Tag: Healing (Page 1 of 5)

The Awareness of Pain

September 22, 2021 / Tom

“I do not need fixing,” she said as she handing me the keys to a toolbox.
“I do not need help,” she said as she heaped her burdens in my barrow.
“Please trust me,” she said as spoke words of deceit.
“Please love me,” she said as she pushed me away.

There are many ways we lose touch with our truest self. We often surrender our honor to the ghosts of pain past and in the truest sense of the word “loss”, we turn the past loss of trust and love into a future act of horrid retribution. We hurt those who have nothing to do with the wounds we want to share with them.

What if we took a different path?

Let’s just remember times when we’ve reacted to something our lover has done not because of who they are, but because of what we’ve experienced in the past? Remember those angry words that came flowing from our mouths like polluted waters over a dam? Do you remember how you could not stop them?

I am sure we all do, and can pinpoint that moment when we wished we could put those worms back in the can. Let’s then imagine if we had the discipline and the awareness not to open the can to begin with.

Pain Points

We all have pain points floating around our systems. We all have asteroids flying around our space ready to destroy even the most beautiful creations. There is one difference between the metaphor I’ve used and the natural world. We are in control of our asteroids. We can protect those creations we hold most dear.

It’s hard work at times and we can’t always be successful. Yet we can strive to always be well above the Mendoza line in our efforts. We can’t always bat 1000, but we can certainly come close with practice. Best yet, the more we practice the closer we can come to perfection and when we do fail we’ll find we rarely strike out.

Take, for instance, the last relationship I tried. I knew my partner was lying and it made me angry. Rather than spew my anger right at her I contained it and sat with it a while. That did not mean I acted like everything was fine (I’m a really bad actor), but it meant that while I processed my emotions I wanted to focus solely on those emotions. I got quiet and focused.

She kept pressing me, and I kept responding that I would talk to her about it in a few minutes. There was so much there in the lie, it was not just about the lie itself. While I won’t get into the details surrounding the bullshit, the bullshit was there and I needed to address it.

(Disclaimer. When I say I know she was lying, I honestly knew she was. There was no guesswork here.)

Not Fixing the Lie

After a breath, I told her that I did not believe her story and the reasons why. She sat there dumbfounded, not because I thought she was lying, but because she thought she did such a great job of packaging the bullshit.

“Just come clean,” I said.

“I’m not discussing this. In fact, I’m going home.”

“Me too. I’m sorry I drove here for this nonsense.”

We parted ways, and that was that. I was not about to invest any time in “fixing” the lie or the cause behind it. No part of me wanted to carry that burden, and no part of me wanted to be with someone I could not trust. She was free to walk her path and me, mine.

Five days later the official breakup came. I’m pretty sure she’s making peace with her demons insomuch as allowing them to rule the roost. That is no longer my concern.

It truly is not my job to fix you. In words I’ve used often after being told once I was someone’s pet project, “I’m not a pipe and you’re no plumber.”

Support, But Follow the Prime Directive

Those of us who use to watch Star Trek will know the Prime Directive. That General Order One stated that no Star Fleet personnel could interfere with the natural development of a species or civilization. They could protect and support said species, but they could not interfere with the natural development of that species.

I’ve learned to approach relationships in the same way. I will offer unbridaled support to my partner, friend and loved one, but I will not interfere with their natural development. They can be influenced by me naturally, and me them, but direct interference is not offered.

Of course both Captains Kirk and Pircard had to make weighty decisions on appropriate violations of the Prime Directive. That usually meant the protection of life, and that is a meaningful exception. I will not stand by and watch you die and I may remove myself from your orbit to protect myself from your behavior, but I will always try as hard as I can to support you without interfering in your development.

That part isn’t always easy. After all, we as humans know it all, and we want the world to know we know it all. Sometimes playing dumb, however, is the smartest part about us.

An Ode to My Sister (The Line in the Sand)

September 14, 2021 / Tom

I am going to rant here – spill my thoughts as they come and leave them uncensored. Sorry if this rambles, but I don’t think it will.

