My Treestand = My Happy Heart

Tristan! I love him so deeply- it is a reality beyond any words besides vows. I love how connected we are, and yet so wholly different... how much I GET him, and how much he puzzles me- but how in the end, no matter what transgresses in the center, I cannot hold any bitter taste in the mouth from that sweet kiss which he has given me. I am so lucky, blessed and joyous to have been given him. He's kinda my bestest!

A kiss sings only a quiet syllable in such a raucous opera-
In the midst of the rocking melody which is the wind to me:
Here, in the echoes of eternal love,
Which now is bound,
By everlasting affections and clasped hands...
Held close and snug in each heart is the other.

You are what our sun is to me, except you never set,
Or fade from my consciousness, my soul,
Or my destiny.
We are one in this broken, trampled sea-
Afloat by grace, and bathed in merciful rain,
Given this one chance to show the world that YES,
This can be done.



X's and O's- I love you so.

Turkeysplosion. Delicious.

What an awesome couple days it's been! I am here, celebrating Thanksgiving with the Langs- who are absolutely incredible. (I can't say I am surprised. I mean, they had a Beth! And she totally rocks!) Today is Bruce's 50th birthday extravaganza, so it's been a mad house of excitement- what with all the black friday grocery shopping, photo hunting and cooking goings on. :)

And while all of this has been fabulous- I GOT TO SEE PEGGY!!!! Finally- and it's definitely been at least five years since I have seen any of them, let alone Peg and Tim together, along with the new arrival of Claire Bear, my new baby sister. (She's about six months.) They live in my dream house. Tristan and I actually missed the turn in to the house because I was gawking and swooning- it's so stunning. These huge victorian window panels, a tall strong front door- a gorgeous porch, high ceilings, beautiful wood banisters- I could go on for days. It may even be three stories? We are planning on returning home Sunday afternoon, working Monday (and of course visiting with kittens) and then shooting right back up here a few days with Peg and Tim. I am planning on bringing some art supplies! Lots of creative flow in that venue- good place to work on jewelry.

I am feeling so wonderfully tranquil about so many things. What a glorious season of healing God has bestowed me. I am going to begin delegating a few minutes each day to trying to capture the essence of how to heal with God- I feel as if that is a very depthful subject, that often becomes shallow and hollow in one's writing, with many terms that get thrown about which are left with the reader, ultimately unexplained. It's difficult to explain how to "give your troubles to the Lord", but I am planning on letting God's voice breathe in to me. I am praying for the best! (If it's from Him, that's really what it is.)

So long!

Endorphin

There is no more precious an experience in life than deep healing in the heart. :)

Waterfall Dreams

God showed up in my dreams two weeks ago and sat down across from me, a large scalpel and a bucket of water in his hands. Nervously, I glanced over Him, searching his will, trying to understand. "Who is that for? Not me, right? You must be looking for someone else." I feared he was here to punish me, to bury me once and for all- the sinner that I am. He tilted his head and grinned sweetly, all the patience in the world exuding from within his eyes. He looked so wise, and I remember feeling so very much like a child.

"No, these are for you." He said, " You have so much I never meant for you to carry- that I died to take from you. But you have hidden those things from me- you have kept it all away in the darkest corners you can find. But you forgot that everywhere I go is light, and there is no corner in the world in which you walk that I did not create.
I wanted to do this differently, but, the time is NOW. I give you the choice. This scalpel is meant to take you apart- piece by piece, muscle by muscle- until all you are is bone and sweat. A skeleton in my hands. I am going to get to your heart and heal it- and this is the way you've left me. The water is to wash you, down to the very atoms that make up your cells, the very cells that make up every part of your body, and YOU- who makes up a part of my church. I offer you peace if you trust me. I offer you a life that you could never have outside of this acquiescence. I have no anesthesia- but I will give you peace that stands in the way of everything."

We locked eyes for quite some time.

"Do you want to know me better?" He asked gently.

