What you feel is life, what you live is another story.

Category: Short Stories (Page 38 of 46)

At Last…Peace

Beast Within Me by PiedraThe peace spread like wildfire within him.  After months of a tortuous war between his soul and his mind his soul had won the battle.  He settled in, relaxed, took a breath and wished it all away.

It was gone.  The struggle vanished.  The voices silenced.  Need evaporated like a shallow puddle in the desert sun and the sense of vultures circling ended.  It was what it was, not what he made it out to be.  He smiled, and journeyed back into a place he hadn’t been in quite some time.  There, he found himself.

He had been struggling in this, the “worst” year of his life.  Gone was the sense of family he so loved.  Gone was the woman he had gotten so used to seeing, to talking to, to being with.  Gone was the family who had taken him in, loved him, and made him feel part of something bigger.  Gone was the income he had gotten used to, the lifestyle he had grown accustomed to and the things he had grown attached to.  In a flash of fire and brimstone his world had turned to ash.

She softly caressed his soul.  That beautiful vision of love he experienced during that raging inferno caused him to sigh and smile at the same moment.  He smiled as he sat in stillness at the thought of her and at the realization that she was his vision.  She didn’t really exist outside of his Being, and although her physical form still laughed and cried, breathed and slept, the part of her he loved existed in here, not out there.  He could sense her moving through his Soul, and no longer could feel her moving outside, stirring up the ashes and reminding him of the sources of the burn marks that scarred his heart.  In a moment of pure love he let her go, allowing her to walk freely in her own experience while holding her tightly in his own heart.  The others did not matter.  What she could do to him became irrelevant in the knowledge that she could do nothing to him that he did not allow her to do.  Her willingness to hurt him or not hurt him was also irrelevant as she had no real power to do either without his consent.  Even so, he could see her own light shining brightly in his heart, and he knew her then to be a beautiful, honest soul.  Regardless of his complicity, he knew she would not hurt him because that was not who she was.  She was love, devotion and honesty.

He knew their Souls walked eternity together.  He felt her in his breath, in his heart, and in his Entirety.  He could sense an outward need for her but felt a much greater inward Love for her.  He trusted his heart, and with each beat his heart said her name and reminded him of the beauty they shared.  The fear, the mistrust, the desire for the things his ego demanded be given seemed trivial to him as he realized the Truth.  What mattered is what is in here.  What’s out there is just an illusion, a place where ego could ruin even the sweetest of dances.

Then he forgave himself.  He had become a lover-turned-fighter who simply wanted to be a lover again.  He could hear Something say “drop the illusion of strength.  There is nothing to fight and nothing to protect yourself from.”  His ego replied, but the voice seemed garbled in this sense of stillness.  He could feel himself floating on the River, and he put his ears under the surface and focused on the sounds there.  The ego cannot speak here.  Instead it is forced to sit and listen too.

Then does not matter in the presence of Now, it cannot survive in that space.  What is gone ceases to exist and ceases to matter in the experience of this moment.  When he dropped the attachment to then, something beautiful happened Now.  He began to live.  He began to cry.  He began sense his Self.  He could love as a matter of practice, not as a matter of condition.  He could trust as a matter of fact, not as a matter of proof.  All he needed to trust was within him as nothing outside of him was real.  All he needed to know was here, right now, and nothing that was outside of here, right now, existed.  Where he sat was truth, and where he was he called “home”.

He began to truly love those he had once believed had harmed him, as whatever had decided he was harmed in the first place went silent.  He began to see beauty in everything as the voice that once spoke of ugliness faded into the light.  He took the fig leaf he used as a tool of separation and threw it away.  He stopped hiding behind the Tree and walked out naked into the world.  He no longer wished to eat of the apple, and he no longer wished to be a slave to the serpent, the sinner, or the saint.  He was the book, and in it he would write the story himself, creating words and definitions of his own along the way.

He began to realize the potential of his sexuality with the absolute knowledge that Divinity showed itself in the art of making love.  Pleasure is a unifying experience, the act of One knowing Itself.  It is that ripple upon our surface that echoes throughout our Beings, gently giving rise to the tsunami that ends with a body spent and a soul renewed to its purpose.  Sex becomes dirty only in the mind of the unholy, those who are afraid to touch the face of God and actually have God touch them in return.  The unholy thrive in the distance between God and Her Son, manifesting itself in a voice of ego that calls us away from home in the moments we forget where we are.

He had risen out of the smoldering remnants of a life he believed he lived to see the Universe renewed within him.  Everything he had believed as true within him he saw now around him as a dream conjured up by his ego’s need for control.  He had found a great star in the sky and followed Her to a birth of a new king.  He now sensed a new understanding, one where the facades of a human’s existence would drop away like dried mud from his skin exposing the Being within.  There would be times when his spirit would be tested from the onslaught of his own mind.  Fully aware that fires could burn again he steeled himself in solid stillness in where he sat, focusing on the coolness of Now.

