Sometimes I just stand there, on the edge of a sheer cliff, afraid to fall. I look all around me, remembering everything that I fear, and it freezes me in a moment replayed in my life over and over again. I struggle to grasp at hand holds that don’t really exist, while looking all around me for the safety that was never truly mine to have.

Yes, I freeze. Yes, I panic. Yes, I thrash all about like a fucking fish caught in a net. I never seem to realize that the net is my own making, my own design, and my own failure.

Sometimes I just want to get all “giggity” with it. In those times I thumb my nose at society, causing what others call “a stirring of the pot”. I rail against the ideas of man that seem to bind him to a prison he’s chosen to live in. I lash out, pointing my finger in disdain and ideological superiority. I can’t help myself, I’ve lived so many things and felt so much in this life that I know better.

Yes, I know better. Or so I think. In the moments when society acts in disharmony I react. When ideas become more important that souls, I respond. When beliefs trump people I stand up, needing to be heard. I am the rescuer, the protector. It is who I am.

So I thrash around like a fish in a net reacting to all I see as injustice in the world, never realizing (again) that the net is of my own making, and of my own design. I battle its rusted cords, and it responds by binding me tighter to the very things I struggle against. I become those things simply by giving them my attention.

I don’t vilify myself for these sins. It is these moments when I miss the mark of joy, that I truly get to experience completeness. I realize their purpose, which is and always will be, to enhance my experience. I realize I struggle not because of what is, but because of the net I’ve created that tells me what should be. I don’t struggle because of the way others see me, I struggle because of the way I see myself in their judgment.

There is always little gaps in the joys of man. Rolling hills exist in the valleys, and the valleys exist upon the summits of our lives. Once, little gaps of consciousness filled my unconscious moments. Now, it is just the opposite, with those tiny valleys of fear providing me with the contrast I need to see the enormous summits of great promise all around me.

I don’t seek to be perfect because I realize I am already perfect. Yes, I hear you, that annoying little voice of Young Tommy singing in my ear. I know calling myself perfect is a travesty. It is narcissistic, it is egoic, and it is a painful reminder of how imperfect we are taught to be. Yes, I hear you, and I realize in my soul of Souls that you are just another voice I need to know in order to know myself, and I honor you in the passing. Enjoy the show, Young Man, you are about to be realized.

So I took a walk this morning. I wrestled with my fears and my anxiety, and the belief that I still have much to lose. I have nothing, and once I conquer the fear of losing nothing I can regain my composure enough to keep climbing. I will deal with judgments the way I deal with the voices in my life because, after all, they are nothing more than my own voice replayed to me by the walls of the canyons I now survey. Those echoes once drove me, and still do to a certain point, and perhaps now it is time to hear a different tune.

Perhaps the greatest gifts I have to give is the great love I have within me. That love won’t always show itself in the way we were taught. It won’t always smile, or gently caress, or offer words that appear to encourage. Sometimes that love shows itself in a frown, in a tear, in the sharpness of my tongue and the courage of my wit. Sometimes it looks harsh, and others it looks amazingly like something far from the paintings of love we like to pretend are truthful realities.

Sometimes love looks like an earthquake. Sometimes it looks like a volcanic eruption. Sometimes it is so destructive that we fear it, and run and hide from its non-judgmental eyes. Sometimes it sweeps us away in winds, or carries us to oblivion in floods, or burns us into ash by fire. Yet, it is love nonetheless, judged harshly as something far more sinister, created by the egos of man simply afraid of his own shadow.

So, sometimes I’ll shake you. Sometimes I will blow you away. Sometimes you will burn the bridge that binds us in the very thought of me. None of that changes the fact that I love you, even if the wind carries you far away from the space on which I sit. I may be rooted here, and the wind may carry you there, but you will always be a part of me. Where you go, a part of me goes with you, even if you see that part as something unworthy of the journey, and even if you have no recollection of the adventure we share.

My past allows me to see my present though the eyes of perspective. I get to see how much I’ve grown, how much I’ve blossomed in the past years. I now see a mighty Sequoia where a sapling once stood, and while that tree may get jostled in the wind from time-to-time, I know each breeze is but a result of my height. The weather changes near the summit, but you don’t feel it because each step prepares you for the next.

I am strong. I am ready. I am, ME.

How do I tell you the secrets of my heart? How do I tell you the indescribable truth? How do I describe the beauty of this moment?

This is how.

I plant my sword in the ground and stand firm against the tide. I hold your hand. I lessen the load when your day has been hard. I cook our meals when you are too tired to stand. I warm you when the cold has battered your mind.

I hold a torch when you want to explore the dark areas. I hold a rope when you want to climb. I catch you when you fall.