"Of course." I said quickly, so small in comparison to his whisper.

"Do you love me?" He asked, taking a step closer. I drew away.

"Yes! Of course, I do." Even quicker.

"Do you believe that I can heal you- the same way I healed the others?" He knelt beside me now, down on one knee.

"Well-I ... I do believe- but you shouldn't heal me..." Sheepish and ashamed.

"Come to me, and believe no more lies." He opened his arms, wide and proud. "Will you let me love you now?"

I dropped my head and sighed a heavy tear, and crawled in to His lap, like a beaten child. Like exactly who I am- naked and burned up by a world of hatred. A world so ugly outside of Him. He lowered his voice- the scalpel ever there, the bucket of water sloshing to and fro as his arms wrapped around me. He rocked me like a child as I wailed a broken cry in to the air. Again, he cooed in to my ear, no louder than a pin drop,

"Will you let me love you?"

And for the first time in my life, through a bundle of chains and scars, with all of my heart- not just the pretty parts- I said yes.

And I will never be the same.

Thoughts over Coffee

I am working hard on realigning how I think of myself. Previously, I was seeing myself as attacked, a falling down of self, a partial crumbling- a shell of what I could have been if things had worked out differently; better, healthier, calmer. But now I am starting to TRUST that this is really in God's hands and this is heavy duty cleansingI am going through, not a breakdown. I have to be cleansed to make it to my destination. I have to drop the baggage to have the strength to carry the responsibilities I must carry as part of the body. I have a purpose, and my purpose is not to be bogged down by so much suffering. I need a forceful hand to dunk me under the river's peak and keep me there until I stop struggling and become lit aflame with life, just in time to remind me of how valuable I really am; to God.

I am trying not to be like this cat! (Yes, I am using this picture to make a point.) But also...

It's freakin' hilarious.

Anyway, so the acts of realigning my old views are going to be difficult. I am sure there will be times when I am beside myself with frustration, sorrow; who knows what else. As people it's totally easy to fall in to that "this is just how I am" mode... quickly forgetting that who we are, greatly depends on WHAT we are- and we have the power to change all of that. We always have options.

I have always embraced the theology and ideology that it is in the valleys that we grow, but I didn't realize, in any way shape or form, just how much I fought that growth process- and how often I stopped it with my choices; my need to be in control of myself, to be working out the kinks with my own hand. I told myself that God had the wheel- and a lot of the time he did, but not enough of the time to keep me on the tracks. One wheel would slide down and over, grinding in to the rocks and against the metal- and I thought that was as good as it got, that I was doing just fine. I neglected to realize that God also wants to work miracles in MY life- not just everyone elses'. He doesn't want me to be just a "survivor". He wants to give me a huge loving family, a perfect husband (well, as perfect as they can get!) a joyful, gorgeous existence- but it's not a gift he can give blindly. I have to LET him give that to me- and give up the idea that I am the world's whipping post. I never believed I was destined for anything more than that. It had to be true, that's the only way things had ever been. I've got to believe the dream.

Said

Its hard for me not too wonder why "it seems" as if things break around me more than other people. Why the people who have left me here, have left me at all, and especially when they did. Why certain people do, and did, certain things.... I don't ask why of any higher power, I ask why of myself. And possibly of you. Possibly of everyone.

Memories are eating my brain. I can't shut them off, I can't turn them down. I am having the hardest time comprehending regular things- where I was, where I am. If the sensations are real- or if they even were once. I think the problem is you can't out think pain when it's out of your head but buried in your heart. Bizarre.

Struggling.

But then that means I am still afloat- at least a bit. Otherwise, I'd just be sinking all together.

I'm asking why NOW. I am safe for the first time in my life- and here, in this sanctuary, is where I am beginning to unravel. Maybe that's it... maybe that's why. Because I am safe. I have everything I have been asking for, praying for- and I am too much of a shadow to hold it.

