Tag: flower (Page 1 of 2)

The Hour of Separation

June 17, 2019 / Tom

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.” ~Khalil Gibran.

There, this man finds himself knowing a depth eternal in its scope, not waning in the process of knowing itself in sadness.

Not long before, I woke to see her image in the shadows of an early morning. I’ve long memorized the contours of her form, the way she hides herself from the night’s disturbances, the way her hair flows from the shadows and her breath can be heard through the various white noises of our space. I swear I can hear her breath despite the noise, but I also know that it is quite possible that I hear her breath in me, just like the subtle way I feel life in her living, and love in her affection.

There I lay, just studying her in the darkness not wanting to disturb a thing. Being beside her is like arriving at a lush oasis, a place where the storms around me lessen in their ferocity and my thirst is quenched in a single touch. It is here, in her presence, that I awaken to awaken, finding myself in total bliss, breathing in the joy and gratitude I cannot, and have no desire to, run from.

Yet, as has been the way with the process of our journey, such a bounty must end and the thirst must return to be quenched another day. As is often the case, we arrive to depart where we found ourselves reunited, and my heart again breaks open in bits of stoic bewilderment as I turn to watch her leave. I know by the look on her face in that indescribable way we feel each other that she knows this pain as well. I appear less able to appreciate whatever beauty there is in this separation.

What is there in a stoic man who once was so devoted to his own solitude as to wish its liberated end? Perhaps I knew the dysfunction that demanded my aloneness, and the imprisonment I had actually created in the wanting of such a thing. Aloneness is liberating when it breeds the awareness of love, but it can be a prison when it builds a wall to love. Solitude is a wondrous space when it blooms under the spring sun, but our petals wilt when that solitude hides us in the shadows, afraid to face the light of what has hurt us before.

I seek not to hide behind those bars while calling myself “free”. I seek the wide open spaces where I see my soul dancing in the distance, her hair twirling in the breeze, her smile glistening in the morning sun. I seek no separation in the prisons we often build searching for safety. Liberation is not safe. It’s a space wrought with danger, and known through our sweet victory over both the wounds of our past and the fear they inspire. True liberation is often crawling to love’s sweet precipice, looking down into the abyss, and knowing you are free to fall or crawl back to safety. The experience of love is, though, in the plummet through the mysterious and formless spaces the child in us often fears to go.

That is where I am, plummeting through the formless mystery as my heart breaks open, and I become one with the depths of a realization; I have no idea how deep this goes, and I have yet to find that place where I will land. I just know this love, the depth of which I’ve yet to fully understand, and I know the beauty of the oasis we find ourselves in all-too-infrequently and the madness of the thirst that is a companion way too often.

I shall draw the bowstring of love until it touches my cheek and I shall let loose the arrow of truth until our hearts are united once again. Perhaps that arrow will pierce the hearts of lying demons that play tricks with us in the shadow of our safety. Perhaps that arrow will be yet another rung on the ladder of a truth two souls feel in the open presence that they share. Perhaps that arrow of truth floats in our internal compass, pointing us to the truth of our union, directing us to the True North of our journey together, and finds us in an oasis where we reside much more than we leave.

There is a wild truth in this existence, and as I watch her leave I know its power and its promise. What prose there is left to write I cannot be sure, but I am certain of its existence.

Under the Moon

November 9, 2017 / Tom

I once heard a sparrow’s song,
“Tis me, your soul, in Spring,”
To which I replied “hello my dear,
I never did learn how to sing.”

I walked a little further til,
A flower called out in bloom,
“Won’t you come and rest here awhile,
And share a song Under the Moon?”

A man so full of wistful thoughts,
Who’s seen this life’s sunsets,
Knows the path his heart and mind must take,
From all his life’s regrets.

In the end the sparrow always leaves,
The rose, it wilts and dies,
But the man who’s learned to love again,
Forgets to say goodbye.

One day will come that final dusk,
For some it comes too soon,
But the lucky one, he got to sit,
With you Under the Moon.

~TG

And Now I Write…

May 28, 2013 / Tom

And now I write.

Having been blown away by the solemn wind of something other than this world, I write. Having fallen from a spot on which I’ve stood toward a hazy-blue tale of the unknown, I write. Having found the lost sense of purpose on which my heart does beat, I write.

