where he first saw the Sunrise.  He heard the butterflies beg him back.  He saw the flowers, the trees, and the grass that gave him such hope in a spring eternal.  He noticed the footprints that got him here and returned his gaze to her.

“Begone.”

There was no anger in his statement.  The tenseness in his jaw and in his fists fought off the flood of desire and Love he felt for her.  He hid the tears that flowed freely in his mind.

“I’ve got work to do.”

Work.  He looked at the Path of the Unknown ahead of him.  He’d be damned if he knew where it was taking him or why he needed to go there but go there he would.  He wondered if she would walk with him there, but as her lecture began he knew that the cold shards of glass she now hurled at him were nothing he wanted to take with him.  Besides, she had her own path to walk.  He had no use for her distance.  He saw no value in the boxes she had built.  He wanted nothing to do with the place she had built for him.  He wanted something more, and that was to take this Love he felt for her and experience it with no limitations, no boundaries.  To do that he would have to leave her here to her boxes and her boundaries and walk beyond them.

The Path didn’t look so dark anymore.  He turned, and without hesitation took the first step into the Unknown.  He could not look behind him and he could not see in front of him.  Were he stood now was all he had.  There were no walls, no rules, nothing to bind him.  His bare feet betrayed a solid surface that radiated strength through his feet and up his spine.  His fists clenched no more as his jaw relaxed.  There were no threats here.

It’s amazing what you can see when you stop looking with eyes that lie to you.  It’s amazing what you can hear when you stop listening to a song that made sense “once upon a time.”  It’s clarity that you find when you stop looking through panes of glass made for you by others.  His steady gait suggested there was no blindness at all.  He could not see, but he was not blind.  He just let go and his feet suredly took him there.

It was there where the Light struck him squarely in the forehead.

In the daze he swore he heard footsteps.  Was it her?  Had she followed him to this place?  A part of him laughed at the idea as another part of him prayed it was her.  He just let it go and waited.  And waited.  And waited.

Finally done with the folly, he closed his eyes and listened.  There was nothing but the sound of his own breath and the low moan he involuntarily shed as a wave of emotion crashed into him.  Dropping to a knee he sobbed uncontrollably.  He was unloved.  He was uncared for.  He was alone in a vast sea of blackness.  In the grips of despair he screamed at the demons torturing him.  He will kill them.  He would beat them into the very ground he stood on.  He would never allow them in, and he would never let them take him to a place he dared not go.  As the dark beasts assaulted him he fought them with everything he had.

He finally collapsed on the floor.

Bruised, battered and exhausted he just laid there, the sweat pouring out of his bare skin like a geyser that had finally had enough.  In his exhaustion he muttered “fuck you…take me if you can” with all the strength he could muster.   The dark bastards were gone, having either been beaten by his determined hand or having retreated to fight another day.  He laid there trying to collect his thoughts and his strength in order to escape this place.

He then felt a hand on his thigh.  He looked there, but in the darkness could see nothing.  He could feel her lips taking his cock in her mouth.  He allowed his head to slump to the ground as she eagerly took him on.  “What are you doing?” he asked quietly in his exhaustion.

“Taking care of you,” was her reply.  It was not his Eve, his Lover.  He grabbed her head and twisted his body away from her at the same time.

“Get off of me wench” was all he could muster in the darkness.  This was not what he needed.  There was no “care” in her eager mouth.  There was no music in the stiffness he felt there.

“I’m done with stuff like this”.

There was nothing there to receive his answer.  No goddess to ease his desire.  No woman to tend to his wounds.  Fuck them…he had no use for the boxes they brought with their tenderness.  He didn’t even question whether the woman was a dream or his Eve testing him once again.  He simply didn’t care.

With all the strength he could find he picked himself up off the ground.  He felt he had a long way to go before he would rest.  He did not question, he simply allowed his feet to move and he followed them.  Unwarily he continued onward.  He was ready for whatever would come at him from wherever it would come.  He felt a presence in this, not in that, and felt no fear in this moment.  Onward he would go, and Now would be his guide.

He smiled, and for the first time he felt ready to live.

 

 

The Liberation of Me

 

 

From the glass door I watch.

The lightning crashes and thunder roars all around while I stand protected by this thin piece of fired sand.  I want to step out into the darkness, to feel nature’s fury and take a chance that this life is not yet done with me. I want to leave this place where I feel secure and protected into venture the wild unknown; to get that sense of freedom and knowing that I am alive.

