Sublimity

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
logical path
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.

Walking the Uncertain

Divergent threads make a loose and unforeseen tapestry. The ancient heart of a future cloaked in wisdom inlaid with traumas deep and painful.
We may see what happens next, but we may not know the outcomes . . .
It’s the problem with the future. There are no guarantees. No confidence that what we do will bring us joy or just further lessons learned to continue walking uncertain paths.
And what of Joy? Is it warm and tender love? Or just friends sitting over breakfast laughing, talking, over things familiar. Or over things uncomfortable yet held in common?
There seems so much history unknown in an amiable conversation. Or in the heated storm of a night with hungry passion. . .
The future is not the only undiscovered country. We Each cannot always know ourselves completely. Nor our nearest hearts adjoining. Not with the minds we meet.
Nor with the breasts we kiss.
All we can but do is walk the ground before us, meet the souls who wish us, touch the hearts who’ll let us.

4.0

There are beautiful souls in this world.
If we just look. And accept what they brought you.
The world has no more need for judgment.
Just your smile for the sunlight and the winter you endured to get there.
 
I forgive . . . .me . . . .You
And will remember . . .
 
The auburns of you that came to me in Fall. The silver of you when you came to me in Winter.
The golden glow I’ve come to find in within my Spring.
 
Sunlight, All.
 
In the bright of day and reflected in an Island moon.
 
Summer’s future’s pass before me
In a twinkling set of happy eyes,
Hope inside a passionate kiss
Sunlit hair, youthful in her promise
Like the dancing smile looking back at you on a dusty bike from a dusty past,
hot as a Texas summer,
Warm as a body connected with you inside your covers . . .
 
as Spring turns to a better day.
Soon coming.
It is not here. But you see your Shine.
Approaches.

Snow Ends

Snow ends and the light goes down.
Frozen water, Crystalled, lying like a blanket protecting the life of a tree.
Crystalled thoughts of music–“alleluia, alleluia . . . .alleluia”–warm my broken heart.
Keeping tears from leaving me . . . and keeping my memories intact.
Sorrow, regret, the pain of love too deep. Flowing like a river hidden in the buried canyon within my lost soul–“dwell forever …in the house . . . alleluia!”–sad, alone; for reason, and remaining true to who, and whom, You are.
Despite your sorrow, the song continues . . .The notes diminish to a minor key juxtaposed in sunshine–“a-le—lyuue–ya”–signifying the light that comes in a still too distant Summer’s afternoon, through the leaves, and brings the promise of joy to a darkened, snow-covered world. . .
The wind whistles–“al le luuuuuu—ia”–swaying the branches of the Tree of Life: You know the one, the one that stands just outside your window, bedecked by crystalled cold. Quiet in her cleansing breath. Leaving no promise. Just the time and its uncertainty. And the knowledge that,through it all, there will be music. And, therefore, the call to remember Hope. Always Hope. . .and, therefore, Always . . . love
I lift my eyes. I lift my voice. . . . and I. Will. Turn.
Amen

Yellow Glass

Yellow glass, golden sunset. Deep green hues, bluish brush strokes
He is here twixt light and darkness, hidden suns in time-strained memories. Reddened streaks where tears once ran.
 
So very far away, there dwelt an angry boy. Large as life. Lonely left on emptied playgrounds.
 
How he wished to be included. Just a boy, Just a man. Just a heart.
 
Driving miles. and years, to deep blue bedsheets and butterfly kisses. A heartfelt youth riding peaks and valleys in a quest for true belonging. For aqua walls and a chamber in a loving mind;
And now, he walks in meditation. Releasing anger like letting go of fear. You will be alright.
Breathing in the light, Breathing out the fear.
Breathing in the scent of radiated passion, Breathing out despair.
Breathing out your kindness, breathing in her acceptance.
At least or so I’ve heard. At least or so he’ll see.
someday

Precious Tender Moments

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.

If You Walk Long Enough in the Wild, Will You Run Into Yourself?

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.

Cantata for the Lonely Heart

Movement I: It’s a time for resurrection.