Even so, there are demons in my blood- and I am all but sick and tired of listening to them howl, of hearing them whisper to each other. I am more than this. I am more than these things that have befallen me. I must be. I am.

Just being around people is getting unpredictable. Things are not what they should be. Or, is there really such a thing?

I don't know much of anything anymore. My mind goes off like an alarm over the strangest things- colors, sights, sounds, things that begin to draw out this deeper enigma of myself, this past of mine I cannot recall. And that is likely best- considering the memories I do keep. This is a new haunting, from the darker depths that are hidden and masked, but those things which are naked on the surface have been chasing me for my entire life.

I am hunted.

This is who I am.

Running the Mile

I had a ritual when I was a child. Every time there was a thunderstorm, I would dart out of the house and run through the sheets of water, until I could hardly breathe, and I could only stop and turn my face up to the stormy clouds. I was free to be myself there- because I knew that no one else would be on the streets with me- on account of the dangerous weather. The heavy rain was baptism- this beautiful putting on of God, and washing away of all other things. Thunder pulled up all of the heavy burdens I carried, like the roots of deep grown weeds. I was invincible here, and loved- as the lightning always chose to hit a different place than where I stood. She never had any intention of sinking my ship. We were like sisters, the rain and I.

For years, in the hot summers when things often seemed their worst in our house, this was my only saving grace. This is the act that kept me safe, that kept me balanced and ordinary- that gave me the most enveloping peace. I was nothing and everything, somewhere and nowhere, all at once and not at all... I felt like a creature in the woods, always taken care of and given a land of plenty.

My grandfather often left me alone to go to his favorite bar while my mother was hours away at work, sometimes for days at a time. He knew I was used to being alone- and that I was self sufficient in most things, even at nine and a half. I was tough, and if I wasn't tough enough, he was determined to get me there. This afternoon in mid July was no different really. I had been alone all day and up until the last hour, had managed to keep myself busy. Now, both my dog and I were bored- so we had resorted to a backyard game of fetch, throwing smoldering, cloudy dirt up on to each other during our ridiculous zig-zag play fights. I threw the ball hard, and awkwardly, in to the fence- and as it bounced back we could race each other to see who was first to the catch. He preferred my company, and I preferred his, above anyone else's. He never bit me, and I never bit him. We did not have that with anyone else.

On likely the 300th throw, I lobbed my arm back and hurled it down the length of the fence, aiming for the corner. It always made for an interesting bounce-back, as you were never quite sure where physics would send it. Well, today, physics sent that ball back over the fence so fast I could hardly understand where it went- and neither could my dog. Over the fence he went, only looking back for a moment to see if I was going to follow. Panic struck in- there was no way I was going to get him back, and I couldn't blame him if he ran away. He wouldn't have blamed me if I had, but then again, I would have taken him with me. Really, I wasn't upset that he was over the fence, but that I wasn't over the fence with him.

"Jake!" I yelled hoarsely over and over, reaching the fence and climbing over just in time to hear his paws taking him away. "Jake!" I yelled again- this time a long drawn out scream in to the front yard, where there was no dog to be seen. My heart sank. Maybe I would never see him again.

Jake came hauling around the corner toward me, and he stopped short on his front paws. He stood up tall on his haunches and whined for me to drop myself over. Thunder clapped out- and he gave me that playful puppy face which suggested some strange understanding between he and I. He knew my ritual, and he wanted to be part of it. He barked and I smiled fully.

Over the fence I went, and we ran, and ran, and ran- well through the neighborhood, through the woods, down the creek. He jumped this way and that, sometimes doubling back for a moment with a great expulsion of energy and mud. No doors opened. No one asked questions. We both grew tired and flopped down in to a great puddle in the street, wrestling this way and that, his wet curly fur smearing across my arms and legs. In our abandonment we had the most enjoyment. In our desire for freedom we won it.

I am almost certain that is the closest to heaven that he or I have ever been.








What I need in my life is more of this. Don't we all?