It’s those eyes. Where have I seen them before? How do I know them? What commands my heart and soul to speak a truth my mind cannot yet fathom? What compass points to my true North which is not heading north at all? I do not think here, for reason has no place at this table. I am lost and found, completely at odds with my thoughts while knowing so certainly that what twists and turns outside my head is right.

To what paradise do I see when falling in those eyes? Only heaven could have pushed me from the cliff on which I’ve clung, and only Love could have gently forced me from the perch on which I’ve stood. I spread my mighty arms and soar through air that I once feared, now knowing the dream I’ve dreamt a million times as a new reality.

To you I fly,

my sweet lullaby,

To tear this mind apart.

And though I try

I can’t deny

That sweet and gentle heart.

And so I write. Onward and endless flow the eternal words from the deepest part of me. Harnessed intentions I see in the moving clouds and hear in the rustling of the leaves that are seldom dormant in my mind. It is a truth. It is the truth, and a purer diamond you will not find in the entirety of our Universe. Hold it. Keep it, and view the world through its perfect eye.

Goodbye, for now, as I will write again when the winds stir me to that hallowed estuary.

Peace.

A Warrior’s (Writer’s) Prayer

May 28, 2013 / Tom

Ah, the night, that time when the mind refuses its call to slumber, that time when rants and raves fill the heart with a desire unique to the tortured soul. Alone we stand even in good company, tired and crestfallen in our belief that we are deserved of something more rather than openly embracing that which we have chosen to ignore. It is here I pray, and in here I find the answer.

I beg of you, be silent you tortuous bastard! Let the body rest and let my flower bloom. Let the stars align and remove the clouds that hide them from my eyes. Clear me a path to heaven’s gate and do not stand in my way. Allow me in, and let me make a mockery of it all with the snap of my finger as my eyes open and reality once again sets in. Let me know that in the great God’s absence I am the Creator, and let such blasphemy fall upon the ears and lips of those too afraid to step outside of their cave. Let the light be seen by all, and make such fear blow away with the clouds that keep me from my Moon’s sweet light, and my risen Sun.

Give me strength to press on even in the darkness of my illusion. Let me shine the only light I see into the frayed corners of these darkened rooms and under those places where I pretend to rest at night. Give me the power to fly above the valleys of my own creation toward those great heights that await me, and do not give me cause to rest when there is so much work yet to be done. Harden in me that which is soft, and soften in me that which has hardened.

Let words be my sword and experience be my shield. Allow me no safe passage where none exists, and allow me no safe harbor in those dry lands of my own design. Let me not pass my cup to others unless it is their will to quench a thirst of which I have no judgment. Allow my shoulders to be strong to carry the crosses I chose to bear, and allow my hands their strength to shed that wood that no longer serves me well. Give me strength to suffer in silence when I must, and the power of voice to scream a prayer when it serves the fires burning deep within my soul.

This I beg. Allow this warrior to not pass without his mark clearly stamped. Let not his body rot lest it feed a forest, or his blood be spilled lest it find a meaningful place to land. Make his sweat that holy water of legends, and his story a fabled treasure for those who have lost their drunken minds.

I accept it all with an open mind, an open heart and a waiting soul.

Amen.

Lessons Learned in Letting Go

May 25, 2013 / Tom

It felt good to let go, to watch her walk freely into the world on the path she had chosen for herself. Her smile was evidence of a just Universe, her life since then proof of something wonderful. Yes, beautiful things can come from the ugliest of places.

Letting go wasn’t easy for a man who loved her so. Her soul spoke to him in a language he had never heard before but, somehow, easily understood. His heart beat out her name not only in the most silent of moments but also in the middle of the storms they had created together. It was their minds, however, that could not reconcile to the music they were hearing.

He had become a willing student of observation and what he observed in the process of letting go was a formidable truth. He could see the tricks his ego would play on him, the anger his mind would create as a method of self-protection. He could also hear the requests of his heart and feel the pulsing glow of a love that was true from the moment he saw her. The choice, he knew, was his. He could listen to either.