Let our angels, better and worse, herald
Let us all pronounce a brand new day!
Before a crucifixion, we had no refuge. The wilderness wasn’t really a wilderness. It was life.
And Now, our lives seem constantly seeking refuge, most of us unsuccessful. And those of us who find it, write the stories. . . Or at least the ones that those in refuge can hear.
We cannot always seem to hear the tales of the Unforgiven, the accounts of the incorrrigible, the cries of those exterminated. Such as those may be worthy, but only heard from a distance, from the plain where refuge outposts on the wilderness.
We do not annihilate. We find a way to move away. The wilders move in the wild, rooted in our own appreciation. Never loved. Never invited. Left to find. And seek. See. And Hope.
So, hear’s the song of resurrection.
Sing in the Soul of the Earth. Dance On the Moonbeam of a Midnight Summer’s Day.
Cry as if no one is listening, Grow as if no one cares. Flower your body, Root it in your soul.
Be. And Long to do so.

Movement II: Gentle to You

here’s a tear for all of you
A cry for love floats on the sunlight and the wind
He says don’t let the hurt guide what you say
Let it sob, let it leave, and leave you You
You are not your pain although it marks you
Let it leave you grateful for the love you’ve made
For the love you found, For the love that stays
In the end, whatever trouble made you shrill your heart
It’s only trouble, it’s not the grace that’s made your soul
We are of one and many parts that make our substance
It’s what we share that truly makes us whole
Hang on to that. It is your dear life. It’s ours
It may not be the one that matters most to you
It’s just the one we cry for, just the one that we can feel
If there is Hope, then let it cherish you
Let it feed you when love seems scarce around you
There is always one who sees you. He’s not in the wind
He is here. It is me. I am real.

Movement III: Hear us, We are Here

 
When all the crying’s done and all the weeping, we are left with love still in our heart; broken, battered, warm with still hopeful tenderness.
We are not lonely because we do not love or have not been worthy. She simply hasn’t yet presented; not in the form, perhaps not in the time, perhaps not yet seen even if she was there in front of you all along.
 
Perhaps she came along and you weren’t ready . . .or she?
 
We travel in the wilderness seeking refuge. Like everyone of you.
Every glance, every smile, every meeting–by chance or not–remains a hope. Remains a joy that still may come.
 
We march ever on, stride upon our dreams, run to hoped-for open arms.
 
We sing hallelujah for the feeling we are still alive!
 
We sing alleluia for the gentleness that comes with touch.
We sing Rejoice! for the chance to dream!
Mercy! for the times we yet fall short.
Gloria! for our open hearts that still remain. . . .
 
and for the journey that we yet walk, that we will take until our Time has come.
Amen, Amen, Alelluia, Amen.

Calling for Home

The sun was bright today

The world was cold

My hopes were taken in a sunny chilly wind.

Sad as winter’s darkness, bright as new beginning.

The spring turns the season as I turn the page.

Home I look for

In the help I’ll seek

I’ll find it dancing in my song

Singing in the movement of my feet

Waving in the breezes and the colors of a dawning

And the laughter of the clouds that greet the warming afternoon.

My evening will not come

Until I’m ready.

I Understand

It’s ok. I has to be. People want to know you’re ok. Seeing your pain, with all that happens in this time of pain, well, the problems of two people . . . or even one. . .
So, for those of you that cry for humanity and wince for the one, take heart (please); I mourn the death of children untimely, uneccesarily taken at the hands of a violent world. I understand that Black, Brown, indigenous, and oppressed communities everywhere are occupied militarily and their/our minds are chained by education that indoctrinates.
I understand that those of you “struggling” for “all the oppressed” have chained yourselves to singular notions of the “one party” or the one election . . .or the one savior.
I understand that while you struggle, how we are with each other seems so minuscule, inconsequential, when the fate of the world seems so much more at stake.
I understand that seeing one pain is unbearably tedious when it is satisfying to contend with the misery of millions “doing what you can”.
I understand.
And I am sorry I’m not there with you, because it would mean, for me, that I had capacity to expend, which I now do not.
This is my journey and to share it in the world in a voice slouching unrelenting toward anonymity amidst the cacophony of miseries, gives me strength. . . or at least helps me cope.
To hide in the backdrop on the stage of Pains is fitting for my life. Like a “normal” soul sitting in a coffee house watching banters feigning safety and security when we are all a drunken driver away from being slammed in the rear waiting at a stop sign. A tragedy of a moment on a timeline, a universe, cruel in its “intelligent design” and unrelenting in its uncaring motion forward.
I voice my despair. It is a temporary refuge that helps me heal. I could simply leave it and move on to happier moments among the “easier” potentials for solace and human alleviation.
Sometimes hiding is the best path to find the world.
When you’re not willing to give up.When becoming solid means to swim in an ocean of unclear futures.
To find, or return. To one.
It’s ok. It has to be.
I see a child. I thought she only had one eye. . . .She smiles and plays with her father. . . .