Next Tattoo and Other Things

It is so wonderful- but so DIFFICULT- to go to heaven for a week and then come back. Half of me is here- but not all of me. So much more to come later. But, for now- I wrote a verse this week that will be my next tattoo. This came to me in the middle of a tune- and I literally felt so overwhelmed by it that I stopped the jam session, scribbled it out and knew it was not my own.

What strikes me more than the heart's trap door,
Or the marble floors within it-
Are the secrets held and the likeness dwelled,
When a tune is set upon it.

:) I love that place. More to come, more to come! Time to work. (BLAH!) ;)

Heavy Heart

Oh my God- I am petrified. I am tired, through and through.

These words of struggle are not for you, God. But please, do listen.

I am so thoroughly torn in my methods of understanding. I know that certain events occur in one's life- in every life, for that matter- that shape their path, their ways and their world. I am at a point of frustration- beyond frustration. I am bursting at the seems with heart ache and grief, attacked by panic and isolation- and I don't want my cognitive state to remain this way anymore. I am shackled by my past and my memories, and ever so with every movement I make that draws me closer to my Christ. That is the way of things- and I know this.

I have never struggled so long with the "why-s" in life. Why something has happened, why someone has left, why someone has come along... When it comes to the workings of the Creator, I rarely delve in to such questions. I would spend my whole life in quest of those answers if I allowed them to overwhelm me in such a way. Instead, I focus on the issue at hand, that are given me- "What do I do now?" Do I keep moving, or fall privy to stagnancy? These are the questions that matter- and I struggle more with them than anything else. But even those questions are becoming difficult to understand.

What I don't know,

Is if I am going to be able to hold it together for my Lord... If I am strong enough to take this beating without it killing me, turning me, taking me. Without it making me a disgrace.

Please understand.

I am terrified that this world, this life, this immense sea of horrid, wrenching pain that I cannot seem to drain, that infects my slumber, my consciousness, my health, my heart- that which I carry with me as the fountain of my life's dealings, is going to swell in to a torrent that I cannot contain, and drown me. Insanity is on my heels at every turn- she follows me... the option to give in to the shadows and rationalize my sinful desires is constantly cooing, to turn completely from Faith and God- and run in to the body of my sorrows... even in moments of sparkling clarity- and complete connection to Christ, these fears, attached so fiercely to my real life torture, stand on the outside of that divinity, eagerly waiting to burst in through unsuspecting doors, tapping its forked tail on tiled floor with slow burning contentment.

My Lord, I am not angry with you. I do not question your logic, your developed plan... My message is not for you. It is for him; the great betrayer, who lives below you in his kingdom of fear and depravity; the one who has taken all that I have lost.

WHO IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

Standing outside of my every turn, my every thought, peering in,
As if YOU are God!
As if you are as important as He...

I am not the disillusioned one;
As much as you try to convince!
Even as sharply as you devour and destroy
He creates thrice what you tempt
And thrice what you bleed your sins upon!

What do you expect to gain, I wonder,
From the thwarting of my soul?
You work so passionately to break me
But with every hand you lay down
You simply gain your fate.

What will be your fate?
(Sometimes I wonder if you know.)

Certainly not a pardon from Christ-
Who will send his strongest in countless numbers
To slay you
Upon the funeral of I
His child.

You, Satan, who has no children,
Who has no one to love-
And to love you
How can you possibly expect to win this fight?
Against the one who knows all
Who created
And once loved
Even you?

The War is raging,
Demon King
And no matter how hard I may fall
In all my weak humanity, and broken heart;
From my Holy Father,
Never to return,
No matter-
This reality is already set in motion.

Do count on this promise.

In that final battle,
Upon that molten field of rubble-
Where the lakes of blood flow in countless gallons-
I will seal your fate.
Even if I am set upon with demon's horns
Instead of lean, satin wings
Those wings that should have been mine,
Since the beginning of time,
It will make no difference.
Even if I stand as one of yours,
A demon, a temptress, a murderer and walker of darkness,
I will be there.
And in that final moment,
As the last sunset on earth begs to sink-
I will find you.
And I will run that iron sword,
That great equalizer,
Through your hatred breeding heart,
Myself.

