Author: tomgrasso (Page 17 of 38)

…

April 24, 2011 / tomgrasso

Sometimes I must just say to my self,
“Self, enjoy this moment and it will last forever,
find sadness now and suffer for eternity,
resist now and forever be resistant,
but love now and be awakened from the lie.”

I talk to my self because I am the only one who will listen,
“You know you’re being silly it’s part of the game,
it’s meaningless rejection given meaning by you,
You know it isn’t real it’s simple projection,
to dance in the fire is to prove you’re alive.”

I Have

April 20, 2011 / tomgrasso

I have but one wish,
And that is to die a happy man.
I have but one dream,
And that is to live as a happy man.
I have but one reality,
And that is that I can be a happy man.
I have but one thought,
And that is “I should be happy”.
I have but one thing in my possession,
And that is my own joy.
I have but an answer to your question,
“I hope you find happiness”.
I have but one mission,
And that is to discover the meaning of bliss.

I cannot understand the overwhelming sadness that washes over me.
I cannot compute the anger that I feel.
I cannot help the despair that drives me to complete numbness.
I cannot stop the voices that tell me what to think.
I cannot forget the memories that drive me to madness.
Yet I know that I can be happy if only to forgive
Because these things prove to me that such joy exists.
Although “I cannot” all of these things there can be bliss in spite of them,
I know that I can be an oasis of peace in a desert of war,
If only I would lay my sword to rest.

I have but one reality, and it is the one that I choose.
How you see me in my moment of despair is your reality,
A reality you choose as if it were a play not written to your liking
Or entertaining you beyond all measure.
I could come down from this cross or simply choose to embrace it,
But what would you have me do with yours?
I have no choice in your suffering,
I have no desire to see you in it,
Yet I have no ability to remove you from its grasp.
We know that love exists, yet we choose to run from it,
To seek out the nails that hold us to our suffering
And make them hold us fast to the pain we have chosen as our own.

I offer you my hand,
If not to hold yours in ecstasy than to endure the nail with you,
To suffer with you as you have suffered with me,
To beg of you to seek another way but to share with you the path you have chosen.
There are not options if you choose love’s reality.
For I have seen the promise land,
In your eyes, in your arms, in the promise of tomorrow.
I have seen where my journey ends,
As surely as I know where it began.

See, if I have nothing else in this life I have a choice.
A choice to love or to fear,
To be or not to be.
To ask the question or live the answer,
To heal or to hurt, to caress or ignore,
To forgive and re-member or remember and stay angry.
Such choice I can make in the blink of an eye,
With the power of the universe behind me.

I have a choice.

©2011 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

What is a Wife

April 10, 2011 / tomgrasso

Yes, some of you out there will read this and say, “someone got lucky!” Yes, even though at present I am getting yelled at for loading a dishwasher that had some clean dishes in it I would agree. I am not “getting lucky” in the deviant way some would suggest (including myself from time to time), but in the more complete sense of the phrase. I can look back on my life from my earliest memories to this very moment and simply agree, “yes, I got lucky.”

See I am certainly not perfect. I put dirty dishes in a dishwasher full of clean ones . I sometimes put whites in with darks. Sometimes I snore like a locomotive missing a piston. Sometimes I forget my underwear on the floor. I am a man, and therefore cannot make any excuses as to my imperfections. I was made divinely imperfect so that I may find someone in my life who makes each day a bit more “perfect”.

That someone is my wife. Sometimes I hate the term “my wife”. It is as if there is some sort of possession there. I have found over the years that I cannot own this woman. She carries a pit of fire in her that cannot be held for long, yet cannot be let go of. She is beautifully creative, forging the greatest beauty out of the roughest iron or at the very least will give great effort in trying. She is a soft hammer and a hard chisel, the proverbial rock and hard place. She can be as soft as a cloud and as tough as the lightning carried within it. There is no “owning” my wife, there is only a partnership that suggests “my wife” is mine because she wants to be.