“They are not here now, so they do not exist.”

He had surrendered and he had won the battle.  Yes, he was home.

I Am Home

Eclipsed? Not totally.What, I wonder, could I have seen to have been left so blind.

We know that we cannot look directly into a solar eclipse as it will render us blind. That’s how I feel now looking back at my period of blindness and insanity.  I was staring at something so completely unusual that I was blinded by it.  Fear blocked my Sun and, as a result, only allowed me to see Her edges, Her corona, and it blinded me.

The Sun should be left to freely roam across Her lover’s sky.  She should be freely left to follow the laws of a Universe shared by those who love Her.  The mindless fears of man do not change who she is, it changes who man is.  It was me who thought this world was flat and feared to sail to Her in the horizon.  She did nothing.  It was I who believed She would sink beyond my sight into the darkness when it was me, so stuck in the spot of my own creation, who choose not to follow her to keep the mornings close.  She was just being Her, it was me who saw that as something other than what it was.

It has been said that a man is but a sum of all of his experiences.  That is a choice and while it may be hard to make other choices in the throes of conditioning, it is not impossible.  It’s overcoming fear to set sail toward that horizon not just to test your world’s flatness, but to reach a place you want to reach beyond the grip of fear and doubt.  There will be fear in getting there.  There will be doubt.  Yet, when you land on the New World and press your lips to virgin sand you will know the reason you set sail to begin with.  You love Her, you need Her, and you will risk great peril to get to Her.

If you’re lucky She will be shining brightly when you arrive.  She will grasp your face and caress your lips with Her own.  She will not leave you.  She will create winds to press your sails toward your destination.  She will crack through the mightiest of storm clouds to remind you that She is there and exactly what it is you are fighting for.  She will burn your skin and crack your lips and then create the rains that will wash it all away.  She will remind you that you are a man, a fierce and unbeatable man, and you will rise to every occasion just knowing that She is there.  You will growl in Her presence and somehow, in some way, She will bring you to the height of your soul and show you a view that proves you that you are alive.

When you truly love a woman you will face your demons and even yourself.  You will find those parts of you that darken the skies and cause you to shut your eyes and you will defeat them.  You will beat back the winds and the rain.  You will stand taller even in the throes of weakness.  You will fall, pick yourself up, wipe the blood from your brow and sweat from your eyes.  You will growl again and keep on coming for more.  The fire in your heart will drive you forward, toward that horizon where your Lover sits and begs you onward.

Now, I will close my eyes and sit in stillness and know the truth.  I will feel the heat rise up into my crown and be ready to share it with Her.  Feel it baby, and know it where you sit.  Do not let go of it, and hold it tightly to your breast and let it consume you.  Your man is here.  Your man is back, and he has found the world that you have shown him to be as you said it was.  He will be that man you can’t take your eyes of off.  He will be that man that makes you sweat at the slightest touch.  He will be that man who so captures your gaze and steals your imagination.  Yeah, I am home.

The love of a man. Thank you George Hochsprung

Endless loveThe love of a man.

In the aftermath of the horrendous acts on December 14th in Newtown, CT, I want to focus on something that has both inspired me and given me a moment to pause in my own life.  This story is about the love of George Hochsprung and his wife Dawn.  It’s also about the survivors of the victims who are victims themselves.

I won’t pretend to know the Hochsprungs, or in having interviewed George.  All I have done is seen his interview on CNN, and I can tell you that what I saw and felt blew me away.  His raw emotion, his untempered honesty and his unbridled love for his wife inspired me to continued realization of how special each moment of love we share is, and how we should not take any future we plan as something that is guaranteed.

I love the persistence of the man who had to propose to his woman not once, not twice, but 5 times before she accepted on the sixth.  “She turned me down five times,” he said.  How many of us would tolerate being turned down 5 times by a woman let alone keep pursuing her?  His answer is simple.

“I just fell in love with her.”

Yeah.  That’s the best explanation any man could give.  It is perfect in its simplicity and wonderful in its completeness.  We should all love so much.

As I watched George nestled among most of his and Dawn’s children, I saw a man in more pain than any man should face.  I saw a family suffering at the sudden loss of a lover, a mother and a certain innocent none of us should have to experience.  The future, however, is not certain.

George and Dawn had built a dream house in the Adirondacks to share, and George had planned on Dawn living there well after his own death.  She was much younger than he, so the assumption was not hard to make.  She was to live there after he had passed, with plenty of rooms for children and grandchildren to keep her company in his absence.  George had though lovingly of taking care of his wife’s needs long after he had gone, and now he was faced with something he could never have comprehended.

“…now it’s me,” he said. “I don’t think I can do that.”

