Epiphanies are rare, which is to say that they are common in a world with chaos masking Truth and so much of living is the wading through distraction. . . Imagine how the universe may be rife with them.
You awake to learn that all your life you’ve sought some hoped for other and the hope was just the chance to find another
from like to love, love to connection, connection to commitment. . . to a sameness perceived as comfort.
. . . . and then you really do awake. It is not what you’ve sought, but what you thought you wanted. And how that thought has led you to a desire for acceptance. When you always were and never needed to enclose anyone to find it. . . . Epiphany
When you live in between the worlds, past and present, loved and lost, wild and . . . modern, Chicano and Latino (which is to say Hispanic), you awake to realize that your heart was not as wild as youth, but as wild as Texas scrub beneath a Comanche moon, dictated by your ability to adapt, mitigated by the fact of birth from two irreconcilable natures.
That where you came was written with horses’ hooves and arrows shot at breakneck speed. A history made from the failure to understand that all of Life’s victories were possible if you’d simply kept riding.
That your strength lay not in gambles but in never stopping. And to learn. To find your time.
To wheel and turn.
I have understood my nature, but not the path it sought to take me.
It is not for me to wait, not to seek, but to ride and in my travels I shall find. And ride on.
She will come. Alongside. If she can.
But that is. Was. Will be another tale where hooves have not written.
It’s so painful when you realize that you’ve lived inside a virtual world of your own making.
The pictures in our minds when someone meets you . . .
Flights of fancy, idealized tender moments,
Led you from those very moments
You go inside a virtual world. Created not by codes and pixels, but by wishes, what we dreamed of long ago.
We kiss–you’re there, She smiles and you leave dreaming
We dance–our scents fill you. Your heart screaming, you recall a song–inside your head
Imaginary music to replace a fulsome, sensuous silence
More precious wordless than any lovesong. Ever
It’s when you lost her. When you left. What you missed when you did not see.
I can’t replace this lost past. I’ll find new tender presents.
Don’t be deterred by pain from lost refrains, felt not spoken, tasted, not sung.
The real world of love is more beatiful in what you see and feel right there.
It’s what you’ve always sought. It’s where she’ll always be.
The great thing about life is you can always start over. You can remake yourself, you can think about what you’ve done, really think about it and you can either change or do the same.
And, neither of those is the best choice.
The best choice is to understand WHO you are and BE that person.
Thank you to all of you for how you influenced me, to take me toward my best self, even if you led me away.
Both were/are important. We can’t find ourselves if we don’t intersect with the world, if we don’t search, if we don’t test our boundaries, which are just the edges of our connections with each other. A boundary is not a border. It is a gateway to the hearts of each of us. We can’t give of ourselves if we don’t know what we have and who we really are.
Most important, breathe. Start with love.
One more time.