And there is great glory in that from my perspective. This is how I got lucky, a woman I can only describe as fearsome allowed me into her life. I saw not only a beautiful pool in her eyes, but also my own reflections in moments so intensely personal as to effect the universe. Sometimes I liked what I saw, but mostly I recoiled from the image. Oddly enough, I found that when we see ourselves in such beautiful art one of two things can happen. Either we find that we can stand within the picture and compliment it, or we contrast with it and somehow make it less beautiful. Then we can make a decision, either we love what we see and work to make it more beautiful, or we don’t and we destroy it from within.

Of course this is to suggest that the artist herself has no input, which clearly is not the case. Our wives as artists not only hone us to magnificence but also give us the inspiration we need to shape ourselves into something that fits into the art. They provide the vision, we provide the color. Sometimes it works in reverse. Still, what is left to observe is a masterpiece that is forever in the making. I can see the results of our efforts in our children, and can look at awe at the creations that such work can provide. My children are, to me, an example of what can happen when two artists give their all to each other to create one beautiful masterpiece. Or two. Or three. It’s not about the sex, or the conception, or the birth, it’s about the continual willingness to create and work together to provide such wonders.

This is what a wife does to us. Remember folks, you don’t need to be “married” to have a wife. You simply need to have a partner in your life who is part of you. I don’t need a state contract to say Veronica is my wife, I can feel it in every cell of my being. That feeling, that testament to something indescribable, is what makes us “married”. That same feeling is what makes us so willing to become better versions of ourselves, to make that person who inspires it revel in the feeling as well. It’s a shared caress that makes us husband and wife. It’s a kiss stolen in the chaos of life that makes us one. It’s the willingness to become better for each other regardless of how perfect we believe we may be. It’s NOT just the sacrifice that makes us lovers, it’s the joy we find in making it.

Yes, “I would walk 500 miles and I would walk 500 more” for a simple hug from my woman. I mean could anything beat the feeling I get when I get that hug? I haven’t found one. So as I am being told I have to leave (she also either keeps me on schedule or throws me wildly off it), I do so with one parting thought. A wife is someone to live and to die for. She is someone you stop a moment of inspiration for because she WILL inspire another. She is someone you listen to, long for, and dream about. In this instance, she is someone you stop proofreading for. At least that is my experience, and I hope that is shared by many others.

“Yes babe, I am coming!” That’s the best I can do, for now…

©2011 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

Untitled 4/5/11

April 5, 2011 / tomgrasso

I have not once but many times,
Stood tall for lofty praise,
And taken chucks of foolish gold,
To seek such lonely gaze.

From withered heights’ oblivion,
I’ve longed for lover’s touch,
The warrior within me speaks,
I ask of her too much.

Who perished thoughts within me bind,
These chains that hold me still?
No key to press this rusted lock,
My captor’s only will.

No evening glance of longed flesh,
No morning glory’s rising sun,
This iron’s press of fancy shall,
Surely see its whim be done.

Is it past I bade farewell this day?
Or love’s sweet shrill embrace?
Whichever treads so lightly now,
Will help me keep my pace.

Woken

March 29, 2011 / tomgrasso

The solitude of this place brings it all home. I can’t tell if this is a dream or not, but I reach for her in the empty spot that is where she should be. I call out her name but hear no reply. I look for her but see nothing. I am utterly alone.

I yearn for the warmth of her body and the sound of her breathing. She’d kill me if I woke her (“pleasant” is not a word that describes her when she awakens) but I’d give anything just to see her there right now. I can feel her without touching her, but I’d almost risk her wrath for even the slightest touch at this moment. Time stands still – a second lasts a lifetime when you are waiting for the next; minutes, hours and days become an eternity when I simply want to be home near those who hold my love and dreams within them. This is the beautiful torture of love.

So, I am here and she is there; a hundred miles becomes a million, the darkness becomes my only sanctuary. I will close my eyes and head back to the peaceful realm of slumber where I can touch her, feel her, and know that she is there. Goodnight my dear, hold me in your heart as I hold you in mine, and miss me as I miss you. I will be home shortly…

Peace.