What he believed she had done became irrelevant after a while, replaced by a simple belief that all things spoke a truth all of their own. What had bothered him as their minds battled one another wasn’t her, it was the truth that in the divine trinity of human love their minds simply were not meant for one another in this lifetime. He could love her deeply in his soul without hesitation. He could caress her in his heart for eternity. He could not, however, dance with a mind that was hearing a different song.

She was not wrong. She was not at fault. She was her perfect self whose mind danced to a beat of a song he could not hear. Her dance was perfect even if he could not follow the moves, and it was perfect even if he found it impossible to learn. As the dust swirled around him he lost touch with her soul and could no longer hear her heart beating in his chest and anger filled the vacuum. He was angry with himself, falling to the common ledge of self-loathing and doubt. He filled the void in the only way he knew how, and he could feel his mind and body slowly falling into the ego’s trap of fear. He began to resist everything, and in doing so he began to attract even more things to resist.

Life had taught him to observe, and it had also taught him the value of experience. He knew he needed this experience even if he could not say why it was necessary. So, he simply went where the currents took him and watched. He could see what was making him unhappy. He could see where the weakness was, and even if he decided not to change his condition in the moment, he was discovering the value of the experience. No tear was wasted, no moment of anger was spent in vain. He knew that one day he would tire of walking in shoes that never seemed to fit on a path that was either too rocky, too narrow or too boring for him to enjoy.

Sadness was created for the experience of joy. Once we experience sadness we understand the value of joy and we can choose which path we wish to take when presented with the option. This expression we call “life” is nothing more than a series of options given to provide us with experience, and we are the Master of our own destiny; the Creator of our own reality. We often fail to realize our own power as Master and Creator, but once we not only realize that power but observe it in action we begin to see the error of blame and judgment. As he began to observe his own dance and how perfect it was, he began to see hers as perfect too. As he began to see the value of his own independence, he began to see the value in hers. As he began to see the perfection of his own needs he began to see the perfection in hers.

What he discovered was probably the greatest discovery of his life up to that point. Letting go is not about forgetting. It is not about anger, or fear, or hatred. It is not about being wrong, or being right. It is about remembering. It is about love. It is about acceptance.

He had discovered that when one finally accepts himself he cannot help but accept others. He had discovered that when one finally loves himself he cannot do anything but love others. It all began to make sense to him finally. The Jesus of the New Testament did not command us to “love one another” for the neighbor’s sake, he did so for our own. He did not “so love the world”, he so loved himself that he could not help but love the world. All of it. Even the tax collectors. If we choose to see God as “Love”, then the Jesus written about certainly was God’s son sent to remind us that we are, too, Love’s children.

It seemed that what Buddha had found was not the rejection of attachments as a path to enlightenment. Instead, we find peace when we accept everything. That’s real love. Forgiveness is not an act of loving someone else despite themselves, it is in loving yourself despite yourself. Self-love is not a sin, it is a wise mastery of everything around you. Self-mastery is not about discipline, it is about acceptance. Forgiveness is nothing more than an act of acceptance, of love, and soon it all becomes one big non-thing.

It all becomes about selfishness. No, not the type your parents warned you about. Instead, this type of selfishness revolves around the focus on self. He had found that when he was happy he had great ability to make others happy. When he was not, he could ruin the best of moods. He began to see himself as the pebble and the universe around him as the lake. He could create ripples, and he could change the Universe around him with one thought translated into one action. He could ruin a field of bluegrass with one dandelion, or he could plant the daisies that brought the world to life. So he began to focus on self, to become more selfish, because his experience and his Universe depended on it. He began to see the meaningless of his human condition even if he wanted to experience it. He could choose which he would experience and which he wouldn’t, and as he began to change his mind, he began to change his world.

There is great strength in each of us, a great power that often goes unrealized in this experience. We don’t just use only 10% of our brain, we also seem to use only 10% of our power and most of that is often wasted on living in the dreams of others. You will begin to see this the moment you decide to be selfish and to take control of who you are and the life experience you are having. The Sun does not have such great power because it is trying to be the moon, and you will never find yourself in the hearts, minds, or opinions of another.

He could remember the moment he had found her soul again. He could feel her heartbeat once more when he closed his eyes and felt the silence all around him. He could see her smile and laughter in his mind’s ear and he knew everything was perfect. It was at this moment that, with a slight exhale, he let go. Not of her, but of that part of him that held on to the egoic ideal of what should have been. As the smile and laughter of hers blended into a smile and laughter of his own, he knew. He had let go of everything in that moment, a moment worth remembering.