As emotional as it is watching George Hochsprung talk about his loss, nothing was more emotional to me than the raw honesty he showed when asked how he felt about his wife’s heroic actions.

“Dawn put herself in jeopardy, and I have been angry about that,” he said.

It’s not hard to imagine.  He’s missing her, he needs her, and their well-planned future together will never be.  She could have hidden herself and come home to her husband.  She could have chosen to not face an armed killer and retired to that dream house in the mountains.

But that was not her way.  Instead, she told two other teachers to hide while she delayed the gunman.  She then confronted him.

“She could’ve avoided that,” George Hochsprung said. “But she didn’t; I knew she wouldn’t. So, I’m not angry anymore.  I’m not angry. I’m just very sad.””

Yes, that is plainly evident, as is the truth that our futures are fleeting, our present moments are all we are sure to know.  Love is forever, even if our physical bodies are not.  Dawn’s actions that day were ones of love and tremendous courage, and the actions of George and his family’s remain just as courageous today.  All heroes like Dawn leave behind those who must wish that, at some level, they would have made a choice to come home and to secure the future they had all dreamed about.

To those of us who marvel at such love we owe a debt of gratitude to Dawn and George for showing us something wonderful in the midst of so much suffering.  Thank you for showing us something else to focus on besides the carnage and anger.  Thank you for showing us something that should reside in us for the rest of our lives.

Tonight, I will hold my lover tight and remind her of something far greater than me.  I hope so anyway.

Tremor Christ (Little Secrets Tremors, Turn to Quakes)

A song that seems pertinent to my current mood.

Tremor Christ (Lyrics)
Artist: Pearl Jam
Composer: Pearl Jam
Lyrics:
Winded is the sailor…drifting by the storm…
Wounded is the organ, he left all…bloodied on the shore…
Gorgeous was his savior, sees her…drowning in his wake…
Daily taste the salt of her tears, but…a chance blamed fate…
Little secrets, tremors…turned to quake…
The smallest oceans still get…big, big waves…

Ransom paid the devil…he whispers pleasing words…
Triumphant are the angels if they can… get there first…
Little secrets, tremors…turned to quake…
The smallest oceans still get…big, big waves…

I’ll decide…take the dive…
Take my time…not my life…
Wait for signs…believe in lies…
To get by…it’s divine…whoa…
Oh, you know what it’s like…

Turns the bow back, tows and…drops the line…
Puts his faith in love and tremor christ…

“Stop It”

STOP!

 

“Obstacles cannot crush me.  Every obstacle yields to stern resolve.  He who is fixed to a star does not change his mind.” – Stephen Covey

I felt a familiar stitch in my mind this morning, a painful cramping that drives me to my proverbial knees looking for relief somewhere.  I felt the sting of something riddle my mind with doubt, and I began questioning everything.  It’s something I have found is a familiar pattern; one I can trace back to the time when I was taught not only to doubt everything around me, but to also doubt myself.

The doubt starts here, within me.  Although I am strong, I often believe myself weak.  Although I have a lot to offer, I often feel myself worthless.  Although I am kind, caring, and compassionate I often feel myself cold and heartless.  I know who I am even as I get lost in the insanity of who I think I am.  Actually, maybe the thought of who I am is part of who I am, and when I finally readily accept the Doubting Thomas I can finally accept the St. Thomas.

In that place I doubt that anyone, at any time, could love me, be faithful to me, and accept me.  I struggle for aloneness, often telling myself that I am better off the lone wolf than part of a pack that will, at some point in some time, bare its teeth against me.  There are others so much better.  Fitter.  Stronger.  More confident.  More able.  The list goes on and on as to why I am not worthy of the very things I thirst the most for; love, companionship, devotion and loyalty.  If I extend them to you, you will invariably bludgeon me with them at some point.

This belief, which has proven true at various places in my life, is my own creation that is like a chain that has always bound me to a wall that is too of my own making.  I may want to get there, but the chain of my mind attached to the wall of my own attachment to the past and the false beliefs that experience has created.  I can feel me run to open arms but then can feel the chain pull me by the neck back to where I believe I belong.

I belong back here.  You belong out there.  It’s safer that way.  Safer for you, and safer for me.

This morning, as I felt that old, familiar chain tighten around my neck I felt something else too.  Something unfamiliar but becoming more a truth than a piece of fantasy.  I felt the warmth of love so intense that it could not be ignored for the chill of the steel wrapped around me.  It caused me to stop, to look, and to listen.  I could see her love reach out to me.  I could see her eyes look right through the layers I had created to hide myself from her at least partially.  I could see her hand touch mine and utter a command that would resolve me to ending this lunacy.

“Stop it.”

I could see her loving eyes looking into my own.

“Stop it.”

I could feel her hand taking mine and strongly demanding me to hold on.

“Stop it.”

I could feel her lips nearing mine while she whispered into my head.

“Stop it.”