In the two weeks since my sister’s passing, two quotes have been inundating my mediations. Two quotes that fail to sum up my feelings but come as close as any.

The first is from one of my favorite poets, Rumi. It is derived from the middle verse of his poem, A Great Wagon

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there. ~Rumi

My sister, how I wish I could have met you there! How I wish we could have smelled the fragrance of our happy times, mended broken stems of flowers crushed by our ideas, and tended to the fertile soil of what could have been. How I wish whatever nonsense that kept you there and me here mattered less than the fields were we once played. Sometimes, I guess, when two warriors from the same clan draw lines in the sand, the fields of truth become battlefields. In that battle, some things are just never meant to be.

The poem goes on.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase “each other”
doesn’t make any sense.

Thus, we remain forever parted even as we remain forever bound. I guess we had too many words, too many ideas, to surrender to a place where “each other” cannot exist. You and I are at fault for our eternal parting. You and I are at fault for not tending to our field.

The second quote is from Jack Kornfield’s Buddha’s Little Instruction Book.

The trouble is, you think you have time.

This one is always the kicker, always the one we seem to ignore when we need its wisdom the most. I may think I have time, but I also know better. Time is the one commodity I cannot replenish, and all of those things we should have paid attention to can never gain our attention again. The seeds we failed to sow will remain unplanted. The water we neglected to drink will remain in the well. Regret, it seems, will be our legacy. Nancy, we should have known better.

Great wisdom, though, can spring from great tragedy. Where I cannot mend a flower torn apart by a storm, I can plant a new one. I still have breath in me, so I will till the fields where I will both meet the living and the dead. While I have no idea when my end shall come, I still have life in me, so I plan to use that life and the regret I carry in your name to be a good steward of this space.

Perhaps that is the best I can do for you. I can remember our laughter and I can remember our tears. I can see you trying not to laugh at my jokes and I can see the wounds we inflicted on one another. Perhaps the memory of who we were as brother and sister is the field where we will finally meet. Let’s make something good of it. Let’s laugh again.

So it is goodbye, for I don’t give any credence to the “we’ll see each other again” stuff. We had that chance and we blew it. Instead, I will move on, doing my best to not make that mistake again. I will find love and nurture it. I will seek peace and live in it, and when war comes and battles much be waged I will fight hard and then let that shit go.

It just occurred to me that greatest sin we can inflict on those we love is drawing that line in the sand. We will always have battles and battlefields, but when we fail to make peace we fail to be worthy warriors. When we fail to find that field that exists outside of right and wrong we fail to be worthy lovers. We must do better, even if that means erasing the lines we’ve drawn once they begin to do harm. The battle cannot last for eternity.

Action Breeds Confidence (Warrior Prose)

March 13, 2020 / Tom

We are, my friends, in scary times.

In my life I’ve noticed that there are two types of occurrences in each and every experience. One is what we can control and the other is what we can’t. In challenging time I’ve learned to focus intently on what is within my control and much less on what I can’t. I’ve learned that action breeds the confidence to relegate fear. Inaction allows the fear to fester and can render us useless. I’ve also found that fear is often nothing more than a lack of confidence.

Here are some examples of what I mean.

Boxer’s Dread

I used to box in my younger years and I feared losing and getting “beat up”. Rather than be hamstrung by fear, I would train harder and push my body and training beyond what I thought I could handle. I wanted to be better conditioned, better trained and better prepared than my opponent could ever be or, at a minimum, believe I was. That confidence not only rid me of fear, but had me actually stir crazy while waiting for the fight to happen.

I could see my opponent in my mind and see him working his ass off to beat me. That vision would cause me to increase my intensity. I could not imagine losing to anyone because I was not prepared. If they were better than me it was going to be a contest of skill, will and preparation. They were going to have to bring their “A” game.

Fear in the Fire

In my time as a firefighter, fear was an ever-present companion. Firefighters die and get severely injured doing their thing and it happens quite frequently. I’ve lost four friends in the line of duty and have never met a more courageous person than a firefighter. We all know what we’ve signed up for, so fear would be there as a constant companion. Our trick is we learn to use fear as another tool we carry and not as something that prevents us from action.