If it is true that one cannot add to a cup already full, he was happy for the experience as he emptied his own. Experience is nothing if never exercised, so in letting go he also found the desire to move on. He had smelled the flower whose fragrance would forever remind him of possibility. A wave retreats to make room for another, and he had found the desire to splash in the surf again even if he would enter the water as if for the first time. With that he entered in the direction of the Sun a place greatly affected by the moon knowing that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Peace.

The Fragrance of Love

May 11, 2013 / Tom

He could smell her still in the depths of each breath he took. The sweet fragrance would cause his eyes to close, bringing her into view in the only place she could exist for him. There he could not touch her, or speak to her, or see the tiny chills run up her back when he touched her but he could feel her presence just as he always had. She was there even though she wasn’t, and he could feel her even though he couldn’t.

The fragrance of love never changes even if the flower that gives it life is born anew. You open your heart like a flared nostril and fill yourself with life, exhaling only with the sheer anticipation of being caressed by that fragrance once again. You hold her tightly to your chest to take her in. You gently brush the hair from her face as you draw the lines on her body that her soul commands you to draw. You are as free as you can be even in the gentle strength of her embrace and you know. Her flesh was made for you as surely as yours was made for her. There you smile and bask in that wondrous paradise we call ecstasy, and you reside in that glorious place we call Heaven.

For those of us who have smelled the fragrance of love we know we shall never forget it. We may never find the flower again that sets our racing minds to rest, but we are purely grateful for once watching the flower bloom and sharing in its beauty. We can still find awe in the rising of the Sun. We can still bathe in the beautiful river whose currents once took us to the very fields of Eden. We can still have the fragrance of love wrap around our hearts and bring us to the greatest joys even in the smallest events. That is the thing about such a flower. It is better to have held it and let it go then to have never held it at all.

Our experiences bring us to different places in our present moment. We may find the greatest of strength in the depths of weakness. We may find the wonders of success in the bleakness of failure. Regardless of where we are, we are all blessed in having the choice of creation, and we are free to make the choice as to which blessing we want to have. I stare at the hand that once held the flower and I hear her voice in the deepness of my sleep; my choice being to appreciate that summer moment as well the winter that froze the pedals in my fingers. Spring is here, and with it a new promise of finding that flower once again.

Some seedlings will blossom and others will not. I am but a searcher in those fields of possibility, dancing among the springtime sprouts and laying on the fertile soil where I have chosen to rest. I cannot pretend, and I cannot be any less than who I am because I carry with me the fragrance of love never forgotten and never washed away. I have known this, and I cannot close my eyes to this truth and pretend it never was. Like the brightest star in the evening sky that fragrance guides me, and although I do not know what I am looking for, I will know when I find it.

For now I whisper a solemn oath only the butterflies will hear as I marvel at the power of the truth I have found. The deafness of the caterpillars who have not yet tasted the flower contrasts with the miracle of flight in those transformed; the worms themselves searching for a place where they, too, may take flight to the heavens above.

There is one truth that remains in a life lived in a dream. My potential lies in the realization of what is possible. What is possible lives in the realization of my potential. You must, my friends, find a sturdy branch on which to place your chrysalis. You must make the holy choice to follow your experience to that place where it sets your heart to beating. You must see yourself as the only obstacle to your greatness, and know that fragrance within you for all of its worth. Dance forever in the fields of possibility and realize that you will never know the limits of your potential until you have created them.

Good night, my love. I will find your shortly in my dreams.

The Space Between (Songs of Inspiration #2)

February 22, 2013 / Tom

The space between

The tears we cry is the laughter that keeps us coming back for more

The space between

The wicked lies we tell to keep us safe from the pain

I sit in my car at a stop light with the laughter of my little ones behind me, tears streaming down my face. Tears sometimes are the echo of the heart not specifically pointing in any direction but somehow facing inward, reminding us that there is something warm beating within us. Tears are not always tales of sadness or remorse but are sometimes stories of healing, of potential, of a glorious birth that is about to take place.

