Tag: God

A New Religion (Somewhat Mature)

October 27, 2016 / Tom

Memories often fade as lonely raindrops on a desert’s sands. There are moments, though, that survive the brutal nature of our journey, and give rise to something new. Something we remember in every vision, in every touch, and in every way mere mortals can be reminded of their infinity.

I remember this. There, in the twilight shadows of a life that has found harmony within itself, I remember. I have felt it, and I feel it now as something courses through my Being, onto the canvas that now shares these words in a way that will never be erased.

I have felt you, my love.

I remember the first time I touched you. You were standing there, that smile, that body, that aura. We hugged, and you held me for a while, allowing those things we share but rarely talk about to have a communion of their own. I could feel your breasts against my chest, your hands pressing hard against my back. Soon, our hips were touching, as your head fit nicely on my shoulder. We rested there, forever in a moment.

It was there I first held the form of God, and it was there I had found a new religion.

I remember the first time I felt you. Really felt you. We were making love, you on top. I had lost the sense of where I was. No compass worked within me, and the room around us had blurred in the moment. I could see only you as I enjoyed your pleasure as your face contorted and your lips moaned with each endless movement. I reached up and pulled your head closer to my own, and we kissed. Our breath mixed, our bodies meshed, and as our lips parted I held your face in my hand. Our eyes met, and it was like some magical circuit had been completed.

Our bodies had joined below, our souls met in the union of our eyes. It was there I touched the face of God for the very first time, and it was there I practiced my new religion.

No person would ever need meet my demands again. You were free, completely. I would love you without question, but I would never own you. I would hold you firmly in my arms, but never seek to place you in a box. It was through you I found that love could not be focused like a laser without destroying everything it touched. Instead, love must be like a star shining brightly in all directions. What it touches, it reveals.

When my ego’s fears would shout ill-advised words into my mind, I would refocus my attention on the soft whispers of love spoken directly to my heart. When fear would raise its ugly head to bite this wounded man, I would calmly seek the soft attention of a man who’s healed himself. I would not cater again to the fallacies I had been taught. Instead, I would stand upon new ground, on a new earth, that I, myself, had formed.

Upon that ground I built a sturdy altar, one that looks like nothing ever built before. In its many forms we lay, we sit, we stand tall, our lips embraced as our bodies tell a sacred tale. Upon that altar our sweat becomes a nectar of the gods, and that music from our lungs a sweet song that caresses every corner of the heavens that we share.

I have felt you, my god have I felt you! In the massive quakes and sultry rattles in my entirety, I have felt you. Shaken to dust are the ornate fixtures of my life, and torn to bits are the crimson, silky fabric on which I once would lay my head. Arisen from the rubble stands a naked man, bloodied and caked with mud yet clean and strong to his very core. It is that man who kneels upon your sacred space, uttering not a promise save the one, forever truth.

I love you.

Such a wonderful place to worship, such a beautiful place to kneel! There, amongst the weathered trees and misty clouds bearing the wicked winds of impermanence, I have found my truest faith. There, amongst the piles of the charred bridges I have burnt away and the rusty remains of ideas I have since all but thrown asunder, you stand as a testament to what was always meant to be.

Such sweet songs we sing.

It is Coming, It is Here.

July 16, 2013 / Tom

I am clearing space in my life. I’m not sure for what, but I am sure that for some reason I am making room in my life for something that is not currently present in it. So, I go dutifully about my business instinctively, much like a bird making a nest or a wolf creating a den, without knowing what is coming or when it will arrive.

I wonder if I’ve always done this and am now simply aware of it, or if this is something new. I wonder as I watch the fruit fall from the tree of my life if it soon will be my time to ripen. In the silence of my breath I wonder quietly if I am the fruit at all, or simply discovering that I am, instead, the roots of the tree deeply connected with the Earth around me. Am I feeling the Earth as part of me now in a way that has never been? Or am I realizing that I am the Earth; Her streams, Her mountains, Her valleys, Her oceans and Her deserts?

I feel the sky in my stillness. Am I no longer just the blossom, or the fruit, or the tree or its roots, or the Earth but also the sky? I feel myself as the breeze, the clouds, the raindrops, and the starry night sky. I feel lighting come from my fingertips, and heat from my eyes. I feel the Sun burning from my heart and the moon from my Soul.

I feel as if I am the Sun. Just being me, destructive and life-giving, loving to some and painful to others. All I can do is burn, in the way I was created, in the way I have become, and light the sky for some while burning the ground for others.