©2011 Thomas P. Grasso All Rights Reserved ☮ ℓﻉﻻ٥ ツ

“Goodnight”

March 27, 2011 / tomgrasso

“Goodnight”. A simple word acting as a levee, holding back a flood of emotions not betrayed on this night. A lonely word meant to suggest the end of the day results in a flurry of inspiration that must be captured or lost. It’s funny how small moments like this can create something wonderful in the heart of men. This moment will do nothing but allow me to explain what a “goodnight” means.

(Warning: the following does NOT contain sexually graphic descriptions of eroticism. And while that may define “good nights” on many occasions, on this one the definition is one of a more nurturing nature. To my family, you may uncover your eyes. To my friends, you can resume normal breathing.)

Tonight, as it usually does, “goodnight” means “you’re beautiful. I have never seen a more beautiful woman in the world. Can’t I kiss you this moment? Can’t I hold you until the sun rings in tomorrow? Can’t you breathe into me the breath you have just stolen from my lungs? If I ask the Universe for but one favor it is to see you in the morning. Let me show you tomorrow what love you bring to me this moment. Let the fire rage all night and consume me whole in the morning. I am but a fortunate son who has found his slice of heaven.”

I am not so sure how many “goodnights” are left for me. I treasured this one. I hold it firmly in my mind and allow it to echo gently in my heart. I allow a flash of light as our day rolls by. The walk in the woods, the “chasing fire”, the reading, the drive, the shared laughter…how could I replace this day with any other? Today allowed me to hear the stories of a 6 year old angel, the questions of a 4 year old little man, so many moments of pure love that how could there have been anything but? As we walked in Nature I focused a moment on those footsteps etched lightly in the Earth. I marveled for a moment that here was my life as it stood. Here are two little people born of love who changed the universe as surely as the Big Bang itself. They are the best of me, of us. They are not moments of ecstasy, they are moments of love. As surely as they grace this planet’s face with their own we can say that we loved, and as a result we gave birth to Creation itself.

And then there are your footprints. Sure and steady, patient and loving, calm and with purpose they stand. You light the fire my Brown Eyed girl, and you light the way. No torch has ever burned so brightly or so intensely as you did this day. I follow you even as I walk in the lead; I know you are there even as I look ahead. This could not have existed without each and every second that led up to it. The sun seems brighter, the air cleaner, and the world alive around us. Thank you my dear, for making this moment possible.

“Goodnight”. Sleep softly and remember me in your dreams. I love you.

Allow me to introduce myself…

March 26, 2011 / tomgrasso

I am a bore. I have no desire to go to bars. I have no rhythm so you won’t find me on the dance floor. I hate strip clubs and don’t find strippers appealing in the least (in fact, I don’t really have the need to have my worth measured by how many dollar bills I am willing to fork over). I never liked eating at Hooters, and never go to places for the attractiveness of the women in attendance. I don’t get high, in fact I don’t use recreational drugs of any kind. I don’t want random sex with random people, I am happy with the “someone who loves me” providing me with that not-so-simple pleasure. I can find a simple one-on-one conversation as stimulating as any group debate, and find intelligence and wit as attractive as curves and her beautiful brown eyes. I love long walks on the beach, sometimes to allow thoughts to drain from my mind, but would love the conversation about those thoughts (or thoughts I have yet to think) with someone else who also needs to drain.

I love the clean air and the mountains. I do love the beach, although I find the vainness there sometimes to be a bit much to bear. Still, when I see her on the beach I can see that sometimes a few pixels of beauty added to the big picture can certainly make it better. Yes, my Brown-Eyed girl makes the beach a heaven and a haven. As I get absorbed by the magnificence of the ocean, the give of the sand, the calming sound of the surf she brings me back to the reality that there is beauty in people too. They aren’t always just vain, or angry, or pretentious. No, sometimes there is just an awe-inspiring beauty in people that causes you to lose your breath. I have that in my Brown-Eyed girl.