In my mind I stop and look forward yet behind me. I see the desolation, the destruction, the wreckage of what could have been. I see the wisps of black smoke rising above the moments in my life where fear had sheltered me from one storm only to create a far more destructive one. I see the litter strewn about my life and the burned out shells of books that could have been so beautifully written and read. I see the partially burned out pages moving with the dust devils of my memories, roughly being jostled from one resting place and swirling upward violently before coming to rest in another.

These swaths of living hell are not all I see even if they are the first things that have captured my attention. Wounds will do that to you. Those pieces of yang will distract you from the pieces of yin that also lie in this path. In order to see them you must learn to look beyond what time and conditioning have taught you to see and then you must open your arms to embrace it all. This isn’t about rejecting the periods of darkness that have kept you company in your nights, it is about embracing the light that comes in the spaces between. It is then about realizing that the darkness truly comes only in the spaces between the light. It is then about accepting both as a part of your day, part of the moment that is you.

I then saw the fields of flowers interspersed in the charred remnants of my moment. I began to hear the singing of birds above the crackling of burning embers and the life dancing about in my story. I could begin to feel the love above the ashes, and smell the fragrance of the roses, the carnations and the orchids. I could feel Life in it all and I smiled through the tears as the laughter of my little ones echoed around a mind no longer dulled by the numbness of a dream only I could create.

I could see the black clouds adorning a full, blue sky and realized that yes, the moon does shine during the day too. The tides go high and then low just as life ebbs and it flows. We don’t measure the tides by the height of the sand yet I have chosen to measure my life by the abundance of sadness. What if I was to measure it by the presence of love; focusing on the area of flowers and of the mellow beauty in the songs of the nature around me? What if instead of seeing the patches of destruction I saw the vast areas of loving awesomeness that made them so noticeable? What if I changed my focus, changed what was the space between?

The space between

Where you smile and hide

That’s where you’ll find me if I get to go

What if I choose to let go? What if I chose to act on that feeling I have when I look into her eyes? What if I chose to smell the roses instead of running from the dying flames of a past that is no longer there? What if I simply held her hand instead of thinking about then? What if I decided to dive into her, to walk that distance that separates us and erase that space between? What if I kissed her into a smile, coaxed her from her hiding place or simply went there with her? What if I…

…acted a little less like a boy beaten and a young man faulted and more like the being I want to be?

The questions mount, filling up the space between the gaps in my breath. I look at my empty hand and I wonder what it would be like if her fingers filled the space between my own. I wonder what would happen if there was no space between our lips, our mouths, our bodies. I can imagine the beauty in the space between our footprints in the sand as we walk hand-in-hand kicking the foamy surf forward. I wonder about the beautiful realization that occurs in the space between our eyes as we look into each other’s soul, and in the space between the heartbeats we share in a long, loving embrace.

I wonder about the words we could write in the space between our story of now and our story of tomorrow and, yes, I wonder about the space between my story of then and the moment we are sharing. My mind circles around the space between the rising and the setting sun, and the darkness that comes in the space before the sun rises again. I also wonder if I would ever know the sun if it wasn’t for that darkness, or notice the beauty of my life without the ugliness. I wonder if I would ever know the beauty of a loving hand in my own if not for its absence.

We’re strange allies

With warring hearts

What a wild-eyed beast you be

I can hear the endless fights and the countless debates about things. Things. I can feel the intimacy slip through the spaces between wrong and right, of listening and talking. I can hear the striking of the arson’s match setting the artist’s canvas on fire and the writer’s book to flame. I can hear the tears as the breath escapes our very mouths, and hear the fingers part as our hands fall to our sides and our gazes turn from what could have been.

I can sense it coming. Isn’t the testament of devotion and of love the beginning of the storm? Isn’t the wounded mind wracked by what it has seen surely cursed to war with the very heart it seeks to know and to love? Isn’t a bruised heart like the broken mast of a floundering ship in a raging storm sure to sink in the sea of its own devices? Isn’t a tired body sure to burn in the fires the mind has set?

Or are those things the very beginning of rebirth we seek? Isn’t it just a matter of awareness, of seeing the opportunity to embrace the beauty and be reborn? Is it just a matter of seeking something different?

