During these festive holiday seasons, It’s important to remember that there might be a few people that have been touched by your presence in their lives, at one point or another. Death, divorce, or relocating doesn’t make them disappear, just places them a little further away. As hard as it may be, reaching out won’t hurt anyone, it might actually make someone feel better.
A yellow light ahead;
hitting the accelerator
would be the obvious thing
for me to do.
Stop, and all might just continue
Creatively speaking, I’m not in my element. It’s an interesting perspective to find temporary dwelling in someone else’s creative space. I highly recommend it, if your sanity can afford to do so.
As of lately, I’ve been more actively involved in this “writing” process. Becoming accustomed to transcribing thought, however simple or bold the outcome is perceived to be, is a pretty daunting challenge. When one has been out of the game for quite some time, things get rusty.
All of these years of consciously or subconsciously avoiding my mental and hearts contentment, has left me…well, sadly (and frustratingly) in pursuit of, or interested in other peoples interests. This brings me to today.
I’m very temporarily living in the home of a true renaissance man, not too different than the man I grew up with; raised me. This man is a photographer, extreme athlete, adventurer, author, filmmaker, lecturer, environmentalist. As a matter of fact, I write this on the day he actually set a historic record in the Antarctic. He’s a worldly man, of great intellect. A practicing Buddhist, with the virtues and patience that only a man of God could have. And…I’m swimming in his inspirations. His memories imprinted on his creations as art, surround me - and I’m soaking it in, ingesting every bit; a single molecule at a time. This is arts intention.
For a while I deprived myself of…myself. And now, I’m inspired by so much…for myself, and here’s the catch, for others as well. Sure it’s interesting that so much has happened during the period of a few months, but it’s not a miracle. I believe all that happens is a direct result of our actions, and what I chose to let go some time ago has set me free. Free to walk amongst the crowd, open to love, open to learn, free to breathe. I now understand the connection, the string, that ties us all together. I think it’s important for us to make those connections clear, as opposed to making the disconnect clear. How we relate to that homeless man who talks to himself, rather than underline the points that make him so different from us.
I like where I’m at, where all of this is going. I have no idea where this is, but I can see the dots, and I’ll follow them…until lines form. Until circles form.
Too heavy are my words upon his delicate lobes. delicate eyes. Like the wings of a fly, I look closely but skeptical of their ability to withstand…
Because, after all, too heavy are my words…
I stop words from happening.
I see a world crumble, shatter, and fall victim…to words. Words killing words. Thought, feeling, emotion, action, all live in words. Worlds of words. The word does indeed stop, creating a domino effect of more words. These, my delicate fingers. These delicate eyes soaking in the now even heavier words.
It’s either his ears. his eyes.
…or my ears. my eyes.
I think we know the answer.
They’re just words, wrapped in the whitest, fattiest part of bacon. Cooked ever so perfectly. The taste is yet to come.
Great mantra to fall asleep to—
“I’m not good enough, I will never be good enough, and my love will never be reciprocated. I will then die a lonely, barren spinster without stories to tell, share or memories to create.”
—This is how beautiful dreams are made.
(this sarcasm has been made possible by a generous grant from our friends at the J.C. Pity & Lie To Thyself Society…where they believe that it’s healthy to think without your brain or heart because it’s not really thinking. ‘Words in passing’ is what they call it, and they believe that we should all shoot for the stars…when it comes to ‘words in passing’. Thank you)
How does one know when they have fallen into bliss, tripped into the love fantastic; when they have crossed the line into that place where hearts live and memories are born?
Warm, fuzzy feelings.
A spark. Or two.
Rather than know the past, you wanna create the present and future.
Or maybe…when Cutie Dulceling is the chosen term of endearment.
Had that moment tonight, that long and lasting moment when I was ready to throw in the towel. Give up. Call it quits. But as it usually goes…the lightbulb came crashing down in front of me, broken pieces scattered under my feet. The light still going on, tuned in to me.
