Kiss My....

Clarity is approaching. To say all things are clear would be a gross overstatement. To say a thing or two is clearer would be more appropriate. The pointer finger is first directed toward me. I am very much guilty. I know this feeling very well, and so it is rather easy to observe elsewhere. How to name it? The feeling of not stating what is true for me at any one moment, what needs to be, and, certainly, what I prefer to do. Social graces and etiquette are only the beginning. Social constructs of how to behave, what to think and feel, definitions of proper and improper. This is where the meat of all the pain is. The unconscious subscription to the rules of the game. The cost is unfathomable and abominable. I have paid with my life all through my life, watching my life slip through the very fingers it created. We are given a language without the alphabet. We are forced to live it without understanding the fundamentals. We deny our own nature to fit into a box that is much too miniature and confining. We feel constricted, restricted, wound up, and small. How I admire those few who are able to stand tall, unapologetic for any internal process. I watch them in awe and learn that the true limitation lies within me, that the grandeur of dogma is not that grand, that the box I was carefully put into is not mine, that there is nothing wrong with my way of being, that my fears are the same as yours and my confusion is as deep than yours, and if only I can honestly speak my truth at any one moment, and communicate the needs and the wants, I can become free. And in that freedom, I will choose to be integrity, honesty, compassion, and grace. The golden rule can kiss my... I simply become gold, as the rule naturally falls off. I become gold, because it feels good to glow. Because it feels good to shine. And that is all that needs to happen.

For R.

Empty. Burdened. Longing. Seeking. Looking in the closets. Drawing in through words. Walking as Atlantis. Except the legs are dragging. The weight. The burden. The longing and the seeking. Less is infinitely more. Easy. Gentle. Relaxed state of existence. Seeing and expressing what is. Honest. Simple. Gracious. It’s ok. Breathe, my darling. Sit your weary body down. Take off the world. Stretch yourself out. In all possible directions. Open up the pores, let the rain and the breeze cleanse and the sun heal. All of you. Open up. Drop the expectations. The disappointment. Step out of the trap. The trap is just imagination. Of your imagination. Freedom awaits. With more love and life. More than ever imagined. The little guys know it. The big kids are the confused ones. Creation is infinite. Myriads of possibilities. Existing like the stars. Waiting to shine upon you. Touch the handle. Gently. Turn the knob. Quietly. Listen. Feel. The compass is pointing. Read it. Carefully. Stay. Or go. No matter. It’s all ok. Breathe, my darling. You have all you ever needed. See. Feel. Full.  

The Greatest Show

They are very similar in action and in words.

They seek me out with speech.

They reach for me with words.

They sit me next to them.

They engage in their loquaciousness.

They forget the softness at their side.

They go on. They go on.

Without a moment’s break, rest, or pause.

The momentum keeps building.

The snowflake becomes a snowball.

They roll down a steepness.

They do not stop to inhale.

They have left me a long mile ago.

I stand there, alone, watching the peacock flash its feathers, wondering what all this energy is tossed out for.

They seek me out.

They sit me down.

They recede swiftly.

With no insight of the consequence of their non-action.

The dragon spews fire as the flower sags its pretty head.

On the Deathbed

I am genuinely interested in the thought process that occurs on the deathbed of what we consider as amazing people: Abraham Lincoln, Steve Jobs, Eleanor Roosevelt, Mother Theresa. There are many. Personally, I don't know any women and very few men who dedicate their lives to that which gives them pleasure. It is through work that their talents, dreams, desires are utilized and channeled. As I watch them, as I read books about Charles Lindbergh and the like, I see dedicated focus, hard work, perseverance, material wealth, recognition, major achievement in the physical world coupled with poor health and broken relationships.

These incredible people used all of themselves for the sake of creating something, much like I am creating this piece of writing at the expense of sleep and sound eating habits. If I ask myself why I am doing this, I would answer it is because I have a strong need to get my thoughts out. The unsettled has a way of finding expression, be it inward or outward, the latter leaving a more pleasant internal sensation. We produce and produce, there is no end in sight to our productivity. We are told to find what we love and do that. First, we do so much to find out what we love to do, then we do what we love to do, then we get married to what we love to do, then there is no separation between us and the thing we so loved to do until the day comes when we are on our deathbed. What goes on in the mind, the heart, and the soul at that moment? Was it all worth it? Was it everything we were told it would be? If I write a million essays in my lifetime, would my life be worthwhile? If I touch a single soul with my writing in my lifetime, would my life be worthwhile then? Would my life experience be meaningful and fulfilling to me if I do what I love? I don't know... I like to do many things, which I do. Still, there is something missing no matter how much I produce, how much I distract myself with the activity, no matter how many lives I touch in the course of my day. 