I sit here for a while, enjoying the warm light from within, the stars surrounding me, the emptiness engulfing me. In the green-hued mist of my stillness I feel it all, and I remember. Yes, I remember it all. From seed to sapling, from sapling to tree, from tree to fruit, from fruit to root, from root to Earth, from Earth to sky, from sky to Sun, from Sun to here. I feel the Universe blanketing me, surrounding me in full emptiness and beautiful aloneness. I can’t feel any separation here, only truth that I am all of it. The sounds of silence tempered by the beating drums of eternal heartbeats fill my Soul with the rhythm of life, and I realize I am.

Now I return as that entirety sinks into that tiny Being we call “me” once again. I realize now that I am no longer just rooted in the Earth, but in everything I am. I love the scorched ground on which my light has shined just as I find joy in the lush meadows that would not ever have existed without me. I walk with a smile in the cracked creek beds that have dried in my presence and swim happily in the oceans teeming with life just because I am. I can make no apologies for either, for you are the creator of your own judgments on the matter. I can only be and let everything fall where it may.

Yeah. I am instinctually creating space in my life. Something is coming. I don’t know what, and I don’t know when, but I can see clearly in my steadfast foundation that when it arrives I will be ready. I can’t make excuses, I can’t make words to describe what it is, but I feel it all around me as I bask in the light I was created to shine. I feel the puzzle fitting nicely into place. I feel the warmth and cold with equal love, and I feel the day and the night blanket me with equal care. It is coming. It is here.

Jesus Must Have Changed His Mind

May 23, 2013 / Tom

Here I sit, my Bible in hand, trying to find that part where Jesus changed his mind. I look through Matthew. Nothing. I look through Mark. Nada. I search through Luke, still nothing. I get past John and, surprisingly, I still find nothing.

Given what I see from those who say they worship Jesus as “God”, I figure somewhere Jesus must have changed his mind. The book I was taught while suffering through Catholic school must have miraculously changed at some point since those lessons. I wouldn’t be surprised, after all the God of the book did all kinds of wild stuff, so certainly changing the entire text on which His superstition, er, I mean religion was based certainly could be done.

Yet I can’t find a single edit.

I can’t see where Jesus suddenly turned his back on the poor, calling them “lazy freeloaders” along the way. I can’t find that notion where the poor were put on notice that they were “on their own” to either starve or beg for mercy to some church as a part of their poverty. I can’t see where Jesus said that the wealthy were deserved of special treatment or any kind of hero-worship.

Nope, my book still says the wealthy will have a hard time getting into heaven. My book still has Jesus eating with the most hated of his society. My book still has him working to feed the poor without conditions. Hhhhhmmmm.

I can’t find where Jesus is pro-death penalty in my Bible. I can’t find where he condemns people to death for violating the laws of the land. I’m sure it has to be in there somewhere because, after all, the Christian part of our society seems strongly in favor of the death penalty. I must have to reread it all over again because certainly those who follow Jesus as Lord and Master could not be for something he was not.

I also can’t seem to find that part where Jesus seeks wealth. I can’t find the capitalist Jesus every conservative Christian seems to know. I look for the man named Jesus who worships money and puts nearly everything behind amassing wealth and power. I can’t find that Jesus though and I can’t find where he even held a job let alone created a company. I am fairly certain that the Americanized conservative Jesus would have had one of the twelve carrying a cash register while another of the twelve carried a sandwich board stating the prices for being healed. I think it’s also fair to say that Americanized conservative Jesus would have had a 501-3(c) as well as a Political Action Committee all at his disposal.

I’m also fairly certain the Americanized conservative Jesus also only raised the dead of the highest bidder. That’s the capitalist way!

Not to get on a tangent, but if the afterlife Jesus described was so wonderful, why did he raise people from the dead anyway? If I had died, was in heaven, and then was brought back by Jesus, I’d get off my stone slab and beat him with my shoe. I know, heaven didn’t exist until Jesus died…or something like that. Uh huh.

Ok, back to the gist of my thought.

I also can’t find where Jesus felt the need to have a weapon to protect himself. I do realize that anyone who can walk on water probably would have no need for a sword, but even when he could have used one he did not and commanded others NOT to use theirs. Certainly the Bible has undergone a Divine edit there. I’m sure it reads,

Then the men stepped forward, seized Jesus and arrested him. ⁵¹With that, one of Jesus’ companions reached for his sword, drew it out and struck the servant of the high priest, cutting off his ear.