I live simply as to not distract us from our truth. I listen to your thoughts and hold them dear, even when we disagree. I see you as you are, and love you for the way you fly freely. I smile when I hear your laughter even if I can’t see you hidden among the clouds.

I shed tears with you, and become an oak for you to lean. I let you pick me up when I fall, dust me off when I am dirty, and bathe me when the mood suits you. I fold your clothes when you aren’t looking, wash the dishes while you rest, sweep the floor before you start looking for the broom.

I caress your skin when you can’t sleep, rub your shoulders when the aching starts, move the hair from your eyes when I need a shot of living. I never let you forget how beautiful you are, and I experience joy in the way you talk, the way you think, and the way you are.

I hold you tightly when the sadness comes, and help hold your head above water when the torrents rain down upon us. I clear the brush so you can see the Sun and let you rest you head upon my chest as we watch the Moon rise above the mountains. I stay silent so you can hear the bubbling of a crystal stream as we sit enjoying the simplicity of it all.

I find equal pride as I gaze upon our footprints in the sand, even in the times when it is you who have carried me. I love the hills that we climb, the trails we blaze together, and the puddles we jump into with reckless abandon.

Sometimes words are only words. They fail us. They don’t answer the question. They don’t tell the truth. They simply are not enough.

Sometimes words are just too wordy.

Sometimes you need to do the things you wish to say. Sometimes you need to be the sermon, preach by deed, and lead by example. Sometimes telling you how much I love you is not enough. Sometimes all I’ll have to do is touch you, and you’ll never need a word.

I want to be the love I wish you to see. I want to be the one who stands tall, love’s sword in hand, ready to do battle. Sometimes you find strength in the hand that holds the hilt, and sometimes you find strength in the hand that lets it go.

And I have. And you will. Until we meet again.

He felt it, around, in everything, in everywhere. In the sounds of a passing airplane making waves in the blue, spring sky. In the songs of birds enjoying a respite from the cold, harsh winter.

He felt it. Everywhere. He felt her.

He doubted she thought much of him, yet he didn’t care. The sparkle in her eyes set his mind ablaze, and the coolness of her thoughts rose his heart to joy. There was little in the flames of this passion that burned him, and there was little in the space between them that offered him much comfort.

There, the loner felt his aloneness, and the thinker felt the weight of his very soul.

There was little he could say about the youthful golden locks that brightened up his day. There was little he could offer in prayer to the green pools of beauty that saw things he wished he could see. There was nothing of her form he could touch, and he simply sighed his way to the gaps between them, the space between their stars.

The thinker sighed, the lover lamented, the man resigned himself to folly.

Somewhere, outside the vestiges of thought, lied the man about his life. He could not offer himself up to such a sacrifice, where love’s torment is met by utter silence. He could not spread his wings in the vacuum between those heartbeats. How could such an angel be left with nothing to raise him up to heaven’s gate, when love’s sails have no wind to give him flight?

Sometimes, that bird is left safely on its perch. Sometimes, feet planted firmly on the ground provide the only clouds a hapless man could ever hope to feel.

So play the tune
And watch me go,
Forever lost, 
I shall not know. 

Yet truth be told, 
I'm happy still, 
Where this compass points, 
Is where I will.

He’d hum his mantra when he felt her. He’d whistle at the very sight of her, imagining her voice whispering to him as the Sun set, her body nestled nicely upon his lap. He’d brush her hair aside, casually tasting her skin even when there was nothing casual about it. He’d show her love. Pure. Unapologetic. Love.

He could only dream. This dream. Countless nights torn between the song he sang and the music coursing through his soul. Maybe one day he’d get lucky, and his muse would set their world on edge with a simple, enduring harmony. Maybe, one day, she’d know him beyond the mere boundaries of mind, of body, of things that never were before.

Maybe.

“Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.” ~Rumi

♥

I think I fell in love with you, he said.

When? came her reply.

Before I met you. I was staring into space, with nothing going on around me, and I smiled. It was then that I fell in love with you.

You knew me?

Yes, in the subtle ways the breeze comforted my sweaty brow. In the Sun’s rays as they woke me through my bedroom window. In the way I knew that one day you’d fill the empty space beside me. Yes, I knew you.

A smile crossed her moistened lips.

I fell in love with you, too, she said.

When? came his reply.

Before I met you. I was walking alone through a trail in the woods. It started storming, and yet despite the lightning and thunder crashing all around me, I felt at ease. I felt safe as the wind bent the trees to prayer, and I felt comfort in the way the rain washed away my tears. It was in that moment that I fell in love with you.

Their eyes met, their hearts embraced, and they kissed a lover’s paradise.