So, I stopped it.  I fucking stopped it.  And to those of you who do not know how glorious that moment is when you achieve such a monumental goal think back to that scene in Rocky when a battered and bruised man wants nothing more than to tell his Adrianne the truth and she finds him.  He has nothing left – no face, no strength, and no thought other than to tell the only person that matters to him how he feels.

And she finds him.  She fights her way through the crowd, through her own fear and her own shyness to tell the only man she loves how she feels.  She bares her soul to him in front of thousands yet it appears that there is only the two of them standing there, each baring their truth to the other and taking the chance.  The world may have been watching but that didn’t matter.  What mattered was the complete absence of boundaries, the complete dismantling of walls and the complete destruction of the chains that kept them from knowing the power of that moment.  They lived for each other, and they let it be known.

Yeah, Rocky is not a sports movie to me.  It’s a love story; a deep, passionate and meaningful love story.  Still, enough of the story, let’s get back to a slice of reality.  I could get lost in that story all day because I find great meaning to it.  I can relate. J

So, I stopped it.  I fucking stopped it.  I was Superman there, standing on the railroad tracks stopping a speed freight train before it destroyed yet another perfect moment in my life.  I stood my ground.  I braced for impact.

Nothing happened.

Well, I shouldn’t say “nothing.”  To quote one of my favorite books/movies (Peaceful Warrior), “there is never nothing going on.”  So, in order to best describe it in the way I know how, let me use a metaphor (I apologize in advance) and let me start from a place where I realized that nothing stopped going on.

We stood there, my chain growing taut and the air becoming harder to force into my lungs.  I could see her walking toward me.  She wasn’t asking me to struggle with my own limitations to get to her.  She wasn’t asking me to break the steel that bound me to my own limitations in order to touch her.  She came to me.  I could sense her fighting her own thoughts and own experience to get to me, but get to me she did.  I marveled at her, feeling somehow pathetic as this remarkable vision made her way through the mud just to comfort me.

Something struck me at that moment.  I was not pathetic here.  We were both showing one another something, and we were both learning from one another.  We both were challenging each other, and we both shared a love that no real boundaries could keep hidden.  I had as much meaning to this story as she did.  She didn’t just grab my hand for me, she grabbed it because she needed it.  She just didn’t look into my eyes to cut through my own layers, she did so to cut through her own.  It wasn’t just my truth she wanted to take, it was hers she wanted to give.  In that moment she was searching for the same thing I was looking for even if she did not realize it.  Hell, I didn’t realize it until it nearly destroyed me.

“Stop it.”

It wasn’t a command to me alone.  It was a testament to a new reality.  So I fucking stopped it.

So, as the train came bearing down on me and I extended my arm to “stop it” I felt something.  I felt her hand on my shoulder.  I felt her lips come close to my ears and I heard her whisper,

“Not going to happen.”

In that moment there was no train, no tracks and no need to be Superman.  There was her, me, the chain and the wall.  I looked at her, and her at me, and I knew.  It was time to end it all, and to move on to the sequel where me and this woman…well…that’s a bit private.

Once upon a time she handed me a hammer.  Others had tried, but I often found I could not wield their tool.  Either they were too heavy, or too soft, or too long or too short.  The hammer she gave me felt just right and I have used it to destroy many of the obstacles in my way to where I want to go.  Yes, I have been fixed on a star and yes, I will get to where I want to go.

I can’t start by destroying the chain.  See, that chain is my friend.  It allows me to roam within its circumference, and to feel the taste of liberation even as it binds me to the past.  It allowed me to see love walk toward me, and to feel the beauty of being the one.  The chain also shows me the direction to the real obstacle in this continuing saga.  The wall.  The attachment I have to the past that, brick by brick, has created the largest obstacle of all.  It’s an obstacle I may not completely destroy, but it is one that I will turn into something I can easily hop over when I need to.

In this mixture of metaphors and dreamy states of mind, there is one constant.  Motivation.  Love isn’t just a tool of acceptance, it is a tool much like a hammer that we use in conjunction with stern resolve to get to the destination we want to reach.  We can either choose to knock down those walls or attach a chain to them.  It’s all about choice, and it’s all about finding the resolve to overcome those very temporary moments when the obstacle seems too high to climb or too thick to demolish.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come to that moment when I just didn’t think I could overcome the obstacle.  I’ve given up, walked away, protested that I just couldn’t go on only to find the motivation to continue.  Sometimes it has been despair.  Others, it has been hope.  Sometimes it has been fear.

It has always been love.  Always.  Despair comes from the failure to follow your loving heart.  Fear is the feeling that love is absent even when it is staring into your eyes and holding your hand.  It all is a belief in doubt, where the doubts scream at you that you cannot climb this wall until you find the strength to simply say “fuck it” and reach for the top.  Love is the motivator and regardless of whatever tool it shows itself as at the end you will feel its power if you just “stop” the activity of forgetting.