The mountains hold a special magnificence for me. The air is clean, and nature has a certain energy there that makes you feel truly alive. I don’t feel this as much in the mountains of North Jersey, but I can tell you that I have never felt more at home than in the mountains near Boulder, Colorado. It was like a strong North pole to my South. There was something about that place that just would not let my soul leave. My body is home, my heart is here, but my mind is always wondering back to that place where my soul felt alive. I can show you the spot someday. A spot where the view would take your breath away and the environment would steal your soul the moment it had found this “heaven”. I can only imagine that in standing there with my Brown-Eyed girl and our babies that I would become a monument, unable to be unearthed and unable to be moved. Such is the love I have of that place.

I love, yet I hide it very well. I have become quite adept at replacing love with anger, a lesson well taught by some who professed to love me as a child. I was stolen from my father in my toddler stage, lied to about him right up into my 30’s, abused, beaten, and made an outcast by those who were entrusted to teach me how to be a man and a loving husband and father. The politically correct thing to say here is that “I can’t blame them anymore”, after all, I am a grown man with ideas, thoughts and emotions that should be under my control. I can’t lie like that anymore. My “teachers” failed me and so I fail others. I have had to try to relearn everything through the tears of those I love. I never knew the effects of the torturous lessons of my youth until I brought them to bear myself.

Yes, I thought I was different than them, that I had risen above their behaviors to be the man they said I would never be. Boy was I wrong. I was just like them even as I hated them (and in hating them I was just like them). I would tease myself as to feign control over a life spiraling out of control. When I felt threatened, I would seek greater control, often by pretending I was something I was not. I would react violently. I would cheat (or pretend to cheat) in order to find a reaction that proved my worth. I never felt wanted or needed until someone was crying over me with the pain of betrayal. I betrayed them as I had been betrayed. I never felt good enough, strong enough, or smart enough. Man, was I one fucked up individual.

After a long journey walking barefoot on broken glass, red-hot coals, and thorns the size of 9-inch nails (often on the backs of those I love more than life itself), I find myself here alone in a room allowing inspiration to flow through my fingers. I close my eyes and see my Brown-Eyed girl and know that I worship the ground she walks on, and that no woman can dare come close to the magnificence this woman has achieved. I could never imagine being with anyone else. I’ve tried in those moments of intense fear and insecurity, but ultimately through whatever God there may be and whatever voice in my soul shouting reasonableness at the madness I have seen that there is no one who can compare to her in my life. I have never strayed from this woman, even in moments when that angry little man inside of me wanted to in order to prove that I could. I would simply close my eyes and see her, and realize that the Universe itself had sent her to me if for no other reason than to save me from myself.

So I am a bore, yet a bore content in knowing that the right path is underfoot regardless of where it takes me. I have a beautiful partner I have failed. I have failed in not conveying the love she inspires in me. I have failed in only showing the angry little man to a person so worthy of the real me. I have failed to not give her the proper place she deserves in our lives. Through the many trials, I have found that the angry little man can’t be beaten with anger and meanness. No, he thrives on those emotions. That angry little man is beaten by a small boy who loved everything and everyone he ever met. I can remember him as vividly as I can remember the footsteps that preceded his dormancy. He was happy and laughed often. He loved with a passion, shared all he was with a passion, and enjoyed life with a passion. I know the boy exists whenever I stop to help someone I don’t know (or even someone I do know). I hear him in my laughter or in the joy I find making others laugh. I can feel him when I stop eating when I am full. I can see him in the hand that strokes my Brown-Eyed girl’s face or hair, or in the hand that holds hers as we walk along a path. I can sense that boy as my children sit on my lap or give me a hug. He’s there…and he wants OUT. The angry little man says “let him out and you will suffer as you always have”. The better part of me replies, “yes, I have always suffered, even in his absence, but now is the time for the suffering to end. Not just my own but of those who love me.” See nothing brings pain home more intensely than when you cause it in those you love. Nothing.