The space between the stories of my life gives me enough room to experience it just as the space between the sky and the ground gives us enough room to fly. A horn blows from a car behind me allowing me to realize that the space between the red and green light at this intersection has allowed me to find some clarity in an otherwise hectic morning. I look in my rear-view mirror at my little ones in the back seat and notice the space between the tear on my cheek and the smile on my lips.

Perhaps we find our greatest experiences in the space between. Perhaps we find our wisdom there. Maybe we begin to realize our own truths as we begin to realize the spaces between. Maybe the greatest parts of who we are resides in the spaces between the illusions and delusions we have created about who we are. Maybe my soul has always been singing the words I now hear in my mind spreading across my soul like the light from the Sun cresting above the morning horizon.

The space between

What’s wrong and right

Is where you’ll find me hiding

Waiting for you

The Black Wall

November 7, 2012 / Tom

This was a vivid dream as real as any waking moment he had ever experienced. He walked alone a field so dark there was no form, and with each step a fear that there would be nothing which would hold him steady until the next foot fell. In the darkness he wondered, and there in the space within space he found himself questioning everything.

Off in the distance something shined like a star contrasting brightly against the emptiness. He approached warily, unsure not only of what it was but also unsure of the safety of the journey to it. In this darkness there was no security, only insecurity, and in this walk toward the light there was no guarantee that his feet would fall on steady ground. He couldn’t even see his feet, or the rest of him, let alone the ground that lie ahead. He just knew he couldn’t sit still, that he needed to move forward toward the star lit against the abyss. He wanted – he needed – to get to that spot where the light would show him all there was to see.

Slowly, almost painfully, he neared the light. He could now make out the form of a wall. It was a dark, black brick wall highlighted by a brilliant white mortar which reflected the light brightly. He could not see the source of the light, or the size of the wall but as he looked away the light only make the blackness surrounding him darker and more ominous. Somehow the wall itself made him feel both lonely and loved, as if somehow now he had found a purpose in the loneliness he had always felt and the hope that soon it would all end. So he pressed onward, painfully afraid of each step while joyfully hopeful in the journey.

The brightly-lit wall appeared to move toward him as he got closer as if it somehow sensed the fear he had in each step. It seemed to want to end his suffering although he thought it couldn’t possibly relate to such emotion. The wall could be nothing other than a wall, it had no ability to know him or his condition. It was just there, lit, tall, strong and unable to feel.

Soon he had to stop walking as the light began to hurt his eyes. It seemed to be harder to see in such bright, beautiful light than it was in the darkness. He had become so accustomed to the darkness that the light actually hurt him. He looked away, searching for comfort in the darkness while still desperately wanting to see the light. It was a slow, painful process, but soon he could look into the light without reaction. Then he could see a message written boldly in white scrawled across the wall. It wasn’t long from then that the message was clear.

“You may not live to see the end of this.”

He stood, frozen. The fear created within a lifetime came flooding to his face as his eyes began to let go a torrent of pent-up suffering. He dropped to his knees and sobbed. Yes, the end was near, and there was no certainty that he would live to see it.

As he sobbed uncontrollably he noticed through his blurred eyes the field in which he had walked. There were such beautiful flowers that extended as far as the eyes could see. Yes, he could see! Butterflies fluttered around him, some landing on his shoulders, others on his arms, still others on his head. They seemed to caress his soul, telling him “it will be all right, you are loved.” He looked out across the horizon not believing he had never seen any of this. The darkness wasn’t the only truth, there had always been this field, these flowers, the butterflies and the beauty that reached as far as the eyes could see. He had simply closed his eyes to it all, and when the smallest crack in his own blindness presented itself he found a light that lit the world. The journey hadn’t been a simple walk at all; it was his eyes being opened to the truth.

He turned to the wall that had given him hope and had inspired him toward his present moment. The light that had once lit it now lit everywhere. As he wiped his eyes and stood he read the message scrawled on it one final time. It had changed, and with a sigh and a swallow he read what it now said aloud.

“This is the end of it.”

He half-cried half-laughed at the revelation as a lone butterfly landed on his chest right where he now felt his heart beat loudly. He looked at her as she him and both seemed to know.

Love.

♥

Why Does It Feel Good to Enter a Woman? {Mature}

October 25, 2012 / Tom

Hey guys, do you want to know why it feels so good to enter a woman?

