What you feel is life, what you live is another story.
Tom is a stroke survivor, a seeker, a meditator, a veteran firefighter and rescue tech, a motivational speaker, a poet, and a blogger (new site) & author. He is also the father of three and as their student and teacher, has found applying spiritual practices to all aspects of life provides a vast amount of possibility and abundance. Tom has discovered that true forgiveness is the key to a pure heart, and a pure heart can lead us to wondrous experiences.
You can also connect with tom on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Tomgwriter55/".
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I feel alone as I stretch toward the empty spaces in my life, the voids giving me room to move, room to know myself. Suddenly, I feel you there.
There is something about the wave of pleasure that cascades through me as your lips press against mine. I love the way you feel, the way you help me feel, the sheer pleasure of it all.
What is wrong with basking in the silence?
What is wrong with the aloneness of nothing’s sound? Where is the error within this isolation? Within the miracle of those spaces caught between the notes, within the sweet sound of creation stuck within the cracks of what we see as destruction?
From somewhere comes a sigh. From outward poses of false realities come awkward words of truthful fantasies.
I walk along trying to find the mindless footprints I’ve cast in the hardened bedrock of my life; wondering why some fear the sturdiness of this place, why they search for escape by looking for the invisible tracks they swear they left behind.
I question, they don’t respond.
They react.
How could I feel melancholy?I lay here, alone in my bed, the sounds of nature coming in through my open bedroom windows, wondering about such things.
My life is so beautiful. I have the love of three children, and the tender smiles and life-altering dramas of my little ones to grace my days. I have physically moved into a great space, with the harmonies of nature singing me to peace, and a cool breeze lightly filling the space where shortly I will fall to sleep.
I have beautiful people in my life. I have friends who mean so much to me even if I never quite find the right ways of expressing that great fortune. It isn’t that I don’t care. It’s just the opposite. I love them with all of my heart, and they are in many thoughts and deeds during my day. No, it’s not a lack of emotional love that keeps me silent.
Sometimes I just feel as if I need the distance. Not physically. Emotionally. I feel that I can love them best by not needing them, by not having them need me. I feel that I can do my thing in a way that allows them to do their thing, and that I best fly when not feeling constrained. See, I tend to crash into walls. And walls hurt.
I know, that the idea that pain is impending is an assumption, and making assumptions violates my own agreement. Yet at some point in life one must wonder where assumption-making ends and experience takes over. No, not every shard of glass is sharp, but experience tells me that if I walk on shards of glass I will end up cut and bleeding. I have the scars to prove it, and frankly I have no great desire to need more stitching.
More analogies and metaphors rush into my head like waves of a stormy sea. So far I’ve crashed into figurative walls and walked on ideological shards of glass while soaking in tsunami after tsunami of frothy, wind-swept ocean water. I’ve
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I’ve hurt those I love the most, loved those who have hurt me terribly, and lived in the shadow of death.
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heard echoes about my footsteps in the sand, how I was carried by some savior whose name I can’t remember out beyond some horizon I never seem to stand upon. I’ve cursed some saints and loved some sinners while not quite understanding the meaning to even my own questions. I’ve hated and loved, and pushed away some things I certainly should have held on to. I chuckle at the irony of it all.
I’ve choked on the very ocean water I love so much. I’ve become ill listening to my fears, and I’ve honored those fears as the very things that I’ve used as footholds on my trip to the summit of this life. I’ve been burnt by the fires that have warmed me, and I’ve grown blind in the very light I’ve used to light my way. I’ve hurt those I love the most, loved those who have hurt me terribly, and lived in the shadow of death. I’ve grown afraid of not knowing fear, and I’ve discovered that I find my truth when facing the monsters I’ve long held captive in the closets of mind. I’ve argued with others, but no more than I have argued with myself, with the voices implanted in me from birth often arguing with the voices implanted in me before birth. I’ve traveled enough in my own universe to know that there is no such thing as empty space, and I’ve heard the chorus sing through one, unified voice urging me onward even in the most wonderful moments of stillness.