Well, that sermon is over.  I have a lot of stuff to do, including “stopping it”.  I have love to make and dreams to fulfill and good times to create.  I have mistakes to rectify,  and a wall to tear down.  Then, I have a chain to dismantle link by glorious link.  Yeah, I’d say I have plenty to do.

Peace.

 

 

Geminid

As I watched millions of years of existence end in a flash across this evening’s sky, I felt small, impermanent and grateful for the realization.

It all ends sometime, someday.  In an instance what was ceases to be, and what is becomes the new reality.  Across the darkened sky of our existence everything ends in a flash that, to some, is but an instant but to others is an eternity.  In a moment of intense flame it ceases to be, and the sky again becomes dark save the few diamonds left to prove its existence.  Everything returns to darkness; everything returns to light.

I walk to the darkest spot I can find, feeling the emptiness in my hands highlighted by the hope in my heart.  Am I but a Geminid in her evening sky?  Am I but a flash in the night sure to exist in one moment but be gone before the her eyes open again?  Am I but a cold rock floating aimlessly in the nothingness sure to die in the heat of her atmosphere?  Am I destined to be but a bright flame across her darkness, across my own darkness; a flame that burns intensely but for only a short period of time?

I look at those lonely hands, opening and closing them as if to prove they are mine.  I can see her hand resting nicely in my own, warming the skin left cold by the evening air.  I can feel her lean her head on my shoulder and I know.  I am not a cold rock floating aimlessly in nothingness.  I am one of the diamonds, burning brightly and lighting the way.  If only I choose to be, and if only she lets me.  Her and I are not them, those strange vestiges of past pains left to scramble in the light of love.  We are the light, the source of contrast between the blackness and the timelessness of love.  We are what we choose to be, either to be lost in the mix of the mind or found in the millions of suns proving to us that even the darkness is temporary.

So tonight as I am surrounded by the darkness and the destruction of travelers who simply got too close, I am warmed by the heat of love cascading through my soul and the light of the love we both share.  Perhaps it is time for us both to take the past and turn it into a chunk of stone and push it into nothingness.  Maybe it is time for us both to watch that rock burn in the air of love and vanish into space.  I can almost see it, her hand tightly in mine as her head lies softly on my shoulder watching with a smile as those barriers burn away.  I can see her smile as I turn to her and say, softly,

“I love you.”

We both know.  We have always known.  The Geminid is not the love that we share but the barriers we have created keeping us from it.  We both surrender in an instant, and utter a silent vow that this time we will know the truth and it will be ours.  We make it ours, we own as if it is all we will ever own, and it becomes the reality we cherish.  Even as I close my eyes to dream this lovely dream, a prayer escapes my heart as the beautiful mediation begins.

Yes, my love, my fears are in that rock you just watched disintegrate.  Yes, my love, I feel the truth around us.  Yes, my love, I know you are here, and that you love me.

I have heard her say it in my ear at least a hundred times.  “I love you.”  So, I vow to her this moment a truth that speaks from that part of me only she can see when her mind is silent and her heart is open.

Yes, my love, my doubt has just burned away in that streak you saw across our sky.  Yes, my love, I am here.  Yes, my love, I believe in you.  Yes, I am ready.

Such truth brings tears to my cheeks.  I have never cried in my life combined as much as I have now.  Cleansing, releasing, forgiving and, finally, surrendering.  Like any good fighter just at that moment of surrender I find renewed fight to continue on.  Now, I am finally on the canvas, staring up at her beautiful face thankful for the knockout blow.

Yes, I am done baby.  Yes, I am ready to end the battle.  Yes, I want to leave this place and walk alone with you. Let me, please.  Thank you.

Soon, the Sun will rise above that place where the ground meets the sky.  I’ve always loved that place, and it is there that I ask her to walk with me.  I deserve the chance and so does she.  A chance to smile in the light of love as we push the Sun above the horizon.  A chance to walk together without the rocks falling all around us.  A chance to know one another without the voices telling us stories that don’t exist here.  Yeah, it’s time to walk my love…

Be Ready, I Am Coming

I need not ask you what I should do.  I know what I should do.  I should tell you all to shut up so that I can hear again.  Let this wolf walk silently in the woods so that I can hear.

Hear her howling at the sky so that I can howl too.  Hear her speak to me in the light of the full moon so that I can answer.  Feel her there, in the shadows and in the light as I always have.  Search for her footprints in the snow as you all spy on me from your perches high above.  I can hear you laugh but I don’t care.  I am on a search, not for you, not for yesterday, not for now but for the million days to come when my very soul will know the sweetness of her voice, the softness of her skin and the strength of her love.