God in the Lover

Time is of limited importance here
Where infinity meets rational love-
In the midst of a troubled world, full of humility and despair...

I yearn to stand before God and thank Him for you,
Praise him for you,
In the best and most wondersome way I know how.

I vow to love you when the seas have gone dry
And the mountains have wept-
When all is but an inkling of forefathers, a blinking eye unseen,
I will stand with you.
Beside you-
A part of you;
As the will of Light decrees it.

Even in the deepest beating, the most serious of endeavors,
Or the most lighthearted distractions of sweet, unbelievable joy-
You complete me...
There is nothing else.

- Me, on the most amazing man in my life.

Love is the most searched for, agonized over, bled over, intangible, tangible thing the world has ever known. Think of what you have done in your personal life for love- either in attempts to keep it, or preserve it- or perhaps create it in someone out of desperation; in hopes of life long happiness, of being fixed. We have all done it, on some scale, and at some point- and many of us, if not all of us, are going to do it time and time again. But when we hit it right- when we really look in to the heart of the Universe, of our creator and his creation, and fall in love for all the right reasons, in the right moment- you have what many call, "true love"- and that certainly is an accurate description. We are all different in what we want and what we need, when it comes to the specifics of the vague translation that love takes in our lives. When those baser needs, those most basic of functions, desires and wishes are met, we identify this as love; falling in love, being in love, loving someone, being loved. But- when this love, when these needs, transcend rational likelihood; finding that perfect match, that completing side, that person who carries you without question, who walks with you in every area of your life, fearless and devout to you, and the union between you, that takes on a whole new breath. You unite with this person, and the old you cannot help but be made better and it cannot help but be fulfilled- because you are being blessed in the most tremendous fashion, in the most unbelievable way. It is in this moment that you know, down in your deepest depths, that God loves you enough to take the time to create this person to walk beside you, to give you your chance encounter, or your perfect meeting- and he could have easily forgotten you, or ignored you, beneath the roar of an angry, bitter world, screaming for his attention.

The best relationship advice I ever got was from my stepfather. "Keep God in the cross hairs of your relationships, especially when you find your soul mate- because they WILL be taken from you. Death comes for us all, and all of our actions have consequences. God replaces these things with love." My mother is his 3rd marriage, and he is her 4th. It is as if there has been no one before in their lives. They are made new again in the transference of such a love.

How amazing.

Independence Day

There is little more unnerving and disturbing while totally necessary, and divine, then moving forward and letting go. Life allows us many options, even though as human beings, we desire to believe that is simply not the case. I cannot count the number of times someone has spoken to me, "But- I don't have a choice. I have run out of options." If that is how you feel, then you have run out of brains. Remember yourself! You are an individual- bestowed with a thousand precious moments, and a thousand precious gifts. Do not sacrifice yourself to less important principles; people come and go, seconds tick by if you are here or not. You cannot make up for lost time. What is it that you cannot accomplish when you truly see the world in this perspective?

Which brings me to my next stop...

How many of us, as lost people, as found people, as infants and elders, walk around this world with so much grief and so much anguish that was never meant to be ours? How many of us say that we have "forgiven" when those same forgiven events, linked like a starving, malicious dog to a dying elm- keep us so hopelessly awake at night? I am suspended in a sense of awe at how much pressure the world CAN hold over us. (Notice how I do not use the word "does".) Why allow such a dismantled, confused and rotten place to hold YOU to a standard of conduct- to trick you in to living a certain way, in to living a double life and swimming idly in a fester of double standards? It is the belief that, in this world, a man can walk on both sides. He won't be caught, he won't be stopped... but, that too is such a dripping lie. Everyone has to answer someone, and every one, no matter what, is dust to dust and ashes to ashes. Can there be any greater hypocrisy than to believe that the rules of the universe, of man and of God, do not apply to you?

