Author: Tom (Page 37 of 71)

For lovers, fear is like clothing. It is shed, one stitch at a time, and left on the floor like bread crumbs marking a trail towards heaven. Gone are the garments we wear, sacrificed to the gods and goddesses of the love we pray to. Forgotten is the fabric we have woven to hide our frailties, our perceived imperfections, and we are left naked to the only eyes we trust with the whole of us.

Lovers know fear all too well. Yet in throes of their panic they discover something so much different. As each layer falls to the ground a new moment dawns, and lovers begin to know themselves as something transformed. Forgotten are the fig leafs they’ve used to hide their differences. Lost are the trees they’ve hid behind. Together they share a much different fruit, and a passion that knows no bounds.

He holds her tenderly with a strength unmatched in her experience. She caresses him with a purpose he has never known. He whispers words to her that raise bumps upon her skin. She replies with truths that bring tears to his eyes. He realizes, and she knows. They have finally found home.

They touch the scars that life has painted within them. They kiss as if their breath depended on it. They move in unison, he inside her, she surrounding him. They don’t think about dying for each other, they focus on living for one another. Their embrace is like no other, their passion indescribable, their truth unknown to a world gone mad without it.

Lovers offer prayers through the beads of sweat that pool upon their flesh. They see their spaces as sacred, and their union as holy. They do not tarnish their altars with burdens of the past, or the whimsical stories of others. Lovers kneel only to each other, in the way their hearts demand and in the ritual of that which binds the stars to the sky, and that moon to her home.

We all seek to be lovers, to be good stewards of that communion which binds us to our soul. We are all born with the conception of love in our hearts. We know love in the breast that we suckle, and the experiences that make us captains of this great ship we call life. We tease our hopes with misfortune, in wayward paths made true with each step that we take. We fall, tumbling into a bruised state, before finally resting…

Home.

It is there we find each other. It is there where we find a path that makes all others before it irrelevant. It is there that we find our embrace, our kiss, our love making itself known. It is there the work ends and the effort begins, the former being harsh, the latter a beautiful labor of love. We cease to question, we cease to ask, for all becomes known. It is a space where the two are made whole, and the body reacts to the desires of something so much deeper.

“Lovers don’t find one another. They’re in each other all along.” ~Rumi.

With that we discover ourselves in another. With that we find a friend that lives beyond friendship. With that we never need pray again. The truth is in the hand we hold, in the moonlit nights we make love by heaven’s fire. It is there we discover the truth was always there, waiting for us to find the courage and the strength to find it.

I want to love her, but I can’t.

There is little solace in the empty void I feel, in the shallowness of the silence between us. There is little feeling in the cold, gray hands of emotionless prose, in the dispassionate stories we tell one another.

She is there, in her space, and I am here, in mine. Nothing, it seems, will change.

I want to hold her, but I can’t.

I stare at empty hands, make love to empty visions, share my dreams and passions with empty ears. They do not know me, and they can never hold their breath long enough to dive deeper than the shallows. I don’t reside where the sunlight shines, I reside in the deepest and darkest abyss. I am the light there, should you ever choose to visit and to shine alongside me.

What I would do to feel your skin upon my own, and whisper in your ear “you are beautiful” when the morning comes. What I would give to show you that nothing changes between the dusk and the dawn, and that unpainted you is still a canvas to be adored. What I would offer to the gods to hold you over and over again until my final breath, and to hold you then, when the Sun never sets.

I want to tell you, but I can’t.

I want to tell you that I love you, not with words but as a man devoted to the sacred space we share. I want to tell you as I trace the lines of your skin with my fingertips until you beg me inside. I want to tell you in the truest way I can, in the deed, in the action, of a man in love with the piece of his soul impossible to leave behind. I want to know myself as the piece of your soul you simply cannot let go.

Those things…those truths I feel when I sit alone with nothing but the stillness to warm me. Those visions that come, those waves of desire they bring, those subtle tears that flow in a testament of a truth my lips dare not share.

I love you.

If love is a feeling, then it must be true. If love is a complete knowing, then I know. If love is something special, then that space I’ve saved all this time is a testament to its existence.

If being love is to be the light, then let us shine. If being love is to hear and be heard, then let us speak our truth. If being love is sharing space, then let us sit together by a stream, basking in the mountains, speaking with nothing but our joined lips. If being love is shouting hymns to the stars above, then take me inside of you as we sing our song together.

Alas, I want to love you, and I do. I want to hold you, and I’ve never stopped. I want to tell you, and you’ve heard.

I wrote this on August 26, 2013.  A letter to myself.

At some point, at some time, you will simply be amazed. “Wow” won’t cut it, but it will be all you can muster. Thoughts and ideas will become hollow in the face of the intuition within you. Surrender to it and unfurl the sails of your soul, letting those Divine winds take you to places you have never seen.

You begin a new leg of your fantastic journey. You believe it is fraught with trials and tribulations, with pain and suffering, but such fear is a bastard liar meant to keep you in port. Believe in no fear, for you shall not fall from the edge of this Earth, regardless of what others say.

Do not let the work that is necessary give you pause, for love’s work is no effort at all on the seas you were meant to sail. You’ll go about the business at hand with a smile, a laugh, a few tears, and some groans that will escape your lips with each drop of sweat that falls from your brow. If the seas become too rough, or the effort becomes work, check your compass and change your course. There is only smooth sailing on the seas you were meant to travel.

Then came a now-deceased Indian philosopher named Osho, the Four Agreements and deeper mediation. Then came a sudden, but long-sought move to Colorado. In between all of those came people who guided me onward and deeper.

One thing I’ve learned is that sometimes the beginning of things are in the middle of them. Sometimes the greatness we achieve is in the mediocrity we have surrendered to Sometimes the joy we feel is born after great sorrow. Sometimes acceptance springs from great resistance.

There were a few moments when hope was lost. There were some instances when the lows just seemed to deep to overcome. Yet they weren’t. Those valleys are there so that we can see the great summits, and those summits exist with an unmatched view because of the valleys that surround them. It’s part of the cycle of this life, with our choice reigning supreme over the every situation we encounter. Our choice to climb. Our choice to fall. Our choice to see things in a way that supports us. Our choice to create the very perspective we may have once felt powerless over.

I can’t wait to read this in a year, and see what peak I may be looking at it from. Yet, I’m content looking at it Now, and embracing all that is around me. What a fucking view!