Her love will be unrestrained one day, set free from a prison of fear created in a day and age when I did not exist except as some memory in her soul.  My love will be unrestrained one day too, set free from a prison of my own making created in a day before I remembered her and sought her out. We will learn from each other and continue our searches for one another in the night.  We will find each other in the cold winter’s night, and we will melt the snow in glorious ecstasy.  Soon we will look back on this life we’ve lived together and remember the heat, the passion, the pain but mostly we will remember the love.  Our final gift to one another will be love, and as we sink into old age together the single voices looking for each other on a cold winter’s night will howl as one in a testament of our beautiful journey.

Hate me if you will, oh voices of reason, for you have no place here in this forest.  You have helped me stand again.  You have helped me see the beauty and strength of me.  Yet, I know those lessons learned were for those nights in the forest when I am searching for her in the most dangerous places I can go.  You cannot know the fires within me that drive me onward, toward the only voice I wish to hear.  You cannot feel the passion inside of my heart that keeps it beating when all things appear lost.  You cannot know me as I know me, and you cannot know her as I know her.  So escape now or be lost because I will not tolerate your vengeance.  You will die when her lips touch mine, and you will be exiled from my mind as our bodies melt into one divine pool of ecstasy.

I have chosen.  I will swim within her or I will drown in the effort.  That’s trust.  That’s faith.  That’s the strength I needed to find.  I will taste her again, we both know this to be true.  She will know my strength and live from it as I know hers and crave it.  She will see all of me, and she will know me to be real.  Nothing is done here, we have unfinished business to attend to.  Two beasts of the night howling at the moon searching, then finding, then knowing, and forever being.  You want to know the truth I have found as I stood strong against the coldest winds and driving rain?  There you have it.

So I growl.  She knows that growl.  I save it just for her.  It’s there in the moon, in the stars, in Sun and in the entirety we see.  My mouth froths at the very thought of her, and I bare my teeth in hopeful joy.  My layers fall all around me as I near her and only she can see what’s there.  She growls too as the dance resumes.  Yeah, you know that dance my love.  You can feel the steam coming off our bodies in the chill, you can feel the sweat pouring out of us in a raging torrent that floods everywhere.  Only you know those things, and the sight of my Truth.  Only you have seen it, only you know it, and I know you love what you see.

So, I’m coming for you.  Howl not at the moon, not at the sky, but at me.  Let me hear you, let me follow you wherever you may be.  As the armor falls, as the weapons get lost in the snow and we find each other naked in the woods we both know how that story ends.  Tell me, can you feel it?  Of course you can, I can feel you throbbing in my entirety.  Yeah, I can feel it, and I am coming.

Drop your defenses and open your arms.  You will know my power and never need seek it again.  I heard you in my dreams I am coming.  Howl for me, let me feel the power in your soul as it rages in my ears.  Let me bask in the heat of your passion as I follow your sound toward heaven.  Yes, I am coming my love and I will meet you because I know that you are coming too.

 

The Rise of the Warrior

In an instant you realize that you were a fool.  A silly, unkempt, pathetic fool destined for the witless agony you now wallow in.  You allowed it all to happen, and you sat still while you were prodded, poked and made to feel wrong in the process of finding out who and what you were.  In that instant, you stop the tears as you slam your fist in the mud in the realization that you did nothing but accept the lies and deceit of a love lost in the conquest of something well beyond your grasp.

You then pick yourself up, mutter some curse that only you will recognize and find renewed strength in your muscles and resilience in your mind.  You stand up, marvel at your nakedness, and wipe the mud from your body.  You realize you hardly recognize the man who looks back at you in the mirror, and you shudder at the thought that you allowed this part of you to be silent while the softer part of you was ravaged and beaten by a foe you so wanted to love forever.

With disgust you clean yourself, and you find that suit of armor that once fit you so well.  You don it with an oath that it will fit you again, and never again shall you discard it for some promise that was nothing more than the deceit of a weaker heart.  You find your sword somewhere in the rubble, and you hold it up in front of you vowing never to part with it again.  It feels good there, where it always was, and the weight in your hand tightens the muscles in your arms in a memory of a safe, secure and sure state of mind.

You sheath your weapon and look at the barren landscape all around you.  The flowers you once longed to smell now have died, trampled beneath the feet of a fatal dance.  The mango trees you once found safe harbor in lie broken and charred as an arid smoke rises from their battered stumps.  You make your way down to the once fertile river’s edge only to find a dried and cracked riverbed.  The river had lied – it would not provide you safety and it would not accept you in its flow unless you surrendered to it completely.  Now, you only see tortured remnants that suggested it even existed at all, and with a certain amount of disgust you urinate where the clean water once had quenched your thirst.

There is no room here for that thirst.  She will not quench it again.  She has made certain of that.  She was no warrior, no princess.  Her idea of strength was retreat, and you are certain that she is lying to herself that the familiar acceptance of aloneness she now has made is somehow a sacrifice.  She will be in another’s arms soon, she can’t help herself.