⁵²“Give me that thing,” Jesus said to him, “we must defend ourselves against this terror.” And with that Jesus killed everyone save those who agreed with him, and the world was safe for capitalism and democracy.

The fact check is all done and, well, mine still says “for all who draw the sword will die by the sword.” No caveats, no conditions, just a simple statement of fact.

Yet, it seems conservative Christian America is addicted to our modern version of the sword. This conservative Christian America not only suffers from this addiction, and would not only draw the sword, but would also use it with reckless abandon despite the fact that God (or Jesus) did not sneak into our homes in the middle of the night and change the texts to be more agreeable their version of America. Of course he may have feared being shot.

Then there is our “War on Terror.” Our “War on Drugs”. Our imprisonment of more people by percentage of our population than any other industrialized country. Sexual repression and oppression. Guantanamo Bay. This isn’t even going back into our history of racial persecution, slavery, gender oppression, and slaughter of indigenous people.

It leads me to wonder what version of Christianity conservatives suggest we were founded on; the one Jesus lived in the story or the one they have created in their heads as their own. That’s an easy answer because the Jesus I have read about is nothing like the Christian conservatives of America. That is unless the only Bible not changed to fit their model of Christianity is the one I am reading.

I suggest we end this pretentious fallacy that this nation was founded on any version of real Christianity.

Real Christianity doesn’t exist, much like Jesus didn’t exist. No one has ever raised a person from the dead after days on a slab. No one has ever reattached a limb without surgery.

The greatest proof I have found that Jesus did not exist is Christianity itself. The greatest proof I have found that the God of the Bible doesn’t exist comes from those who say they believe in Him.

If Christians really believed Jesus existed and that everything in the Bible existed and was truth, they would have no need to defend their life and property. Gun sales would plummet because they are all on their way to that wonderful place in the sky Jesus talked about. Why defend a life here when something like heaven awaits you out there? Pass the wine and bread, I need a good buzz.

If Christians really believed they would not be so different than the Jesus in the Bible. They’d all be loving those liberal Arab hippies who are like Jesus. They’d all be washing the feet of others. They’d be eating with Democrats and hugging crack addicts. They’d be rushing into prisons to save the condemned, and they’d be loving the hell out of “terrorists”. There would be no cheers over drone strikes. There’d be no joy over the killing of anyone, regardless of their sins.

There would be, however, an awful lot of bruised cheeks, both left and right side.

After all, do any of us know sin-free Christians? If not, how can one of them throw the stone as Jesus asked? Ah, the devil is in the details, and the proverbial Jesus seems to have given conservative American Christians an impossible example to follow. Either that or Jesus certainly changed his mind about everything he taught since ascending into that board room in the sky. Whichever, it seems that despite some notable exceptions in history Christians have given up being like Jesus and have rather sought to make Jesus more like them.

What clearer failure can a religion endure than when the Master it is founded on becomes as irrelevant as a bumper sticker?

What surer failure can a religion find than when the teachings of its founder are less important than the wood on which it is believed he died?

I don’t mind if someone holds on to a rosary believing it will get them to some place that their actions could not. I don’t care if someone believes unreasonably that the world is only 9,000 years old. What I do mind is open hypocrisy on which we have to endure lecture after lecture and statement after statement from these misguided people who who I am is decided by what they believe. That’s when I mind.

So, stop with the nonsense that America is a Christian nation. Stop telling me how wrong gay marriage is and about how homosexuality is a sin. Stop telling me about the value of life when discussing abortion while you are hoping for the death of a convicted criminal. Stop with the clarifying statements that somehow reconcile your anti-Christ-like thoughts with the teachings of the story you pretend to believe in.

Harsh words, I know, but necessary to me nonetheless. I don’t apologize to those who find these words offensive unless they can prove me wrong. I welcome the debate, but please don’t start it out with how the earth was created in less than a week and how each and every woman I know owes me something for my rib. Instead, show me something tangible that doesn’t take a lifetime of conditioning and a lack of intelligence to believe. Do that, and I will apologize wholeheartedly and beg for forgiveness.

“LIVE”

April 3, 2013 / Tom

In the end, none of this will matter.

I will be some old, decrepit shell of who I am now laying on some tomb of cloth and comfort looking back and wondering why any of this mattered to me at all. I will look at my frail arms and wrinkled skin and wonder what I was working toward. I will think about the hours working out, the time spent with my mind buried in a book somewhere and I will ask “why?”. I will look at the coldness of the room around me and remember the memories of making love and of the feelings created in those moments, wondering if it was all worth it.

