To be warm someday...

Sometimes, we want to be anonymous, to disappear in the crowd, to go unnoticed. At other times, it seems important to be recognized, appreciated, known… we long for a human connection, something meaningful and enduring. The lucky ones find it. So many never do... And some want it so badly they destroy themselves in the illusion…

Today I left those who begged me to stay. I have failed much in my life, then picked up and moved forward again. Alone… Always alone… No one has ever cared enough to question my reasons for leaving. Yet today, there was love, and open hearts, and pleading eyes asking me to stay. And still I walked away… Yes, there is a dream I follow, but today my vision is too blurred to see it, my senses too dulled by pain to feel it. I sit here struggling to understand, fumbling through feeble attempts at reasoning with myself, aching with aloneness I haven’t felt the equal of. Why am I not hardened by now? Why am I not cold? I don’t want to feel anything if it means I must feel this shredding of my soul again and again. Hope is a dreaded thing, a light to be avoided… yet I am continuously drawn there, as a moth to a flame. Scars are thick from a lifetime of seeking the heat of a love which is true, of reaching out, wanting warmth, needing to belong somewhere, only to be burned by the fires of guarded hearts. Knowing this and knowing that today I left the only place I have ever felt wanted makes me question my sanity. The hope I had in finding a better way flickered and died today. The hope I believed in was an illusion. There is nothing left but a gaping wound… the same empty, aching hole in my heart that nothing seems to fit. Lying here in the rubble, I wonder if my heart should have stayed where it was wanted. To matter to someone is a rare and precious thing. I wonder if I can ever stop reaching out. If I pull my arms out of their sockets, would that help? If I cauterize my soul as it bleeds out all of my focus and determination, staining the dying grass a colorless shade, would it give up this dangerous game it plays with love? If I pull it all inside myself, can I keep my core warm enough to survive, or should I simply let go and fade away? I’ve heard that dying from the cold is like entering a peaceful sleep… I would like to sleep again… Clearly there is no reason to continuously reach for the flame. I fear I will never know the warmth that I so dearly long for, but only the pain of getting close to the fire.

yeah... what he said:

"All people dream, but not equally.

Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their mind,

wake in the morning to find that it was vanity.

But the dreamers of the day are dangeous people,

for they dream their dreams with open eyes,

and make them come true."

-T.E. Lawrence (Lawrence of Arabia)

"Something within fishermen tries to make fishing into a world perfect and apart - I don't know what it is or where, because sometimes it is... nowhere in particular except somewhere deep. Many of us would probably be better fishermen if we did not spend so much time watching and waiting for the world to become perfect."

-Norman MacLean, A River Runs Through It

Foundation

Shattered lives

fractured, crumbling

survivors stunned and moving

slow-motion through the morning

Chalky air hanging thick like fog

limiting vision

smothering

contributing to the confusion

But below

within

rooted deep, is a foundation

Eyes closed

breath focused

it is there

Solid

Unchanging

Look for it… feel for it

Shallow veneer

thin layer of “looks good”

covering the restless, relentless hunger

A façade, a sham

a barrier to true connections

Nothing is missing

but simply unbalanced

Seek it within

deeper

below the bling

It is there

Consuming

using, abusing

Borrowing, borrowing, borrowing

Unsatisfied with simply being

A balancing act destined to tip

to fall

leaving wreckage in the wake of the wave

Find the foundation

the center

the core

The place where we are human

The place where we connect

Beating hearts

breathing

bleeding

feeling from the gut

reaching for each other

nothing less

Life...

What else matters?

Leaving at Daybreak

Softly, silently, a misty rain settles the dust, all that remains of the summer. Dawn is breaking gently over the land of sage and sun, leaving watercolor strokes of bronze and gold in its wake. Nestled deep in the driver’s seat, she follows the river of pavement into tomorrow, stretching before her like a silver thread, tying the pieces of her life together, as if any of it made sense.

Shadows that scar the landscape dissolve without resistance in the watery light, the way her own scars fade, defenseless in the face of possibility. The healing hands of time loosen knots, relieving tension, easing the pain in her back and in her heart. She finds joy in the early morning journey, a solitary guest at the birth of a new day. Completely present in the moment, in the morning, in her movement through the desert, she has let go.

Uplifted by the winds of change, blowing easy, steady at her back, urging her forward into the future, she glides gently with the current following the path she has chosen. She read somewhere that between people and the light there are too many rules. Considering that thought, she finds some peace in the knowledge that she finally learned to look beyond the rules that block out light, and to embrace the brightness of unfiltered, unshackled, and uninhibited love.

Carefully redirecting her mind when it wanders in search of the future, she is focused on the beauty and the light that surrounds her now. She has chosen her path, and it is a good one. Not without danger or darkness, but still good and full of purpose and potential. She follows the breaking day as its light reaches ahead, illuminating the way... Her way... Her path. For her alone to follow and to understand. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the quiet brightness of dawn, her eyes on the horizon, her heart open, her mind attentive to every detail present in this place, at this time. Exhaling, she embraces what is. Accepting… allowing… enjoying what is. Trusting in wisdom and grace greater than herself. She is free.

Hope Lost... Love Remains

Contemplating the notion of simplicity, she lingers a moment at the leading edge of life. "Slow down" she whispers to herself, knowing that if she doesn't heed the warning, the whole train wreck will careen beyond that edge, and who knows what damage it will do. At times like these she'd like nothing better than to walk away. The load is so heavy she can barely breathe. She tried to set it down, but it didn't stay.

Exhausted, defeated, she gives up the battle. She cringes as she thinks of the damage already done, the stress he endured, the frustration. If her love causes him pain, she'll stop feeling it. But, God... can she stop? It's beyond her, or rather, it has consumed her. She can't control what she feels, she'd have done that by now. Expression... that she can control. She's learned to bury, to hide, to retreat. She can focus on that. Blank, immobile, unexpressed...

So, she loses again. She lets him go, and with him goes her heart. She won't need it anyway, she knows the only way she'll get down this path is to stop feeling. So, there you go, she thinks. Just stop. Stop thinking, stop wanting, stop loving. What was that word he used? Yearning... stop yearning. Let it go.

Losing hope is different than stopping love. Hope is fragile, easily damaged, often destroyed. Love, when it is real, is strong, enduring, resilient. Love goes on, even if it must go alone.

She understands now that it will go on.

And so will she.

Letting Go

Now and then I find myself learning to let go
to turn within
to settle into an easier presence.

Unreliant on another
unattached
independent, self sufficient
free.

My assumption is that I will loosen up
lighten up
perhaps to the point of floating
someday.

But instead
this centered, settled ease

leads me deeper
nestled, rooted, focused
comforted

connected.

Beyond the beginning
to the realm of pure existence
to the place of calm assurance
to the strong and steady, gentle current
of all enduring love.

Empty, Still

Used & abused seeking used & abused
Cloaked by night
Creeping 'round dark edges
Grimy from years
Wasted years
Of smoke and sweat
Of piss
Of tears
Solitary against sticky walls
Drawn to a flame
Mindlessly together
A jumbled mass
A stumbling mess
Writhing, reaching, grasping
On the floor
While timekeepers, dream weavers,
Interpreters
Gather on the stage
To witness the disease
Played out
The inflicted puking pain
Bleeding confusion
Swaying, rubbing, grinding
Groping for connection
That isn't there
Empty, still