I’ve realized, for myself anyways, that it’s not a good idea to lean on others when heavy with burden, guilt, pain. It’s not fair to them; our friends, our loved ones, those that love us. They’re not our friends to be put in a position to save us, from us. To help us carry all of the weight that we shouldn’t even be carrying ourselves. We must find it in ourselves, to fix ourselves. To want to heal ourselves, or at least to see for ourselves that it’s not heeling that we need. That isn’t to say that we can’t do it alone. But then, I wonder, when we’re all fixed and healed and ready to grow…what happens to those friends. Do our true friends see past the bullshit that we carry? Do they, can they, really get us that way? Or, do we move on?
Everyone has these moments, and everyone has friends. Those friends that no matter what happens, are always there. If you’re thinking; childish and simplistic thinking…well, that’s what friends are for. Our friends get us.
(this was just a quick random rush of thanks. also note; i did indeed rely on a friend for support, and i did indeed feel guilty for it afterwards. it wasn’t him that made me feel guilty, it was me. i always knock, and he always answers. always available. we have particular friends for a reason. it’s all meant to be i think. who really knows.)
Trying to figure out
the creaking in this house.
Could it be the tattered windows,
or is it that damn Santa Claus?
It’s that agonizing faucet,
that reliable reminder
that on every Christmas Eve…
I become emotionally exhausted.
Feel as you want to know.
Do as you tell yourself.
Do as you tell others.
Over and over and over (and over)
There can be a very fine line between knowing, feeling, living and dreaming. I was wide awake just the other day, knowing that I feltstrong, resilient, carefree and full of any love that I might have been lacking the day before, the life before. Perhaps it was a dream. That kind of dream that pushes you to the next day, to the next state of mind, to the next…
Living THIS, every year, at the same time, the same exact everything. Hoping for it to go away. Wishing for it to go away. Praying that there is a Santa that could somehow make it right. Ah, but as some say; There is no Santa. There is no wishing. Wanting, living make it go away. REALITY…has a face that looks at you when the reflection is what you don’t want to see. My reality is; I can see some semblance of a blue sky. The facts are, I will never know, what I want to know. What I know is…what I know. Familiar faces are all there is and will be. Familiar love is all we will ever need…
what is not familiar, doesn’t exist.
I write in riddle as a reflection…of what this life has become. A riddle that I’m now figuring out. A riddle that at seventeen, forced feeling out of me, and that has been replacing that feeling, with help from the words; “everything is finding its place”.
When you sit
Write, review, repeat…
At some point
knowing meets feeling
our dreams start to live.
everything finds its place.
I don’t want
I don’t have
To be with others
To be held
To melt into
Today, for the first time, Isabel noticed the fly on the wall. She, the fly that is, spoke rather loudly, buzzing about as if she were ruler of the death castle. Only brought to light by the dark tales no human would dare tell, these flies are a mysterious and introverted bunch, using these tales only for their own benefit. Luckily for Isabel, she happens to be of the happy and colorful human variety and is always interested in that which usually is of no interest; like old dirty flies…
Isabel steps out of the hot shower and into the quiet coldness, and suddenly turns her head upwards towards the open window, at what seems to be a miniature prison escapee, with wings, and big eyes, “Hello there ma’am fly.”
The fly, circling in speeds that would make Superman scratch his head, stops to reply to Isabel, “Bzzz. WHAAAAT??!!!”
It’s clear to Isabel that this fly is annoyed. Who wouldn’t be annoyed at the sight of a beautiful young and nude Spaniard, fresh out of a hot shower? “Do you have a name that you’d prefer to answer by?” Isabel wondered, out loud.
“No. Bzzzz. I do not prefer anything. I’d prefer to not answer. TO ANYONE. Bzzz. If you must, call me ‘Your Majesty’. Yes, that’s what I’d prefer, ” The fly answered, out loud.
Isabel slightly shrugging her shoulders but curious nonetheless, “Yes. Of course, Your Majesty.”
…and so begins a wonderful friendship between Isabel and Her Majesty, the beautiful yet rough-around-the-edges, fly on the wall.
Mi amor me mantiene caliente con manos hechas de flores, sus labios hechos de la chocolate más fino, y su corazón se llenó con las canciones de los ángeles.
My translation might be bad so in English:
My love keeps me warm with hands made of flowers, his lips made of the finest chocolate, and his heart filled with the songs of angels.