You accept your reality and you steady your mind.  After days of debauchery and self-loathing you stand straight.  You found power as you first planted your hands in the mud and made your way to your knees.  You found strength in your legs as they raised you up from the slime.  You found certainty in your anger as you wiped her dirt from your mind.  Now, you find resolve in your heart as it becomes stone again and you take every vestige of her existence and burn it in a pyre made of every broken promise, every gentle word, and every phony request she made that you be who you are.  Those lies burn easily, even if the memories do not as you hope the tears you shed now are the last ones you ever shed at the thought of her.

You take your knife and you slice a deep wound on your chest right where your heart should be.  The pain reminds you that you are still alive even if you are not sure you want to be.  The open wound reminds you that you once had a heart that beat loudly for your lover.  Once…

Now, the echoes of her silence ring loudly as her final words bounce around your mind.  You growl.  Her words will not beat you this time.  Her silence will not humble you as it has before.   She knows this game all too well, and you will not be beaten by it.  The scars created as her nails dug into your back will fade, and you will find new flesh to conquer.  The sound of her whispers in your ear will be forced out, replaced by the ravaging sounds of a raging lion.  Fuck her, you say silently, she proved unworthy of your greatness.  She took you, slammed you down and rejected the best of you by falling in love with the worst of you.

She turned out to be a scared little girl unable to grow up.  You soon followed her into her box and turned into a scared little boy unable to be the man you knew yourself to be.  Imagine, a man having to be isolated because of some schoolgirl need to be special.  Imagine a man having to be ignored and kept in the box because of some childish need to be the focus of attention.  Imagine a man having to be kept away because of some impish need to protect something that does not exist.  Imagine a master trying to teach a doubtful student that all of this is special, and that the lie did not exist in the behavior, but in the reaction to it as if the fire burning tender flesh should not be a reason to jerk the hand from the flame.  No, she was never wrong, and her love of her box proved more than her love of a man who would have given anything to be with her.

Warriors should never become accustomed to the comforts of a woman’s soft breasts and tender touch.  They are warning signs from hell telling the man to prepare to fight.  Those lips will pierce your heart like a jagged dagger.  Those breasts will choke your soul and drown you in a sea of your own misery.  Those fingers that lightly touch your skin will one day wrap around your throat and choke the life out of you.  Those loving words will one day drive you down into the mud and nearly kill you as dreams of your own demise dance around your head like a song you can’t forget.

And those eyes.  Those eyes will be the death of you for sure.  Look away my Warrior friend!  Look away before the spell drives you deep into places you may never live to see your way out of.  They are the gateways to both heaven and hell, the destination of which is determined by the woman who owns them.

Lessons learned.  You know the only way to keep her from your heart is to encase it in stone.  You realize the only way to keep her from hurting you any more is to find a rage that has been dormant.  You see the only way to end the misery is to end the misery.  “She’s not worth it” they say.  “You are better than that” they say.  “Forget her and move on” they say.  “She had to be lying to you, no one is that weird” they say.  “How could you have believed that?” they ask.

You sit back and you wonder.  Is that voice within you that found nothing but love for her the voice you should be hearing?  You believed her.  You saw truth in her.  She was worth your life, and she made you feel a greatness absent before her arrival.  You can’t forget, and even now as she gives you no choice but to question it all you use their voices to find a strength that allows you to move beyond the darkness into at least something partially lit.  Still, you do not believe them, but you call her way a lie because she has offered you nothing to suggest it was the truth.  Nothing.

Fuck.  Enough of this.  You stand proud in your armor with your sword by your side.  You move beyond the dust and mud and prepare for the night ahead.  The dreams.  You pray tonight they will be absent and you will find rest in the embrace of something that does not destroy you in the morning.  Something wonderful.  Something that reminds you of the way it should be.

The Death of Teddy E (SEE WARNING BEFORE READING)

**Note: If you are sensitive to stories of suicide please do NOT read this piece.**

There was no telling when he had snapped.  But he did.  There was no telling when he had lost control.  But he had.  And now, swinging back and forth from the tree branch he had chosen specifically for this purpose, Teddy E had finally found peace in a stretch of living wood and a length of synthetic rope.

His face have been unrecognizable to anyone who had known him in life, but Teddy would not have wanted it any other way.  He felt unrecognizable to himself in the moments before  the end.  Gone were the flashes of joy and moments of rage that had so defined him in life.  Gone were the feelings of despair, of utter helplessness.  For the first time in Teddy’s life he felt in control, and he liked the feeling even if he knew the price he was going to pay to get it.