Fear drove me to constantly be educated on the methods, technology, and science of fire/rescue work. I would train, study, train, and respond. Those efforts bred great confidence. While I could not control everything on a fire/rescue scene, my end would not be due to a lack of preparation.

The fear was still there, but I was able to use it to hyper focus on the skill set I had developed. At no time was I limited by my fearful companion. Action had bred confidence and confidence put fear in its place.

A Stroke of Action

Fast forward a couple of decades when I found myself in an emergency room having an ischemic stroke. I believed I was going to die or, at the very least, be incapacitated. I had lost control and strength in my limbs and was blind. Swallowing was a challenge and I felt that nothing was ever going to be a same if I was able to survive.

While lying there on my gurney waiting for a CAT scan, I decided on settle down. I began to meditate. In that state I could feel the dizziness, the weakness, and the fear. I also could feel something else; a calm and it spoke to me. Not in English, but in a language that spoke directly to my inner intelligence.

“You are on this ride, and there is no getting off. Enjoy it, learn from it, and use it. You know what you need to do, so do it. The outcome is not guaranteed, but you can be an active participant in getting there.”

I did know what to do, and I decided to do it. I needed to trust my inner self and disregard what others told me. In the process of healing, whatever that meant, I had to become an active participant and not just an observer.

So I employed everything I had always employed. I approached even the most menial work with joy and intensity.

The first mission was get my sight back. I would visualize my eyes working again and the neural pathways being rerouted. The pain was intense as I would open my eyes to check my progress but I even approached that with joy. Soon, I was able to see again and although I still have some trouble with my eyes, I am nearly fully recovered.

Learning to Walk Again

When it was time for me to learn to walk again, I would actually laugh at myself. This amazed my physical therapists and they would often ask me how I kept so positive.

“The last time I learned to walk I was too young to remember. I think its fun to act like a two-year old again. Besides, if I learned once I can learn again.”

I would visualize walking and work at it. Within a few weeks I went to walking with a walker, having two therapists holding onto a gait belt, to walking (then jogging) in the hallways. I would challenge myself in every way I could (I would walk endless laps in a pool, the waves challenging my balance). My balance took a while to recover, and I still have some issues, but I’ve learned to deal with them well.

In dealing with any issue I face I find that improvement always follows. If I approached them in fear, I could expect to do nothing but sit in my own swill.

The actions I took in this challenge kept me positive and out of the muck that fear would have created. Each time I would hear the voice of fear nibbling in my mind, I would do something to counter it. Action always was the antidote and it still is.

The question to ask yourself when in the presence of fear is “What can I do?” and never let the answer be “nothing”. Then do it and see what happens.

A Conversation With Mom

June 3, 2019 / Tom

Last night, a dream.

It wasn’t just any dream, but that lucid type of dream that somehow feels real yet your eyes open in the spot where you last closed them. It wasn’t just any dream, but the type of dream that left me shaken, stirred, yet completely at peace. It wasn’t just any dream, but a conversation between my heart and the greatest wound I had ever faced.

In this dream, I talked to my mother.

My mother had done horrible things to her son, taught him horrible lessons that would see many monuments of his life reduced to rubble. She had given him the gift of mistrust, of confounding fear that everyone in life was going to hurt him in the various ways they will, and those gifts would ruin so many wonderful moments and distort so many wonderful views along his path. So much pain. So much fear. So much to overcome.

I have long forgiven my mother for those things. After years of allowing proverbial and literal bloodfalls to pour from those open wounds, I came to the realization that she gave me those gifts but it was I who decided to hold onto them. I never did get to have a discussion with my mother about this in life. I never received an apology for the lies, for the pain, for the wounds inflicted on both my mind and my body while she breathed the air we shared. While many in my family continue the lie in denial of all that was, I was haunted by my mother’s ghost long before she died, and I still wince when those wounds are pressed, although the wincing is hardly noticeable by the world outside my own mind.

