Saturday, June 29, 2013


Like everybody who is not in love, he thought one chose the person to be loved after endless deliberations and on the basis of particular qualities or advantages.
Marcel Proust 

I often wonder who the Sun would be if it were a person - could it be a person?  Would we, could we, appreciate it, understand it?  or the Moon?

Also, I wonder about people and how they love and how that is as much a mystery to me as is gravity (it's still a theory after all, and the proofs relative).  Like the formula for light and he could so easily read, and for me it is another language, but I don't care because the language I want to speak is that of love (more than French or Latin).  There is no thought in it [love] - it is a divine knowing, and I want to know it.  I don't want to know that it is "right" for me, or if it "whole" or "pure" or whatever else the world has decided fits into a criterion of some rules...  rules...  and then more rules.  I want to clear myself to the point of being about to see with a vision not of my own but divine (and yes, with my own eyes --  i know...  it sounds like a contradiction, but its not.  not really).  I want to see him, and him see me and we just know that together the world will be brighter, and that together we will build a home that all are welcome into, and that together we will be better singles and that together we will be a better one...

i want to sit across for you, with you open and unveiled.  i want you to be able to hear me when i say:  love.  only love.  I want to watch you melt into the everything you are, and then become one with the sun and then moon, illuminating the world and reflecting in my eyes the truth I have always known and the mystery I can never understand:  love.

only love.

Thursday, June 27, 2013


Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word happy would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness. It is far better take things as they come along with patience and equanimity.
Carl Jung 

I could pretend that my life is super great and perfect - but, I would be pretending.  My life is...  complex (so many details that are not clear to me) and simple (not easy, but simple).  It is also my life.  I own it.  Even though sometimes I feel as though my heart has lept out of my chest and I am alone wandering for own version of Layli and Majnun - in search of a deeper faith than already exists, one that burns me away (maybe that is why I have such a love and appreciation for moths).

My life is happy.  I am happy.  It is a deep flowing river that saves me and washes me, and at times drowns the parts of me that need to be washed away...

Her:  You are not dark.
Me:  No, I know.  But, I am attracted to it...  like I can't fully let go of the parts of me that are.
Her:  You are not dark...  you are not dark.
Me:  Maybe.  But, then, why him?  Why did I love him, and then ...
Her:  You are growing and before it got too dangerous, you let him go.  You let it go because you saw it, and it didn't consume you.  
(I see it in her eyes...  a profound personal and universal love, affection and stunning care.  I can't say that this is why I love her...I don't think I have a choice in the matter anymore.  She is family (above and beyond the meaning of family), she is friend (among the truest I have ever witnessed), she is a breath when I haven't breathed, she knows why my hand goes to my chest for affirmation (I never had to tell her why - she knows), she is some one I would (without thought) dive into hell for to save (not that I would need to).
Me:  Yeah, maybe.
Her:  You're stronger than you think.
Me:  Only because I have to be.
Her:  This time it was for you.  That means more than you know.

Patience and equanimity...  yes.  I want that.  I want many things, but let's start with that, now.

Wednesday, June 26, 2013


"nothing i want to say has words in it
but we're back here again anyway. the habit of things.
gravity. addiction."  

a short letter (that i'll never send):

we have a way with words, don't we?  some(most)times i pretend i don't know much, but somehow i end up writing the contracts and the policies and the....  but that's not the kind of writing we like, is it?  we?  oh - i'm not third personing it.  i am thinking about us - remember?  you and me and whomever we chose to include.  a whim?  no, it was more than that.  they never really spent the time to know you - see past your charm.  i never saw it (the charm i mean).  and you never cared that i was always angry...  maybe you liked that?

i'm breaking the habit.  she said she saw it in me, tonight.  that made me feel like i was flying...  we talked about you for a minute.  she misses you, but not more that us (me and the other her).  you'll come visit soon.  i know you will.  you'll make everyone laugh with your wit and charm, and when you are tired you'll call me and we'll sit on the hard wood floors of some room in some house (maybe hers, because she likes us.) and we will drink tea and sit quietly - like we do.  and she'll sit there too, quietly, taking us in.  and we'll crack a joke and she'll laugh.  and we'll feel like the children we never really were, or maybe the ones we want...  and the stillness will be what saves us.  that effortless joy that comes with just a cup of tea and quiet and hope that tomorrow's sun with burn away yesterday's dark.

you have a way with words, don't you?  a part of me thinks that this works because i can keep up without caring so much; and because i care so much - enough to stay still (for you).  

Wednesday, June 19, 2013


there was a dream i had, years and years ago, that became a memory.  it has been one of the most visceral experiences of my life.  using words i know:  i was in a city familiar to me (but not real) and i know/knew the some of the people.  refined, intelligent, loving and beautiful people.  the colors were bright and vivid, i could smell sweet flowers and breads and life.  i could smell the life, and then the fear.  a great fear started to sweep over the people, and they were running inside and locking their doors and i kept asking:  "what is happening?"  no one really answered me, other than the echo of "the beast is coming"

i became frightened as well, but i can't tell you if it was my own fear or the acceptance of theirs.  but i decided that i wanted to see what they were all so afraid of.  the brightness went away, the sweet smells went away, and replaced by nothing.  there were shadows with no true light, and that is when i saw it.  a massive shadowy beast.  i didn't run, i walked towards it.  locked eyes with it.  and we spoke without words; and, i walked close enough to pet it (touch its face).  it was rough and soft and coarse and smooth.  in words that i don't know if i can really translate, i told it:  you are beautiful / you are not the ugly one.  it heard me.  it bowed in response.  i told it:  "let's go home."  the road we were on presented a door (more like a wooden gate) and with a touch i opened it.  before us opened a beautiful valley.  something so honest, i knew this was our way home.

i turned to the beast and told it:  "we don't belong here.  let's go."   (i can not explain the sense of peace and simultaneous longing i felt in that moment, i was leaving a place i had known with a beast that everyone feared - but i was happy and i trusted).  when we passed through the gate - the world behind us disappeared and the beast's behavior turned into what i may describe as a puppy - pure unconditional love.

i suppose that's what it all is about:  pure unconditional love....  

Wednesday, June 12, 2013


“Because, if you could love someone, and keep loving them, without being loved back . . . then that love had to be real. It hurt too much to be anything else.” 
― Sarah CrossKill Me Softly

after an exercise he says:  so, does he know that you are in love with him?
me:  no.
him:  will you ever tell him?
me:  no.
him:  because you love him that much?
me:  yes.
him:  you'd die for this love?
me:  i have.
him:  time and time again...  that kind of love; poets write about that kind of love.
me:  **silence**
him:  you need to tell him.
me:  no, i don't.  loving him is enough for me.  i don't need the veil of telling him.  (“Love is a veil betwixt the lover and the beloved.”  - Baha’u'llah).  
him:  then, how will he know.
me:  what makes you think he doesn't...

somethings are better left silent, so that in the light of it all they don't burn away...  but then again, i tend to empathize with moths.  

Sunday, June 9, 2013


“I wonder why I don't go to bed and go to sleep. But then it would be tomorrow, so I decide that no matter how tired, no matter how incoherent I am, I can skip one hour more of sleep and live.” 
― Sylvia Plath

Last night, I dreamt you announced your engagement.  Typically good news, right?  For me, it made it easier to walk away from you.  Not because of the announcement, but because of what led up to it.

Our dreams are funny creatures, not always of the soul - sometimes dialogues (maybe even arguments) of the soul and mind and heart...

My lesson learned from this last night had nothing to do with you - but that I plan on sleeping more consistently so that I may live more, give more, love more...  and on those nights when dreams like that come - not sleep to dream.