What I mean is, the "world" is not moral. She does not care for your reasons, or your excuses- there is only pushes and pulls, actions and reactions. The "world" is not understanding, compassionate, forgiving, healthy or loving. Those are things that we as people hope to breed between each other; within families, communities and (so often forgotten) in our OWN hearts. This dream, this desire and need to fix the windshield of the world requires the utmost sacrifice imaginable- the cutting of ties, the constant expenditure of energy, and the complete willingness to listen to voices so much quieter than yours, for they are the whisperings of your calling and the wisdom that should belong to you. It requires complete surrender to the higher calling... and this does not make you any less important, in fact, it swells your validity and worth to a tremendous measure. (Isn't that what sin and deception feeds on? The human need to feel important?) When you stop living for you, and begin to live for betterment, for justice and for divinity- suddenly, you are something more. Even on this plane, so diseased and lost, that fact is universal.

This Indepenence Day, was the first of true Independence.

A Poem to the Dead

Composed May 2, 2003- recently re-discovered during the move. This poem has always stuck with me, and I consider it one of my personal favorites that I have composed. Enjoy!



"My Majesty!", The Jester said, "I see the Princess running down the hall!-
She sings of books, of life, and love and makes no sense at all!-
Up until this day she has spoken not a word,
But now she twirls, she wails and flails-
It simply is ubsurd!"

"My Jester," said the Queen so trite, "I fear you are mistaken!-
My sweet princess would not be by inspiration overtaken!
She is a prim and proper Princess, as perfect as can be,
Open that door and look again- someone else you'll see!"

"My Queen," the King said softly, beneath his beard of gray,
"Our daughter is and always was just as she is today.
She runs and writes in to the night,
And yells the day to fled!
But you, my dear, have never heard-
Because your soul is dead."

Isn't it ironic?

Once again, I have been reminded of how making plans (in direct regard to my own life) yields nothing but new ones, often in the other direction.

Part of my plans generally unfold as I visioned them. "Part" means a footnote, a last minute addition, the fine print... not the section of the plan that is pointless, but the section of the plan that becomes pointless without the second piece. (Example; I got the lunch meat, but couldn't get my hands on any bread.)

The Scene:

It's around nine thirty in the evening. I have had the westardly window open for a great majority of the day, hoping that the fresh, ethereal breaths of the land will sweep some wise revelation in to my house; my brain that sits in its shell, cooking slowly. As evidence suggests by the twisted strange nature of my dreams, and the fogginess of my eyes, I have had a fever since morning. Even if the wind does little for the fever, she cools my achy skin and keeps the sickly taste of my lungs away from my mouth every so often. No, in comparison to others, today is not a good day. It is my lover's birthday, and I haven't any money to gift him anything. (He tells me it is nothing, not to fret or feel angst on such a behalf. He is beautiful for far more than just this.) I am ill, not as ill as I have ever been, certainly- but still an unwelcomed interruption. My mind is heavy with many things... many people, many places, promises, predictions, decisions... but there is one among the many who keep ringing the bells.

I do not want to leave this place.

Plans call for me to go. Not tomorrow, but much sooner than I would like. (Than I would ever want.) Life here is humble and loving- we are four people, understanding a great many things, and still so young yet... and at least two of us, by my conscience, are sensitive to the limitations put upon us as fragile human beings. We are in very different places, yet all at once the same- complimentary of each other, likewise and strong.

The idea of living alone intrigues me, it always has- as it has an intense emphasis on freedom. I feel, possibly more than ever, that what I need (as I need water and air) is that word that we, as young Americans, throw about proudly; freedom. My emotions have been so raw- facing a great deal of things tends to bring such things out of you. I "react" to things now- an immediate emotional response, I mean. I don't necessarily think of what it is, how it is, who it is... I just feel. This is something that had been void, and now is with me again. Although the blade is double edged, I am grateful for it.