I don’t forsake that reaction. I face it and master it nearly every time I feel the triggers pulled. I just don’t feel the need to share those gifts with others any longer. I don’t care to write my story with a pen my mother gave me, on a book her husband held open for her, or with the invisible ink others in my family wish I would write it with. I wish to write my own story in a book held open with the hand of immeasurable self-love, with the scarlet ink of truth that cannot be denied, or blurred, because it is etched on parchment that readily accepts it, forgives it, and allows it to be with great honor.

I close my eyes each night with a meditation of remembrance. I remember the lesson, the journey of transformation. I hear the voices, and I tell them I love them too. I close my eyes knowing who I am, and honor the journey that has brought me to that fortunate space I wish all could see. Mostly, I remember who I am and say to the little boy, the young man, and my present heart “I love you.”

That has been my practice for years now. Last night was no different. As I dozed with the words “I love you” still echoing in my Being I could feel the familiar peace settle over my body and mind. I could hear a memory of the rapid flow of a nearby creek spilling from my ears. I felt the warmth of a Spring Colorado sun on my flesh, and the coolness of the northern breeze raising bumps on my skin. A memory of the clean mountain air filling my lungs as my legs turned on my bike followed by a desire to travel great distances in this way. My soul is alive, my body must continue on to meet its mission, my journey is nowhere near complete.

“Tommy…”

I heard her through the memory of the rushing creek.

“Huh?” My soul replied.

“I’m sorry.”

It seemed all sound surrendered to silence with those words. I could still feel all that was, but I could only hear the sound of her voice coming from all places in the landscaped scene around me.

“Mom?”

“Yeah. It’s me. And I’m sorry.”

“Well, you should be. You left and never said a word.”

“You have every right to be angry. I just hope you can forgive me so that you aren’t carrying that weight around with you. It’s not fair to you to be burdened with such a weight.”

“I’ve forgiven you, Mom. I’ve also forgiven myself for the weight I still carry. Perhaps in time I will be able to drop it all, but I no longer beat myself up for carrying it. I do my best, and when those leaves decide its time to fall from this tree, I won’t hold on to them.”

“I hope not. None of this was your fault. I can’t help the way things were. All I can say is that I always loved you, even when I could not show it. I always wanted what was best for you, even when I got in your way. I always wanted to be the best mother for you I could be, even though I failed. I just wasn’t strong enough to turn from my pain, my anguish, and my addictions.”

“I understand. Ending the patterns nearly killed me. I guess that battle can’t be waged by everyone.”

“True. I’ve seen what you went through. My soul has cried real tears for what I’ve done. I know, however, that you will do great things with what you’ve reclaimed from me. What I tried to steal from you…”

Her voice trailed off as if she was remembering. I sighed. She had hit the nail on the head. She had tried to steal everything from me – my identity, my story, my life, and my heart.

“Tommy,” she interrupted her silence.

“Yes?”

“I must tell you this. While I am not proud of what I’ve done, I can now see purpose in it. My pain was strong, very strong. But you needed it to be.”

“How so?”

“Look at your strong body. You know the value of overcoming resistance, how the harder the workout the stronger you become in the process of completing it. My pain challenged me and I was not strong enough to defeat it. I gave it to you, and you were strong enough to not only defeat it, but defeat the pain created in you during that process. My son, I am so proud of you. Death was the only way I could change. You’ve changed in life, with life, with so much more to go.”

“Yeah, I know Mom. I just wish it hadn’t been so hard, and that I hadn’t hurt others in the process of dealing with our pain.”

There it was. Our pain!

“I wish there was more in life that had brought us together than just pain. It overshadows those few, but important memories we could have shared.”

“Perhaps one day we can share them. When the time is right.”

“Oh, we will.”

I smiled, and closed my eyes.

“Mom, I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Good, because I’m not a ghost. I’m not haunting you save the ability you give me to haunt you. I don’t reside ‘out there’. I live inside of you. When you pass you will realize that you live inside your own children and those you love. You will live in their actions, in their memories, in their trials and in their victories. You will be a part of every breath they take, every footprint they leave on the earth. You won’t be a ghost, you will be very real in the ripples you’ve sent with those little pebbles of you you’ve thrown out into the ether.”

“I really wish we could have had these types of talks years ago. Things would have been very different.”