Then there is that one voice I hear. The bastard macho fuck that won’t shut up until he gets his way. I know him well, and I fight him hard.
No, motherfucker, I won’t stop whining and I won’t stop complaining. I won’t “man up”, whatever the fuck that means. I won’t stop, and yes, I’ll let my panties get into a bunch. I’m sick of your rules too, and I plan to break every one of them until I am done here. In our time together you’ve kicked my ass and I’ve kicked yours to equal measure.
Yet, I’ve met some beautiful people along the way. People who accept me even in the distance, people who feel close even when my heart is dancing among those stars neither of us can really see. I walk through the crowded room where I’ve put those memories and I smile broadly when saying “hello” to each of them. I remember the hugs, the kisses, the stories, the conversations. “I love you,” I say to each of them. They respond, “I know you do.”
I’ve seen some beautiful places while playing here. I’ve been fortunate to see so much in this journey, and to find the hidden caves of this place I could always call home if given the chance. I’ve seen flat land, my beloved high peaks, and the sandy ocean waters I now call home. I’ve gotten wet in viscous southern storms, kissed the snows of high altitude, and dove deep in the clearest seas I have ever bathed in. I’ve flown high above the clouds and felt the pressure of the deep, and I’ve floated on the surface of things when the people I love were floating there, too. I’ve had wealth, lost plenty, and felt the most loneliness a man could ever feel. I’ve been blessed with what my mind calls the “good” and the “bad”, and I’ve come through the day to see the night and then lived to see the sun rise again.
Yeah, I’m blessed. I’ve learned how to stand up on my own two feet without the crutches I’ve been told I’d need. I’ve learned that sometimes I have to crawl, even through the mud. I’ve learned that even the tone-deaf can find the right note from time to time. I’ve learned that I can make my kids laugh until their sides hurt. I’ve also learned that sometimes that is all we need; to laugh until our sides hurt. I’ve learned that thinking, acting, and being just like a kid is sometimes the cure for what ails me. I’ve learned that I love being alone because I love the company I keep there, and I’ve also learned that sometimes there is nothing like a great hug, a tender kiss, or that something more that highlights just how wonderful some people can be.
I guess when I look back I realize that the weatherman doesn’t always need to be right, and that sometimes it is just perfect to get soaked to the bone when science says the sun should be shining. Sometimes it is nice to be the only one on the beach because the experts have said it would be raining cats and dogs. Sometimes it is wonderful to just be wrong, to make that one mistake that sets your life on fire. It is especially wonderful when you realize that you already hold the tools necessary to put that fire out, yet you just sit and watch it burn for a while.
I’ll be grateful for those wanderers who find value in these words I’ve thrown together, who seek out their own recipe even in the cookbooks found in other homes, on other shelves, written by other chefs, yet who invariably end up cooking the meal the way they want to with ingredients of their own choosing. I’ll be grateful for the loss that made room for so much gain, for the pain that exposed the pleasure, for the night that showed me the grandeur of each and every day.
After all, what is the good without the bad? It is, frankly, my horns that hold my halo in place. Or, perhaps, it is my halo that makes my horns just so fucking delicious. Hhhhhmmm, I’ll have to ponder that one for a while.
![Twilight [Explored]](http://www.tomgrassowriter.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/twilight_explored.jpg)
You bewilder me with your smile
Your tender mercies
The way you effortlessly glide through the Ocean
And care for your sugar sands.
You tease me with your hidden treasure
And take me to places I want to go
Begrudgingly, unknowingly I sail beyond my complacency
Past the line between night and day.
When will I tell you?
When will I let you know?
Never. Or perhaps I have already
In little songs only you can hear.
Goodnight twilight, good morning dawn.
And to the nether times between
I worship those holy moments beyond my storied fantasy.
The moments when you appear. The moments when you fade away.
I hear you when you don’t speak,
My heart hears your silent words.
My soul listens.