Nothing in life worked out for Teddy.  He felt lost since his earliest memory.  The beatings. The lies.  The deceit.  The humiliation.  Those were his constant companions and his truth.  He found people would more often than not lie to him, to each other, and to themselves to achieve something unremarkable and fleeting.  They would rather kick him in the stomach than offer him a hug.  Teddy had learned from the very beginning that people were capable of horrendous things, and they would often reward themselves for their crimes in the most stupendous of ways.  The motherfuckers would even…well, fuck if he wanted to say.

He learned to associate the words “I love you” with some of the most horrible acts he could imagine.  He would often get beat with objects not meant to touch human flesh while being told “I do this because I love you.”  He would see her tell him “I love you” just after fucking some random asshole who was, of course, not him.  In his twenties, Teddy would often cringe at the thought of the word, most likely remembering some scar on his body or mind caused in the very act of that word “love”.  Now, as he dangled freely from the tree his last thought was of how some of the last words his Love had said to him were

“I love you, forever. And because that – above all things – is true, I understand. And I let you go…”

Now, in the hours before his end he let himself go.  This world was done fucking with him.  The love he had been so wanting to share with it was not good enough, and neither was he. He loved passionately, fought passionately, and was rash in his pain and in his reply to it.  Yet, he loved, and he was sure that as those who knew him looked at the closed pine box where he rested they would finally remember his love and not his pain.  They would finally know him for who he was, not who the bastards created him to be and not whom he seemed powerless to control.

She would know the truth finally.  It was not his fear that defined him, but the power of his love.  His Lover would finally accept him as he was, and love him unconditionally.  She would forgive him as he laid in a box she had not constructed for him.  The walls of their lives, the very walls that she built and loved above all things, would finally cease to matter.  She would touch the crate that carried her man and never need ask “why?”  The answer was in the silence, the very weapon she used against him.

His tormentors would come as well.  The very thought of them made him shudder as he prepared his end.  They would feign tears while telling everyone how Teddy had always been troubled.  Gone would be the fond stories they used to tell about the beatings.  Absent would be the echoes of a past that drove him to his grave.  Blame would be shifted from the guilty to those unable to defend themselves as it had always been.  Yet, as he stared blankly at the top of the pine box that carried him he knew they knew.  The tears and fears that carried the boy into manhood were started by them.  Yeah, they knew.  The motherfuckers knew and he could almost see them smirk at the thought.

Mostly though, he wanted to dry the tears of his Love.  He knew that, for her, those tears were temporary.  She would move on, if she hadn’t already.  They all move on.  He would turn to his friends and tell a joke that would get them laughing again.  He would remind them of the good times, the laughter, and the shit that drove them together.  He would forget the bastards and their smirk and focus on those who were always the living part of his heart.  He would show them that his pain was finally over, and that they could move on knowing that he had finally done something out of love for himself.

He would never know if his Love had lied to him and if she was just a loving figment of his imagination who had left him to dangle as had all the others.  She had seen all of him.  He trusted her with those parts of him he otherwise kept locked in some vault in the back of his soul.  In the end, her protestations that he could let them out were the lie regardless of what else she had done.  He was better off living the lie with her than living the truth without her.  Still, in this moment he didn’t care.  He just wished for one more kiss, one more embrace, one more moment of pure ecstasy.  It would never come, but of course he would find his way through the darkened misty waters where pieces of his heart floated by like debris from a long-sunken ship.  This time, however, he would do it a much different way.

“I am sorry I hurt you all, but I had to leave.  Thank you for loving me more than I could love myself.  Smile you douche bags, I am finally happy.”

Now had come the time of release, and Teddy knew that peace was on its way.  He felt fear, almost like the fear you feel right before a crazy roller coaster ride.  Yet, the peace he was sure was coming made that fear almost seem nonexistent.  Suddenly, a wave of emotion came crashing down upon him.  He cried in that moment like he had never cried before, and the numbness that had carried him here was gone for a moment.  The tears of a lifetime came out of him, as did the pain and the loss.  God, if he could only go back in time he would.  He would make different choices.  He would love her better, and never leave her any room for doubt.  He would choose to believe, he would.  He would never let go of what he had or answer the phantom voices that drowned out every other sound in his life.  He would forgive.  He would know.  He would be saved.  He would…

The rope snapped to attention and he struggled.  It wasn’t, as some would describe had they seen it, a struggle for life.  No, Teddy E struggled in the end to get to the light faster.  He could feel warmth there, and he know that light and that warmth would never leave.  He sensed it loved him unconditionally and without question.  Finally.  The light…the warmth…unconditional love…truth…everything that had escaped him in that experience of life he decided to end were coming his way.  He could feel it, and he could almost grasp it.  It reminded him of holding his children.  It reminded him of holding his Lover.  It was like those small pieces of love, happiness and trust becoming the big pieces all at once.  He could exhale, finally, and trust that the inhalation was coming.  Yes, he laughed hard at the irony.

Dedicated to all of those souls lost https://www.facebook.com/puttingafaceonsuicide

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