“Exactly, but they weren’t meant to be different. All of those pebbles that you find, those stones you throw out into the ether, have a purpose. They aren’t there by accident. You’ve written about that before, you’ve seen that in your visions. Every moment in your life had and continues to have a purpose. It’s time you started realizing that purpose. It’s time you picked up those pebbles as well, and then toss them into the ether. Don’t hide from them. Don’t cover them. They have great value, and they need to fulfill their purpose.”

“How do I do that?”

“You will see. It’s time you and I write a book. It’s time we stop hiding in shame of what we have done and start lighting torches with that light. It is a light, my son, trust me on that.”

I thought it odd that the woman who had taught me so much about lying, about the abuse of trust, was now asking me to trust her.

“I know, it’s a crazy request,” she replied to my unspoken point. “But it’s important. Your forgiveness has exposed many things to you. It has brought your wisdom into the light. It has brought your strength to the forefront. It has shown you love, it has sung you songs of hope. It has brought me to you right now. So, you can either choose to use it, or not, and see what it brings you next.”

I knew in my entirety that she was right. I wondered where this woman was throughout my life.

“I am, what you feel right now, who I always was. Wise, loving, truthful…it’s who we all are when we rid ourselves of the layers others place on us. The layers we choose to keep swaddling ourselves in. We are all wise when we drop the veil of stupidity others place on us. We are all loving when we rid ourselves of the fear others gift us with. We are all truth when we drop the lies the shadows bring into our hearts. You know this, you’ve seen it. That is the first pebble you need to cast out there. It’s ripple will be felt far and wide.”

“I will. But how?”

“Well, first you need to wake up and process this. You need to be shaken. You need to quake with all your might. That will rid your tree of the weakest leaves, and allow those pebbles, those gems you’ve been holding on to, to fall to a space where you can pick them up and throw them. Then, watch what happens.”

“Ok. Mom?”

“Yes, Tommy,” she replied.

“Thank you. I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

“You don’t have to. I know. Remember, I am not ‘out there’. I am right inside you, so I know. Now, wake up!”

My eyes opened with a startle as the words “wake up” brought me out of my sleep. I looked around, half scared and half crying, shaken to my core. All I could hear as the quaking went on throughout me was “watch what falls. You will see….”

There will, I am sure, be more to come. For now, I’ll just watch what falls.

Healing (A Poem with some prose)

June 2, 2019 / Tom

What if today,

We found ourselves centered in the midst of our own Being?

Could we stroke the hair

Without owning the despair

Of the one we love?

Could we somehow find the balance,

To love without owning?

Without owning the one we love?

Without owning their demons they play with in the night?

Without owning the lies they tell themselves in the moments of their despair?

It’s a challenge, no doubt.

The Savior in me wants to die on the cross for you,

To save you from your sins, to cast the devils the beguiles you into the Sea’s abyss.

And banish your tears,

Exile them well beyond the fabled gates of heaven.

But the lover in me knows there is a much harder choice.

I must let you go to wallow in your misery,

Allow you to wade in that ocean of darkened truth,

I will not let you drown, no….I will die to save you then,

But no person alive has ever become the strongest swimmer they can be

From the security of a lifeboat, of the safety of a sandy beach.

We must all come close to drowning to know the beauty of this life,

The wonders of our own strength,

The truth of who we are indeed.

Knowing love will not allow us to sink beneath the surface.

If we drown, it will be of our own choosing.

We can always push the outstretched hand of love away,

One last breath before we sink, exhaled in the denial of one truth,

For the finality of another.

We are all blessed creators, even in our moments of uncertainty.

For it is we who create even the darkest moments we have wallowed in.

_____________

I have several scars, one of which resides within my left eyebrow. It was the result of a sucker punch, but that’s a story for another day. I remember when I was in the emergency room getting stitched up, the doctor doing the stitching said these poignant words to me.

“It may start to itch as it heals. Don’t scratch it, or it will never heal. Let the healing process do its thing.”