The voice calls and beckons me to step outside.  A bolt sears through the sky illuminating what cannot be seen in the darkness.  I can see the highlights of the trees in front of this door as the thunder asks for my answer.  I raise my hand to the glass and can see the outline of my hand reflected as if a part of me is outside trying to get in.  Is the other me frightened?  It the other me asking for me to protect him?  Or is he asking me to come with him, to venture into the great unknown where the only certainty was uncertainty?

Whichever, I stand alone looking at myself in the glass unsure of the steps I am about to take.  I am here, now…not there, then.  The reflection of the self I see disappears with each flash of light as the Self I wish to be beckons, knowing that whether I am here or there I am seeking that call of the wild I have heard since the day I was born.

I look around in my box, this place I have built for myself that somehow feels safe.

As the storm rages out there I see the beginnings of truth.

This box is painful.  Each piece of timber laid, each window set, each nail driven a testament to pain.  In pain I sought relief; I sought security and I built this place to give me a sense of that.  Yet, in a storm such as this we begin to see that each piece of timber, each nail, and each shard of broken glass is a weapon against us in the winds of time.  Each link of the chain we wrap around ourselves becomes a testament to a lie, and we begin to strangle the very thing we want to be.  We weigh ourselves down with a false sense of everything, never knowing what we are because of the boxes and chains we have forced ourselves into.

I cannot play in the rain if I am chained to this place.  I cannot see the stars with this roof blocking my view.  I cannot see the world from the summit of a mountain if I keep myself locked behind these doors.

Somehow the wind, rain, lightning and thunder don’t seem as dangerous as this place that is giving me the illusion of peace and safety.  Dying free is better than living under the burden of these things.  I want to be free and enjoy this lightness of being.  I want to dance in her arms with the rain drenching us.  I want to hear her song in the wind, feel her power in the natural state we are in.  I need to break free if I am ever going to get those things I want the most; those things I see when my mind is still and my heart is open.  I need to shatter the glass door so the storm can envelop all of this so that I can never return here.

I pick up the hammer I have used so many times before in building this place.  It brings back memories I don’t wish to have.  I stare at it, wondering where I ever found such a tool, and can’t remember when I ever picked it up.  I don’t want it anymore.  It needs to be lost in the storm.  I look around and smile.  I can’t wait to be free of this place and walking into the unknown.  I walk up to the door.  I feel a sense of trepidation and relief mixed together in this moment.  Soon I will be without shelter.  Or will it be the sky is my roof?  I chuckle at the thought, somehow knowing…

I believe I will have to dodge the wreckage of my illusions, the debris of my mind as it is consumed by out there.

I look up, seeing the other me slowly raise the hammer with a look of fear in his eyes and determination in his grip.  He hurls the hammer both toward me and away from me at the same time.  I hear the sounds of glass shattering along with the rush of wind and crack of thunder.  One of us ceases to be in that moment of great liberation.  I am free as the orange tinted clouds betray the dawning of a new day on the horizon.  I cry, I laugh, and I dance…

I am born.

 

photo by: h.koppdelaney

As I Walked Along the Beach

Ah, these moments of inspiration and where they come from!  I can only sit, smile, and surrender.

I see you running along the beach, your hair cascading backward like flames of pure fire.  The sand gives to your feet as this space gives way to the determination in your face.  The waves kiss you where your body meets the Earth, both embracing the permanence of this moment and the impermanence of the past as they wipe away any evidence of where you were.  You are frozen in this moment in my mind, and the painting – the picture – is but a frame in the movie that was and is yet to come.  It is now, this frame, that is our life.

Your body meshes with the distant horizon.  Both serve as reminders of a limitless perfection defined by a finite boundary.  I can see beyond the confines of your body, into the stars, moons, planets and space that make us One. They contrast with what I can see contained in the form.  The beauty of your body up against the beauty of a bountiful Sunrise.  The peace in your eyes set with a firm determination in your heart blending with the stillness of the ocean blending with the determination of the waves to crest upon your feet. The firm flexibility of your mind mirrored by the give of the sand until it reaches its firm foundation.

In this moment, the hammer hits…again.  I know why I love you even if words cannot be found to explain it.  I simply sit without question and without motivation to explain this moment.  There you are, the Sunrise, the Ocean, the Sky, the Sand and all things indescribable beyond the Horizon all perfectly aligned to make this moment miraculous. There is no pressure in this place, no obligation, no expectation to live up to.  You have nothing to prove here, nothing to explain, nothing to do except run freely in the water. 

Run, you beautiful Angel, run.  It is where I find you perfect.

Ah, these moments of inspiration and where they come from!  I can only sit, smile, and surrender.