And that is me, a man who has suffered and caused suffering; a man who simply wants it all to end and allow the love that is to flourish. It may be too late for some, only time will tell. But in the long view I have of the twisted path that I have journeyed I see that it all has to end for me. My hands hurt. I see the scars on my face and knuckles more clearly now than ever. I see the stretch marks caused by the years of abuse I have leveled against myself. I feel the aloneness caused by the years of abuse I have leveled against others. It has to end for me so that it can end for those who want to be close to me. This isn’t a ploy or a game, it is the END of the game I have been playing since I was 9 years old. It is the destruction of an angry little man who does not allow the spring to come. It is the silencing of decades of abuse, half inflicted by others and half inflicted by self. Others who shared my childhood can continue their fantasy, but for me it all must fade to black. I am sick of it, I am done with it, I need something better.

Oddly enough, I always felt that my best inspiration came from periods of intense despair. Frankly, I knew little else other than intense despair, so I have no basis to understand if this belief is real or not. If it is true, which I now doubt, then I beg never to feel inspired again. Somehow though, I believe a new type of inspiration will arise, and that in each moment of joy I will find an intense need to share. Why? Because we all could use a little joy, even if it is nothing more than your boy say “you are my bestest Daddy EVER!”, or in having your partner say “I love you” for no reason other than “because”. Those are JOYS, and they are awe inspiring.

And now that I have all of this off my chest I can simply say…

“FADE TO BLACK”

Introspection

February 5, 2011 / tomgrasso

I look at you…
I have no desire other than to understand you,
To see what makes you tick,
So that I can fix you.

I can see…
Your pain extends far deeper than I imagined,
That you are hurting in your smile,
Holding sadness in your laugh.

It is clear…
That you are struggling with this reality,
That you are helpless in your uncertainty,
And nameless in your lack of identity.

What you did…
You inflicted pain to create numbness,
You lied so that you could find security,
You destroyed so that there was nothing left to lose.

What happened…
Is that numbness didn’t last forever,
And caused you to wretch in a violent loneliness,
While you cried in such inescapable sorrow.

You have found…
That this is who you believed you are,
Abusive, abused, alone, at peace with this false identity,
So much so that you fought against yourself to make it so.

You hid…
Behind the laughter that defied your mood,
Behind the joy that defied your reality,
Behind the practice that suggested that love was somehow a hollow, shattered promise.

Yet you have…
Shined a light on this blinding cave,
Searched so hard and hurt so many for the answer to it all,
And you are here, and nowhere else regardless of where your mind takes you.

I see it all,
through the cracked glass I gaze upon you,
and judge you as see you as you are.
I see into your eyes,
they look eerily familiar yet complete foreign,
A study into life as the three tenses merge into one.

I can feel you, as sorry as I am for having taken so long to help you,
I wish you could cry on my shoulder,
I wish I could comfort you in your despair,
I wish I could tell you what was coming,
But I fail in even this regard.

My poor boy, I let you go,
I let you succumb to the wolves around you,
I let you fade into nothingness,
I watch as you sobbed hopeless and alone.

The lies you were told became your own to tell,
The insanity inflicted on you became your own to repeat,
The anger beat into you became your only weapon,
The loneliness became your only friend.

You toiled in the art of deviance,
You relished in the art of fantasy,
You mastered the art of fallacy,
You have practiced the art of moving on.

You have survived my boy,
You have seen this darkness first hand,
You have the scars to prove you were there,
And the breath that proves you are still alive.

You love, so you can be loved,
You trust, so that you can live a promise,
You open your arms so that others can embrace you.
You are not that boy yet somehow that boy is you.

You can smile my friend,
For today is now and not then,
And tomorrow is not today but a promise unto itself.
Yes, you can smile.

And you can be free.

The green, green grass of home

January 31, 2011 / tomgrasso

You know you have been having a tough winter when you long for the green, green grass of home but then realize you haven’t left your yard…

Thought for the Day 1/29/11

January 29, 2011 / tomgrasso

You are what you crEATe.