I want you to know that if I smile
At what appears to be nothing,
I am listening…
Because I love you.
I feel you when you aren’t here
My hand reaches for the fullness in empty air.
My arms embrace it…
I want you to know that if I sigh
At what appears to be nothing,
I am remembering
Because I love you.
I taste you in the sweetest drink.
I take you in, you course through my entirety.
My lips hold you dear.
I want you to know that if I moan out loud
At what appears to be nothing,
I am drinking you in…
Because I love you.
I see you in the twilight
And in the moments before the dawn.
My eyes take in all of you.
I want you to know that if my eyes should overflow
Even in the happiest of my days
I am basking in the light I see…
Because I love you.
I just had an experience with an asshole giving me a “look”. Now, in the “old days” that look might have rendered him a bloody, probably incoherent mess on the floor, or at the very least he would have gotten a verbal ass whooping that would have left him stuttering and stammering like a fool. My hands would have been sore, and I’d be making calls for bail money, and I’d feel horrible about my lack of control, but that would have been the outcome.
I would have heard the voices in my head that would have told me I was not strong enough, tough enough, or worthy enough to be superior to this person. I would have reacted violently in order to prove them wrong, and that reaction would ALWAYS lead to other voices telling me I was not strong enough, tough enough, or worthy enough to be my sincere, loving, compassionate self. The first set of voices belonged to other people, the second set were mine.
My choice is ALWAYS, “which voices are the one you wish to listen to?”
While I do get angry when pretenders scratch the surface of my insecurity, I realize that the reaction is truly my own that has nothing to do with them. That reaction leads ME into fantasy; fantasy that suggests I am something different from who I am, fantasy that causes me to create outcomes that are contrary to the person I am, fantasy where I listen to voices not my own.
I am grateful for the physical strength I have been given, but I’m more grateful for the mental and physical strength I have developed. That’s the value I find in the past. The past is, for me, like some long-forgotten workout that helped make me a little bit stronger today than I would have been without it. I value it in the place it has gotten me, but for little else. The real value is in the exercise of Now, the boundaries I am pushing in the asanas I am trying in the present tense of my current state of being.
This experience, too, will only serve to get me to another. It has no other value except in where I am and where I am going. I can assign certain values in it if I choose. I can create importance in it if I so desire, but those choices, too, are for me and only me to make. Things become important, moments gain value, only in the minds of the people who have them. Beyond that, they are nothing more than vehicles to another moment, another time, another choice.
Firefighters are a different breed. They run to danger as most people run away. They leave comfort and safety to answer the call. They forget sleep to serve strangers, and they hold firm even when the strongest of foundations begin to crack. They aren’t just the men and women of your community, they are the best part of it. They live, they die, and they are remembered not just for what they do, but for what drives them to do it. They are the shining example of what can happen when tough, grizzled and hardened souls let the best parts of themselves seep out through the cracks, when an emergency reminds us all of the real purpose we serve.
Firefighters are a different breed. They are so imperfect that sometimes we forget how much we need them. They are easy targets when things don’t go right, when Murphy brings his law to bear, but they always come when called. They often go unnoticed until needed, but always are remembered in times of utmost desperation. They don’t hold you place or position in the world against you, and they will save you regardless of their own aches and pains, regardless of their limitations, regardless of who they think you are.
Firefighters are a different breed. When you hear their sirens and see their lights in your mirror, do not curse them. Instead, appreciate that sound as though it was the voice of God shouting in your ear. “Your brothers need us, and we are coming.” “Your sisters have called, and we are answering.” You do your part by safely moving out of the way, and perhaps saying a silent prayer to whomever you find peace praying to. The pass you, you go about your day, somewhere knowing that you are protected by men and women whose names you do not know.