As I’ve gotten older, and a bit wiser, I’ve realized that piece of advice is a great metaphor for all of the wounds, both emotional and physical, I have that needed to be healed. The more attention I gave them, the more I scratched them when they itched, the less likely they were to heal and the more likely they were to get infected. If I could only master leaving them to the natural process of healing they would heal fantastically without any intentional effort of my mind or ego. In fact, the only mindful intention I would give them was in the mastery of not picking at them. Believe me, that isn’t always easy.

That does not mean that we should ignore our wounds. We do, after all, need to get stitches from time to time. There is a time, though, when we need to let go of the focus we place on our wounds and allow the natural process of healing to take place. Sometimes, we need to get the hell out of the way, and focus on other parts of life, if we ever want to be truly healed.

That is a great reminder for me today, and a pretty awesome intention to set as I begin my morning.

The Compass

March 6, 2019 / Tom

In the whirlwind of things that seem to be, a man can get lost in happenstance. He can look at his condition and let the winds of his mind blow without control, often decimating things he’s built with care in his life. He often looks at what is going on around him and asks “why?” without ever really knowing the answer. The question may often be rhetorical but the answer is always there, ready to be explored.

It’s easy to get lost in the wilderness of mind when you’ve either forgotten, or failed to obtain, your heart’s compass. It’s an easy thing to get lost to the fear or ambivalence that life has gifted us. It’s even easier to ignore the compass we’ve been blessed with, since we often cede our power to someone or something else in our journey without realizing that they can only guide us with a compass uniquely theirs. We leave ourselves to the mercy of our minds often devoid of a compass that points true North, and to the sextants of others who can only point to their charted path. We then take their instrument as our own.

To the demons of fear I always ask, “Where would I be without you?” They laugh and come up with some nonsensical answer that may make sense to some gurus, but not to my heart. I value my journey, even the times when I’ve become helplessly lost, but I also understand that I would value my journey even if I had made it with a lot less fear. After all, if things are as they were meant to be wouldn’t they be the same even if I had been navigated more by my heart compass and less by demons who only serve their own purpose? Would I not have gotten to the mountains and to the sea anyway but with a lot less baggage and quite a few less scars? Maybe. It’s best not to add that question to the whirlwind of things that seem to be since I can already feel overburdened by the weight of that satchel.

To the angels of love I’ve asked, “Where were you in my times of need?” Flashbacks of affirmations I once left strewn about my space come to me in that instance. Pictures and words and sticky notes blowing about in the room as I went about my day not living a single one of them. It seemed an agreement I had with life was to collect the affirmations and ideas of others but never actually use them. I was too busy listening to demons of fear and playing in their domain to actually try. I would collect things like “Follow your heart” and “life is best lived outside your comfort zone” while never actually following my heart nor stepping foot outside my comfortable box. Rumi would instruct me to “be notorious” but all I could do is worry about my reputation. It seemed then, though I know better now, that the demons were simply overpowering the angels. Demons can sing and laugh so loudly that little else can be heard, and the echoes of their song can stretch for an eternity if you allow it.

That was not, however, meant to be my story. My story was meant to be one of a hand rising above the ashes, of a man climbing out of a pit to dust himself off and head toward the sunset. It was to be a story of resilience, of hope, and of love. A man who once listened to demons and thought the angels had forsaken him now stands tall in the light of love, and I only look back to remind myself of what an incredible journey it has been. Through the valleys to the mountains I’ve walked, crawled and ran sometimes without any direction and sometimes in the folly of those pointing the way. One day I would find my compass and I would follow a path I had chosen.

That is not to say fear has not been present. Fear is always present. In fact, I can find very few moments of note in my life where fear was not there doing its best to influence the outcome. Fear is a horrible compass though. It often spins frantically with no rhyme or reason, and one can get desperately lost trying to make sense of its way points. So much attention must be paid to the spinning dial that we miss so much around us, including those things we trip on and those walls we run into. In my story, I’ve discovered my heart and that has proven to be a reliable, stable and complete compass. Even in those times when fear is shouting in the caverns of my mind, I’ve learned to pause and look at my heart’s compass. So far, it has always pointed me in the right direction. Where fear has often gotten me lost, I’ve discovered a true path in love. Best of all, I never lose sight of the things around me in love. Love simply does not demand that type of attention. It does get my attention, but rarely in a way that doesn’t highlight the beauty of everything around me.