Nope. It’s not that. That’s your high school penis talking. It’s that type of boys’ locker room bullshit that has us falling in the mud as men. It’s why we can find ourselves, years after we began our journey, still spinning our wheels almost at the exact place we started. So stop living in the past and start honoring the man you are now. It’s time we start listening to the women in our lives.

Scary thought, I know. Most of us guys aren’t taught to listen. It’s time we start to learn. It’s difficult and it goes against our grain, but if we don’t a whole world of possibilities just passes us by. We lose far more than we gain by being the “men” we were taught to be, and I am one who is sick of losing.

So, what’s the answer? Why does it feel so good to enter a woman? (drum roll please)…

Wait for it…

It’s coming (sometimes too soon)…

And…

Well, not to be a party-pooper with some metaphysical stuff, but the reason it feels so good to enter a woman is because, in actuality, she is entering us (Collective groans from the audience expecting a micro-porn instead). Seriously, next time you go to rock the van with your woman, slow down. Just as you go to enter her, really slow down. Pay attention to every nanosecond, every small moment as you take your time fully connecting. See how you feel. Recognize it. Listen.

There, in that place, you will feel it. As that part of you slides into her (hopefully, if you’ve done your part, it slides with little effort) you will recognize the truth of what I am saying. While you are entering her she is, in fact, entering you.

Entering your heart. Your soul. Your entire Being. She fills you up, and takes you places you’ve never been. You both ride the wave, and you both end up exhausted mounds of flesh on the shore. In the end, though, you will say to whatever Universe you talk to in your moments alone, “damn, that Tom sure knows what he is talking about. I need to buy his book.”

Remember that sentiment. The book is coming, and your business is appreciated. However, the most pressing business at hand is to understand that sex is not just something you do to get off, it is something you to do experience a gift you cannot experience otherwise. Love. God. Whatever you call it.

When I see that picture of God as an old man with a rod in his hand, I often think that God isn’t the old man at all. God is the rod. The old man simply knows how to use it, and for that knowledge he gets painted all over the world and is worshiped beyond measure. So, learn how to use the rod and be worshiped. Not by the world, but by YOUR world. Her. The woman. The one who shows you who you are when no one else can.

That’s what real intimacy brings you. Not only does it bring you connection and love, it also brings you the best sex you’ve ever had.

Peace.

I’ll Stand By You

October 13, 2012 / Tom

I’ll stand by you

I’ll stand by you

I won’t let nobody hurt you

I’ll stand by you

Take me into your darkest hour

And I’ll never desert you

I’ll stand by you

So the song goes. A beautiful expression of true love, a woman vowing her allegiance to her man. Equally beautiful is the man seems to have suggested a need for such help, for such devotion. His Angel has responded, and now he can heal without fear that she is abandoning him or judging him as so many others have throughout his life. He can focus knowing that his love is by his side, and will not leave regardless of the circumstance.

Wow. And yes, I am projecting. I know that, no emails need be sent to show me that wonderful light. So what, I’m a man who would love to have a woman who would stand by me regardless of the circumstance. Because I have been one who has not wanted it, and has pushed it away vehemently, I realize the beauty of wanting it. Maybe even to someday have it.

I also wonder if the singer is singing it to herself. What a better gift to oneself than to know you will never desert you. Yes, I’ve deserted myself many times over my life. I’ve abandoned my intuition, my beliefs, my values and my inner truth many times. I’ve left the love I feel within me at the door and acted like a moron in the quest of a security that could never exist anywhere but within me. I’ve clung to the cliff when all I wanted to do was jump off of it.

So, part of having someone standing by you is living in the knowledge that you are that someone too. You stand by you, you walk with you into your darkest hour. You sing love songs to you, and you adore the person you are. Someday, with a little luck and a lot of passion, the person you are in love with will stand by you too.

Don’t give up, never give up. Know with some practice that there will always be one person who will stand by you no matter what, and that is you. You are that special. As for that other person you’d love to share your life with? Well, that person is out there waiting for you. What you are searching for is searching for you. It will come. Somewhere there is someone wishing they had another person standing by them, and one day your paths will cross.

Be vulnerable. Be open. And when those paths cross for Pete’s sake embrace the moment.