Plans call for me to go.

And for the first time ever, all I want to do is stay.

For a Friend.

Across the universe you lie sleeping now;
The representation of freedom and prosperity,
A human definition within the long lived,
Well enforced dictionary of pride-
Of love and loyalty,
Of ultimate sacrifice.

Many nights I have seen you there,
In the midst of darkness breathing steady in iron lungs,
Breeding confusion and muddled hate-
That by its simple nature renders fate as useless weaponry.

You are the protector, the pillar of strength,
Constitution and amendment,
Encased in living flesh.

For a fleeting season,
You have carried a sword for your country, this country, our country-
Bellowing the fighter's creed, strong and true,
In the ears of a world that threatens to destroy our own.

Honor lives within your bones, my friend-
Perseverance is the fortitude of your spine, dear patriot,
And my life goes with you.
Not because of the life which you have chosen,
But because for a lifetime and more,
You have been all of this to me.

That's All

Over the course of the last several weeks, sleep has been hard to come by. I've spent a lot of time trying to understand the insomnia... get to the heart of the dilemma. By all accounts, it has occurred to me that the only reason for the mind to remain awake, is to simply keep thinking. For some people, that means turning over the events of the day- for many others, it is to grind down the negative aspects of one's life- the past and present of it all; to keep chewing on a fatty piece of meat, rather than just spit it out. All of these elements are true for me- but there's a more prevalent driving factor than just that...I am often detaching from people, places and things, but have not overcome the grief that accompanies the act. I am, and always have been, a thinker- and I can't change that. But that is nothing new.

Consequently, I had, until only a few minutes ago, resigned to believing that I have been plagued by sleeplessness because of my need for answers. My inquisitive nature had escaped my grasp and wrangled in the best of me. But somehow, I have discovered a much more simplified answer to more questions than I have bothered to raise...

What I'm really waiting up for-
is snow.

In essence, people are sentimental creatures. We attach our best memories to smells, to sounds- sights and individual items; a natural safety net. The list varies for me, and on it are common items; my favorite songs, important places in my life, apple pie, Christmas trees, forests, my mother's perfume, the smell of cocoa butter, the smell of fire- all of which make me intensely happy- but perhaps the most instant serotonin release is snow. There is such an encyclopedia of incredible memories attached to snow- some from childhood, some from high school, others dealing with those I have loved, with only myself... in other words; snow symbolizes joy in my life. It represents, if nothing else, a small piece of everything I am grateful for and everyone I hold in my heart.

The radar says the system should be arriving over Williamsburg before sunrise.

Four to five inches. :)

I am a Rock

A poem that came to me this evening; dealing with a great many things... (yes, I was listening to Paul Simon when I wrote this.)


Months ago I was twisted, mangled root wrenching through soil,
Working towards the river beneath your buildings, far buried within the sights of a naked eye;
This life I chase, she ever darts from me,
Sinking, diving, swelling- averting the eyes
Of he who may lower his lips to drink...
(Forgive me, I have begun to speak of other things.)
(Or do I speak of you, dear friend?)

Days ago I whirled in circles, broken years beneath my feet, memories wailing,
Caught in the whims of a glass tornado,
Slicing deep no matter how carefully they ride the wind-
Or how lightly I dance about the fringes of sorrow.
In one breath, the shards are glowing ivory coals again;
Scorching the tender layers of that which beats relentlessly-
And I am reminded of how accustomed I have become,
To stitches and bandages.

Moments ago my arms were locked with those of Time,
Persistent ticking eating at my scars,
Slamming in to my skull like a rain storm of hammers;
Pounding, crushing, slowly collapsing my will to keep the sea bottled away-
To keep from the waves that beckon me to worlds far from mine...
(I want to believe that time is of no substance- that the love of friends such as we,
is eternal.)
(But in a year, I fear we will be strangers.)