And then I will smile, and that smile will be the answer.

I will know in the end that God does not exist.

I will see in the end that whatever I thought God was simply was a dream conjured up by the minds of men who simply could not help but try to name the unnamable. I will see that while I was busy worshiping a figment of man’s imagination I missed what God was. I missed Her in the trees as I walked. I missed Her in the songs of the birds and in the sounds of a stream rushing to the ocean. I missed Her in the autumn’s unforgiving coldness and the warm renewal of spring.

In the end I will find that I was so busy looking for life out there that I missed the life in here. I will see that the reason I closed my eyes in prayer was so that I would not look anywhere but within me for the answer. I will find that I am, and always was, the Creator, and that anything and everything was possible had I only sought to make it so. I had the power to heal. I had the power to live. I had the power to be.

I will struggle to move my head enough to see around me, only seeing walls; the same walls I’ve always had around me. I’ve built them, carefully laying block after block until I finally found myself bedridden and without the strength to lay another. I will shed a tear at the meaningless of these stones, suddenly realizing that I simply did not love myself enough to be free. I will remember my many protestations of freedom, but as the end slowly casts its light upon me I will realize how imprisoned I was. I will see my chains in the many “should haves” and “what ifs” my mind sends forward in the stark realization that I never truly lived.

Then I will silence my mind as the walls disappear around me.

I will know then that I was never the body, or the mind, or the beliefs, or the faith, or the failures, or the successes. I was never a husband, or a son, or a brother, or a father. I was what created, and experienced, all of those things.

I will then begin to see what I never knew as God in my body, in my heart and in the way I viewed things. A woman will come in my room to help prop up my weakened head, and ask me if I need anything. I will see what I never knew as God in her, in her smile and in her actions of care and compassion. I will see God in the pillow that now supports my head and in the woven fabrics that now cradle my aged body. In fact, I will see God in everything and realize that there is nothing I am not.

I will see God in the aloneness that I feel, in the waiting and in the moment. I will remember God in the strength I once had and in the strength I now possess. I will hear God in my breaths and in the gaps between them. Again I will smile.

There will be a chuckle as I see that I have experienced the Universe and that, yes, the Universe has experienced me. That laugh will come with a sigh in the realization that it was all so perfect even as my mind now finds fault in what I did not do.

Had my religion been experience I would have been in church every moment of my existence. Had my faith been in “what is” I would have not needed faith at all. Had my mind been focused on that practice I would have easily kept God’s day holy. Each and every moment is God’s day, and presence is the way we keep it sacred.

In the end I will see it all, and in the end I will shout out to me now and say, “LIVE” and beg for a baptism into experience where a priest is found in everyone and everything and the truth is found in each and every step of my life. As my head sinks into the chilly waters of doubt I close my eyes to save them from the sight. There, I feel my heartbeat loudly, and feel the tug of the surface pull at me.

Then I am raised, as if from the dead. As my head breaks the rippled surface my eyes open and I am born. Not born again, but continuing the process of birth that will end the moment my eyes close for the final time. I give thanks for the dream sent back in time by me at the end. I give thanks for the voice echoing in my head commanding me to LIVE. I give thanks for the uncovered truth of who I really am. Then I take a step toward…

The Unkempt Man

September 12, 2012 / Tom

A man walked into church one day. He looked haggard, tired, unkempt and his clothes were unwashed and wrinkled as if he had slept in them for days. He could not help but notice the stares of the congregation as he moved to a pew near the back of the building. He could not help but feel their disdain for him as he took his seat and removed his worn and battered baseball cap.

One woman seated directly in front of him whispered to her friend loudly enough to make herself heard by the man. “Have you ever seen such a sight? That man has no respect for anyone! Just look at how he came to church. I can’t believe it!” Her friend offered no reaction or judgment.

“My dear,” replied the man. “I have the utmost respect for you. In fact, I saved your life once.”

For some reason, the woman’s mind traveled back to a time when she sat alone in her bedroom with a bottle of sleeping pills in her hand and a picture of her dead husband in the other. As she contemplated taking her life, her deep despair lifted and she felt a calm and loving presence sweep over her. “You are loved, you are needed. Lift yourself up off your bed and share yourself with the Universe” came a voice from somewhere. She just could not tell where.

She put the picture down, and as she did she knocked over a small vase. The single rose it carried fell to the floor. As she picked it up, she remembered the time when her husband had given it to her just a few days before his accident. She held it for a moment, and then placed it down next to the picture of him. Both the picture and the rose would make it inside her husband’s coffin later that day.