Perhaps that is one of the major differences between fear and love? Perhaps it is the level of attention we must devote to the former while the latter is busy highlighting what we really should focus on? It would seem to make sense in my experience. The demons demanded so much attention that I could not hear the angels. The angels who seemed to have forsaken me in their silence could have been just less demanding of my attention. Perhaps they knew I would eventually find them. It just could be that they just accepted the fact I hadn’t, and may never introduce myself.

There must be a reason the main word in compassion is compass. I’d suggest that it is there because when love is our guiding instrument we not only offer compassion to the demons and to others, but to ourselves. My angels offered my demons compassion until the moment when I could find them in the midst of my suffering. At the moment when I traded in one set of guides for another, when I began to focus on the love within me rather than the fear instilled in me, everything changed. I found my truth North. I hope we all get that chance.

Sunken in the Hollows

August 8, 2018 / Tom

I hear the footsteps, and see my feet walking down an old, familiar hallway. A brightly-lit room turns sepia as I enter, the silence grows in the aftermath of my entrance. Strong I am as I cross the threshold, shortly that will be forgotten.

In the pales of own ingenuity I stumble through the doorway. Shocked, nearly blinded, the stoic nature of my heart melts in the damp air of own subconscious. Legs made strong by a long journey give way to the temptation of the moment. I am sinking.

The purpose of this arrival remains unclear, yet arrived I have. I want to shout to the demon before me that things are different this time, that I have mastered what I was sent to master. I steel myself to the battle about to happen and then the subtle, soft voice stops me in my tracks.

I know that voice. I have never forgotten it. It is as much a part of me as my own flesh, very much a weakness that turns my mind against me. Old scars seem to reopen on their own, and the echoes of stories past as my knees give way; my breath difficult to recover as my form falls to the floor.

“I am different. You do not know me,” I shout as I tumble. I wish to stand, but can find no strength in my legs. My arms give way as I try to recover, and I notice little words etched on the floor as it meets my chest with a thump. These are words I have long forgotten. These are words I have not uttered since…

…then.

Moments of suffering tumble on top of me as memories flood my heart. I can remember etching those words so very long ago, during the dark times. I can remembering uttering each of them as the pain poured from my chest. Words I cannot speak now are words I once believed. I read them, but cannot find the strength to says them. It was in my weakness that I wrote the prose, and it to that weakness that I desperately do not want to return. I wish to be awake, to end this nightmare, but sleep has a hold upon my heart.

I search for some sanctuary wondering what will be next. Her voice comes at me from every angle, and though I feel paralyzed with fear I search for her acceptance. There I will feel safe again. There I will feel loved. Words that she gave me, words that I agreed to, were words that would drive me to seek shelter within her.

When her touch finally came, my body let loose a shudder and a sigh at the same time. Sliding backwards I came to rest on her lap, my head laying nestled on her naked breasts.

“Don’t worry, I’m here,” she whispered, comforting me with gentle strokes of her hand.

“But I have changed,” came my reply. “I don’t need…” her lips silence my own, my thoughts drifting to a time when this was all I needed, all I longed for. I could feel weakness return as I sought her approval, and longed for her acceptance. I knew I would fail, as I always had, because that is what I do.

Yet I buried my head deeper in her chest. Approval never known was within my grasp. Soon, she would see me as I am, and love me just the same.

Nothing. I tried to get closer to her, murmuring a mantra of change, of strength, of rising to the heights of my own desire. Still nothing. I waiting to see what I would need to do next simply to be loved.

Nothing.

I had sunk once again to the hollows, looking for the features in my space that would remind me of what I had achieved. I had to get away from here, knowing that the great love within my heart would never be realized in the space where I had stumbled once again. I would love the voice forever, knowing that even deafness would not render it silent.