Despite all this,
Love does always bellow out her pipes within me;
She coddles my remains, no matter how charred my bones may be-
Now, and then- and ever,
She is my choice to carry...
As all that tortures me,
Was never my choice to keep.

It will never be my choice to lie down,
And lose the fight.

The Eleventh Year

There is no way I have found to explain your nature,
As I am inclined to believe,
That you are a cut above all that is natural-
Even if you are unaware of it yourself.
(Have you walked on water?
Perhaps you should try.)

My perception of you is detailed,
So great that often times I question your existence-
Not your physical body, which has always been comfortable and real to me,
Like a dear friend, an old accomplice-
My favorite road ripe with turning leaves,
Where I ride on horse back to think and yet be thoughtless,
Like the spot in the river where I once lay for hours,
Listening to the water's opera;
(I remember the very bar of music in which I met you,
Should you ever be inclined to sit there and listen with me someday.)
No none of these things.
But the honey colored glow that has become your definition,
Since I fell in love,
And was given permission to embrace your soul...
Now that does leave me bewildered,
And never lacking curiosity.




For Tristan.

On the Subject of Life

Shocking to imagine that people let their lives speed by them, when all I have ever wanted was for life to slow down enough for me to blink and the moment still be had... but you know, in retrospect, at least so far, I wouldn't have it any other way. Yes, this way involves a lot of broken bones, a lot of high speed wrecks if you will- but I get to experience slow motion then, in the flipping and bending of metal- and isn't that precisely what I was asking for?

Apart from high speed wrecks, there are nudges. Seeing someone's face in a crowd, when they so obviously are not there- certainly a nudge, perhaps more than that. Hearing a tune that carries itself not through your ears but directly in to your heart- a specific image forming in your mind like a memory you had previously left unturned. Perhaps more than a nudge... maybe in my case, there are no nudges, only shoves. Punches in the face. Or gut. (Life definitely gets my attention when she wants it.)

Here's what I am chewing on; Is it because I am dense, or because I feel so deeply? At times, I am lost in wonder- are the two one and the same? Being dense can leave you blind- and often feeling deeply makes you numb. The body dislikes existing in some form of unbalance. Yet I thrive in either the Yin or the Yang- but never, ever in the middle.

Then here comes this one- Where does love lie in this messy equation? Does it pay rent like the rest of us, or is it truly some ivory tower of an emotion that few are blessed by? I am inclined to say that love lives in neither- and is far beyond our simple human comprehension... far more of a god like trait that somehow trickled down to us than the word we casually joust with. Is true love more present in daily sacrifices to the common stranger than it is present in married couples and lovers across this nation? Across the globe? Perhaps love is only adaquately expressed in seconds, rather than life times... Does love then become so fearful of a dynamic that the human body, without the aid of God, can simply not digest it? Are Pop Tarts really as bad for you as they seem? Luckily, I know the answer to the last question- and it is YES.

Tonight, I watched an older couple sit down in front of me in a restaurant. They slid in to their booth like weather worn clocks- no longer enticed by their futures, but disdainful instead. I imagined their second hands screeching by, wishing they were capturing a different life- a different world. I watched them unfold their napkins with crumpled fingers, never saying a word to each other. Never summoning a smile, or a smirk- not even a reaction far less welcomed. No anger. No surprise. Their lives were lifeless, their days, dayless- and I can guarantee their nights were no story to behold. What were they? Shells. Empty shells on a beach that no one cared to walk upon.

The man adjusted his oversized, cigarrette stained glasses... they creaked beneath his finger tips. Or maybe it was his finger tips doing the creaking.

Were these people once volatile like me? Did they live in extremes- experiencing life to overwhelming degrees as I have? Or have they been just as they are- since the very moment of their conception? I hope they were never me- for fear of becoming them, but for their sake- I wish and pray that they have experienced even a thin, unsteady slice of the joy I have sought and gained in my life.

I hope I just caught them on a bad day.