Back in the present moment, the woman stared straight ahead at the empty altar at the front of the church as the man continued.

“Do not let my appearance make you forget who I am. Do not see my clothing as a sign of anything. Do not judge me for what I wear or how I appear, but for who I am. I saved you for this purpose.

Rather, see those who taught you to judge as in need of your Love. Those who see wrinkled clothing as a testament to truth need to see the reality of their condition. Those who taught you that the veils mattered more than the core are in need of forgiveness.”

The woman remembered the feeling and the tears that flowed when she left the room and saw her children. She cried openly then as they hugged her and told her how much they loved her. Yes, Love. It saw her through her suffering.

“Yes,” said the man. “That’s what you need to share. That’s the feeling that matters most. You can now leave this building, for you have found God’s house. It is where that feeling resides.”

Tears flowed down the woman’s face as she slowly turned to see the man. As her eyes made their way to the spot where he had taken his seat just moments ago she saw that no one was there. The seat was empty save a single rose laying alone on the wood.

Miracles happen daily. Some we see and most we don’t. Embrace Love, it’s the only miracle you’ll need.

∞

Her Eyes (Love’s Warrior Series)

August 30, 2012 / Tom

♥

He could smell the moment he had waited so patiently for. It seemed like a lifetime ago he first had looked into her eyes. Those ivory-circled pools of beauty had captured him, and as he dove deep into their magic he found something he had not expected. He found Love. He found clarity. He found Himself.

His life was not one that suggested these things were possible. He could feel the scars inflicted in his time, and they reminded him of moments when those eyes would not have stopped him. His mind would wander in the moments that had led up to this, to the very moment when he knew who he was. Those wounds would sometimes cause him to scream out in pain. Other times they would cause him to recoil in anticipation. Still others the reaction was a simple reminder that each rose has a thorn and that each pool of beauty had a depth that could drown even the heartiest of swimmers. There was nothing simple about that reminders in actuality, they created the reaction he could not control. Much like the swimmer drowning he would lash out uncontrollably, often attacking his rescuer in the most horrible of ways. He could not control himself in those moments of fear. He was drowning, and he was unconscious of his actions beyond survival.

She had hung on. She would subdue him in these moments. Sometimes her rescue would come in the form of letting him struggle until he was too tired to struggle anymore. In others she would turn her back on him and head to her shore. He would reach out to her in those moments and she would always take his hand. In other times she would fight him and they would find themselves bloodied and bruised but in each other’s arms, safe and secure. It must have been a sight to behold for her as her Warrior struggled with unseen demons and irrelevant wounds in what would be an otherwise serene place to bathe. Yet, she had her own demons and her own wounds, and they often showed themselves in ways he would respond to. He would fight them with her. He would cradle her in his arms in the darkness. He would stand by her regardless of which demon suggested the knife she carried was meant for him. Another moment in her arms would be worth the wound and much, much more.

He looked up from his memory into those eyes. The familiar surge ran up his spine. He had long stopped trying to describe this surge to her. It felt something like a mixture of immense strength and complete weakness. His body would stand firm and his knees buckled. His heart would find a clarity even as his mind became a cloudy mess. His Soul would settle into a calmness even as his heartbeat and breathing quickened. He had resigned himself to a complete inability to describe this moment until he settled on the simple word that seemed indescribable Itself:

“Love.”

Yes, this was Love for him. It was the Kingdom of God he might never have seen if not for those eyes. It was the Garden of Eden he was cast out of when he became ashamed of his nakedness. It was the realization that of the million lifetimes he had felt course through his moments this one exposed the Truth of truths. Love is beautiful. Love is peaceful. Love is the moment you realize you are not the sum of your experiences, you are the realization of the moment. As the surge invaded his Being there were no scars. There were no memories. There was only here and there was only now. Here and now had him lost in her eyes unable to remember that time or this space.

As their hands grasped for each other all ideas of separation vanished as the heat rose within them. He could feel her Soul speak to him and guide him to those places he simply had to go. There were no barriers, no walls, just two Souls merging into One complete understanding. There were no words needed, no guidance required as they explored their desire in perfect harmony with one another. It was here they knew the perfection of the Universe.