There seems to be a deeper seat of joy and fulfillment that is independent of any one activity. When this throne is touched, it doesn't matter what is done and not done. There is no need to produce anything in order to find happiness. It's already there. I would like to know a person's experience on his deathbed. Looking back on his life, what was it all for? I'd like to have that compass in my daily cocktail to navigate through the maze of this crazy existence.

Please Lead Her

A leader doesn't make himself. He is chosen by his followers. His lesson was well-noted. Embraced and internalized.

They want to follow her.

They want to be in her company.

They want to hear her.

They want to learn from her.

She didn't seek to be a leader. She was chosen. By them.

She now carries a privileged responsibility for the small battalion of those wanting to know. 

To think, feel, and behave in a way to impart clarity, compassion, caring. 

To deliver messages honestly and lovingly. 

To provide that which is needed for them and them only.

To speak their language.

To listen.

To hear.

To respond.

To stand apart. To be a friend. To be a lover. To be a mother. To be a father. To be available. To be receptive. To be accepting. To be everything and nothing. 

A leader has been born. 

A leader without the yearning to dominate.

A leader chosen by those whose lives came in contact with her.

A leader flowering after a lifetime of hybernation.

She has awoke. The ice has cracked. The long overdue explosion, like a volcano erupting. 

She has arrived.

May the followers lead her to her freedom.

No End

The idea hasn't been fully formed yet but the urge to uncover it is there. The compulsion to know is gaining momentum, like a rock rolling down a hill. Not necessarily a steep one, but even the slightest incline (or decline, in this case) is sufficient enough to sustain the ever-accelerating movement. It's the same motion that we frequently experience before reaching the bottom of the hill, bumping our head along the way with greater intensity through the continuous roll until we smack our whole being at the tree trunk, seeing stars (though not the pretty ones in the dark blue sky), regaining some footing, wondering how in the world we got here. What once appeared to be the top of the world has turned into the road to... No need to pin down the exact word here. The image is pretty clear. 

Returning to the compulsion to know. We sink and we float. The sinking floatation device. What a concept! We are a floatation device that can sink, and frequently does so. Fat floats and muscle sinks. A little softness around the hardness seems to provide just enough of a lightness to float, easily, readily, effortlessly.  With a smile of amusement and curiosity. Remove the softness, and just as readily and easily and effortlessly formed dead weight is nearly impossible to move across the resistance of the water.

Tough on the inside and soft on the outside. The opposite of an ice cream bar, the chocolate bar, and very close to the crossbar. Suddenly, we're looking at a rather solid and secure design with deceivingly soft and even attractive artwork overlaying the strength. Just like a woman. The feminine enveloping the masculine. The universe embracing the world. It is in her arms, under her protection, do we arise and grow into powerful configurations.

The compulsion to know the flow of all things.....Even if only down the mountain to the anticipated destruction at the bottom. Though, it is rather possible, that there is no end to be reached, that only the movement is all that matters, and the process is easy and effortless, and that all is required is a genuine smile and a layer of flexible matter to serve as padding against the rocky road.

In Uncertainty

It was obvious that a hand tool was used. It was also obvious that the engraving was done by a skilled hand. The lettering was perfectly sized, spaced, shaped. Like a well-structured poem. The rock was big, and the inscription was just so, whereby it was noticeable but not staring directly at you. "Love Life." I looked at it, trying to grasp its full message, to feel the message... I don't know... Become inspired by the message. Whatever it was, I was left unimpressed, to make an understated comment. There was something in me that resisted it. As if the idea was good, the intention was noble, and yet the truth hasn't been spoken. 

I returned to the place. I looked at the carving. I surveyed the scenery. I joked around with the fellow human beings. I looked at the carving. I looked at the carving. Yes, I looked at the carving. I brushed my wet thighs and arms with my wet hands, looked down in uncertainty, and courageously said: "I think I would want to change the wording." Out of seemingly nowhere the words came. I love what I don't have. If I say I love my car, it's because it gives me something I lacked before. If I say I love my job, it's because it gives me something I was missing before. If I say I love my partner, it's because I now have what I didn't have before. Fundamentally, I love that which I want to have or experience or be.  Thus, it seems to follow that I love that which makes me feel alive, because without it, I am only half-so. And yet! And yet! I love life when, for a reason unbeknownst to me, I simply feel a-live. In that moment, I don't love life, I am in love with life. I am bursting with my inner life, and, in that instant, I declare to all the surrounding trees and blades of grass that I love life! When I am a-live, I love life. When I am a life, I love life. When I am life, I already am all that I search for. 

I looked up at the faces of my fellow being friends, sitting in the same pool of water with me, looking at the same rock and inscription, and, without missing a beat, I said: "Instead of 'Love Life,' I would say 'Be Life.'"

And that seems like a more complete picture to me. Even if just only to me.