Firefighters are a different breed. Most don’t want to die old men and women, having done what normal men and women do. They will resist the temptations of fear and will kick down your door if need be. They will stare their own demise in the face and never turn around. They will climb an infinite number of steps upward, to their destiny, not for a paycheck or fame, but because it is everything they are. When the buildings fall or the demon wins they do not regret their calling, but instead rise above the ashes as a reminder to their human family of our unique potential, of the power of that thing we call “love”, of the truth that mankind’s value is not found on a balance sheet but in our actions. They will don the threads of their mission, grab the tools of their trade, and die trying to save the very things you hold dearest.
Firefighters are a different breed. They die mostly anonymously, but heroically. Their brothers and sisters honor the flag-draped ![106th Rescue Wing firefighters conduct drill weekend training [Image 10 of 13]](http://www.tomgrassowriter.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/106th_rescue_wing_firefighters_conduct_drill_weekend_training_image_10_of_13.jpg)
box in which they will be laid to rest while realizing the limitless bounds of their vocation. We all cry a little in our loss, but know that the ground in which our brethren lay is hallowed ground, a bit of heaven brought here to remind us that man is so much better than he thinks he is, so much more than he may ever realize. When the crowd has dispersed and the piper has played his Amazing Grace, we go back to being who we are, brothers and sisters in battle, lovers of people, fearless warriors of a truth sometimes forgotten.
Yes, firefighters are a different breed. They aren’t heroes or special, they are just reminders of a something that resides in all of us, a piece of us living in someone else, an idea that will never die as long as mankind survives. They are the front line between what we fear and what we hold most dear, and they are the epitome of a helping hand. They remind us all of something we have inside us, of something we can all aspire to. That imperfect arm reaching through the smoke. Those steeled eyes glaring through the flames. That determined mind working to save you from the wreckage. So whether those things are literal or a metaphor, we all see ourselves when we gaze upon the sweaty, blackened, sooty face of a person we’ve never met, and may never see again.
In the distance, I hear a rumble.
I look for you, but you aren’t there. I feel you, but have no idea where you are. I long for you, but will have to wait to be satisfied.
In the morning after the greatest sunset of my life I am wanting more. In the morning after the sweetest darkness I am searching for the light. I am whole but halved, loved but alone, searching yet knowing I have discovered everything. My hand is full but empty, my thirst satisfied even as I sit wanting more. I am certain yet doubtful, strong but weak, absent-minded yet all-knowing. I love you even as I fear the very thought of your existence.
Men are but paper filled with sand. We are easily torn yet hard to the touch, and as I watch the dust swirls mark the spot of your departure a bit of me tears as a bit of me hardens. My heart reaches out for you as my hand stays still, my soul screams as my voices lays silent. A tear forms somewhere but you’ll never see it spill. I want you as I recoil, need you as I need no one, let you go as my mind grasps firmly at the memory.
“You are safe here. You will always be safe here. I can protect you from everything save one keen enemy. That enemy is you.”
In the morning after your warrior stands ready to defend you. I am strong but cannot carry the weight that bears you down. I am ready to shine a light to whatever darkness you wish to expose but you have to choose to expose it. I am ready to be a blade that cuts the string that binds you but you have to hold it tight. There is nothing we can’t do, no river we can’t forge, no universe we can’t cross. Yet I cannot drop the baggage you choose to carry, and I cannot disarm you of the weapon you choose to harm yourself with. I am but a man who has let go, who has found a light, but who stands with you, ready to be a shield, ready to be a light, ready to be who he is in spite of footsteps he hears behind him.
Soon, that rumble within you will exist out there, without you. Soon, you will tire of the fear and the muddy climb to nowhere. You will find your foothold and you will climb, you will find your truth and fear will run from you like a wild horse you have no desire to ride. One day you will find that rumble in the distance, and you will look over at me with a smile. You will know the sweet music of your heart because you have heard the rumble all around you, and you will find ecstasy in the very notion that you are never, ever alone.
In the morning after you will shine, and as you rise from the horizon all will know your beauty. I honor you, your journey, and your vast ocean of possibility by loving you all the same. I honor your night, your twilight, and your breaking dawn. I honor you then, now, and in the morning afters sure to come.
Until we meet again, I remain…
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