They kissed passionately and breathed in each other’s essence as their bodies betrayed the rising desire building within them. The room faded from their awareness as only they mattered in the moment. Clothing disappeared as did any inhibitions their pasts had taught them. They teased each other’s bodies, they played a tune unique to their own set symphony. She would taste him and he her in sheer delightful ecstasy. His mouth became her tool, her’s his as they took each other to places never seen by either. Her wetness surrounded him as she took his hardness in. They would dance a dozen dances to a hundred beats climaxing too many times to count along the way. Finally he would explode as he gazed into her eyes, knowing she had exploded as well.

They would collapse in each other’s arms having given all of themselves to one another. This is where God’s home truly could be found – in the arms of a lover who had given so freely of herself that nothing else existed but that Gift. Her moans were the Angels singing, their movement the perfection of the Universe. This moment was the Big Bang. It was a moment when everything was created and a new Universe showed Itself. As he searched for her eyes she looked into his. Tears disguised as beads of sweat flowed freely from his eyes as his hand found hers. He stared into beautiful ivory-rimmed pools of eternity knowing where he was. He felt renewed, and could feel the surge begin again in his spine. Actually, it had never gone. It was like a constant glow that became more intense as her eyes looked deep into him and pulled out the once-forgotten beauty that resided there. He wasn’t drowning, he was saved, and as he leaned in to touch her lips with his he could sense he had found a place he never wanted to leave.

He was home.

∞

The Liberation of Me

July 27, 2012 / Tom

From the glass door I watch.

The lightning crashes and thunder roars all around while I stand protected by this thin piece of fired sand. I want to step out into the darkness, to feel nature’s fury and take a chance that this life is not yet done with me. I want to leave this place where I feel secure and protected into venture the wild unknown; to get that sense of freedom and knowing that I am alive.

The voice calls and beckons me to step outside. A bolt sears through the sky illuminating what cannot be seen in the darkness. I can see the highlights of the trees in front of this door as the thunder asks for my answer. I raise my hand to the glass and can see the outline of my hand reflected as if a part of me is outside trying to get in. Is the other me frightened? It the other me asking for me to protect him? Or is he asking me to come with him, to venture into the great unknown where the only certainty was uncertainty?

Whichever, I stand alone looking at myself in the glass unsure of the steps I am about to take. I am here, now…not there, then. The reflection of the self I see disappears with each flash of light as the Self I wish to be beckons, knowing that whether I am here or there I am seeking that call of the wild I have heard since the day I was born.

I look around in my box, this place I have built for myself that somehow feels safe.

As the storm rages out there I see the beginnings of truth.

This box is painful. Each piece of timber laid, each window set, each nail driven a testament to pain. In pain I sought relief; I sought security and I built this place to give me a sense of that. Yet, in a storm such as this we begin to see that each piece of timber, each nail, and each shard of broken glass is a weapon against us in the winds of time. Each link of the chain we wrap around ourselves becomes a testament to a lie, and we begin to strangle the very thing we want to be. We weigh ourselves down with a false sense of everything, never knowing what we are because of the boxes and chains we have forced ourselves into.

I cannot play in the rain if I am chained to this place. I cannot see the stars with this roof blocking my view. I cannot see the world from the summit of a mountain if I keep myself locked behind these doors.

Somehow the wind, rain, lightning and thunder don’t seem as dangerous as this place that is giving me the illusion of peace and safety. Dying free is better than living under the burden of these things. I want to be free and enjoy this lightness of being. I want to dance in her arms with the rain drenching us. I want to hear her song in the wind, feel her power in the natural state we are in. I need to break free if I am ever going to get those things I want the most; those things I see when my mind is still and my heart is open. I need to shatter the glass door so the storm can envelop all of this so that I can never return here.

I pick up the hammer I have used so many times before in building this place. It brings back memories I don’t wish to have. I stare at it, wondering where I ever found such a tool, and can’t remember when I ever picked it up. I don’t want it anymore. It needs to be lost in the storm. I look around and smile. I can’t wait to be free of this place and walking into the unknown. I walk up to the door. I feel a sense of trepidation and relief mixed together in this moment. Soon I will be without shelter. Or will it be the sky is my roof? I chuckle at the thought, somehow knowing…

I believe I will have to dodge the wreckage of my illusions, the debris of my mind as it is consumed by out there.

I look up, seeing the other me slowly raise the hammer with a look of fear in his eyes and determination in his grip. He hurls the hammer both toward me and away from me at the same time. I hear the sounds of glass shattering along with the rush of wind and crack of thunder. One of us ceases to be in that moment of great liberation. I am free as the orange tinted clouds betray the dawning of a new day on the horizon. I cry, I laugh, and I dance…