Awakened, I moved away. This time I was on my own as I found the strength to move toward the door I had fallen through before. I wanted to stay, and I could feel the stinging bite of tears flow down my cheeks as I opened the door. I may have even muttered a sob as I tried to regain my breath. All I knew is that despite my desire to get out of that room, part of me wanted to stay.

It is in the hollows of this life that I have found myself. In the weakness I discover the unrealized strength that drives me forward. In the darkness I uncover the ability to see without the light, and to miss its absence only long enough to find it again. In the dream I discover the ability to awaken regardless of how strong the gravity of that memory. It is in the words that I have etched on the rock bottom of my life that I find a mixture of truth and the lie which are, undeniably, a part of who I am.

Neither the summit nor the valley defines me. Each has left its own mark of comedy and tragedy on the pages of my life. I am not a beast until I am the whimpering pup. I am not the lion until I have first survived as a cub. I am not strong without my weakness, nor am I courageous without my fear. I have not the will, nor the ability, to honestly deny either.

She Shall See Again (A Poem)

November 9, 2017 / Tom

Through twisted tales of Neverland,
A soul that’s born as thee,
Was told a lie that many tell,
That blind girls cannot see.

In misty dreams and darkened caves,
Her heart was bent and torn,
Yet through the dust and crimson grime,
A warrior was born.

One day to never doubt again,
One day to never bend,
A warrior’s snarl shall crest her lips,
When she shall see again.

She heard an honest poem once,
A man who loved her so,
She could not drop her sword and run,
Her shield would not let go.

Through words and whimsies she told those lies,
She thought that she was blind,
One day she’ll come to realize,
The blindness was in her mind.

One day she’ll rise to claim her throne,
She’ll decide just where and when,
In that moment a Sun shall rise,
And she shall see again.

~TG

A Solid Truth

November 4, 2014 / Tom

Through the numbness gaze I see

Cloudy, murky, beholden to the current

Leaning, listing, the stormy sky emblazoned

Calmly, the whitecaps form.

Through the blinded folds of skin I feel

Nothing, lost moments, surrounded by light everywhere

Laying still yet falling into the whirlpool

Rising, the foamy surf left evidence to the dying.

Lovely, I’m lost to the bliss of my own ignorance

Awakened in a moment, I cannot stand to shout

Aware in a flash, I cannot look to see that spark

Forever changed, the light enters me where I am wounded.

But such is the way of great fortune

To be wounded but alive

To be silenced but not forgotten, then heard again

She reaches for the coldness and brings a warmth renewed.

One wobbles, but does not fall

One stumbles, but finds sure footing

Somewhere, beyond the certainty of the next step

Comes the power of where the feet now stand.

One regrets, but accepts what cannot be changed

One worries, but gives himself to the great Ocean on which he lives

There, in the horizon that we call our home

Come the Sunrises and Sunsets that define our days.

Goodnight, dear, see me in your dreams

Goodbye, friend, hear me in your laughter

Feel me as the waves caress your feet, as the Sun warms your face

Know me when the light appears as a new day comes.

There is nothing to fear there, in the waves

Dance like you’ve never danced before

And know me there, everywhere

No surrender, no retreat, just calm acceptance of the Warrior.

Now, let’s go, to that healing place

Let’s bask in the warm water

Play in the lush fields where the color is blinding

And hold this moment dear.

Let’s leave the worry to others

Go crazy in the surf, find ecstasy in the sand

Together, as lovers sitting on an Earthen altar

Together in every breeze, in every wave, in every squawking seagull.

There is heaven.

There is hell.

There is everything in between

And it is there that we will find ourselves in a solid truth.

I Long for Winter

September 12, 2014 / Tom

Silence.

What is wrong with basking in the silence?

What is wrong with the aloneness of nothing’s sound? Where is the error within this isolation? Within the miracle of those spaces caught between the notes, within the sweet sound of creation stuck within the cracks of what we see as destruction?

From somewhere comes a sigh. From outward poses of false realities come awkward words of truthful fantasies.

I walk along trying to find the mindless footprints I’ve cast in the hardened bedrock of my life; wondering why some fear the sturdiness of this place, why they search for escape by looking for the invisible tracks they swear they left behind.

I question, they don’t respond.

They react.

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