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

Tag: humanity

Rise! Dear Heart…

The floodgates have opened. The writer is back, his heart in tune, his soul awakened, and his growl nestled firmly against her breast. He has survived for this moment, and in honor of his survival a prose is born for those who are fighting for their own. He is in this spot because he willed himself to live, and he will never let those he loves shrink from the battles they have at hand.

For those who are struggling, who are facing battles unparalleled in their existence, he hears their growls as well. Even if they can’t yet hear that sweet sound, he hears it echoing in his own past. He knows and he hears, and soon his heart beckons them onward.

“Rise, dear heart, for you are loved and you are needed.”

The rains pour on the battlefields of our existence, making slick, muddy work for warriors climbing to the summits of their lives. Yet they must climb. They can never quit. They may rest and they may crumble, but they will rise to meet the challenge.

We must be vigilant, for each other, and not fail to reach our destination for a lack of effort. We must find our tribe, those pure hearts in tune with our own, who will push us forward. Those beautiful souls who sing our song and give us shelter when we need to rest. Such love is not romance, it is human and such power is not fickle, it is divine.

“Rise, dear heart, for though I cannot walk this path for you, I can walk it with you.”

Push, and walk hard, but know that if you call I will come. If you ask, you will find my hand reaching through the smoke and it will not let you go. I dare not pretend you cannot do this on your own, but know that you need not be alone as you face the storm. No matter the distance, I am here. No matter the reason, I am beside you.

I am no stronger than you. I have no superpower. You are everything I am, maybe even more. Yet in the ebbs and flows of this life I will carry you when I am strong and your are not. As I am able, I will lay with you in your despair and hold your broken pieces until you are able to mend them. Perhaps each act of such love will be returned, and perhaps not. The gift is in the giving, and the gift and the giver are one. Life itself demands nothing less of warriors.

For now know that you are cherished, you are needed, and you are not alone. You will have us at your back and you will not face the demons alone. We are so blessed to watch you rise, dear heart…

 

The Captain

I see you, old man.

Some may call the light in your eyes crazy, but I see the pure, unshackled joy in them.  I see each ray of your light as a synopsis of an untold and unedited story, a magical journey most would not understand because you have written it all by yourself. I see the love pouring out of you while you draw your art, ready to share it with a world that does not understand you.  You put your purest thoughts in colorful shapes on a poster board, hoping to share a bit of your light with others and that they return the favor with a few quarters lying without purpose in their cup holder.

I see the way you smile, the way your light shines through the spaces where teeth once lived. Your weathered and aged skin bears the lines of a billion smiles and signs of a billion tears, and your lips curve naturally upward as though you sleep with a perpetual smile. When you smile I notice one eye closes just a bit, like an old sea captain mastering an aging schooner. I see you looking at each approaching car as though they were stars in the nighttime sky being used to plot a course to lands still unknown. I see you weaving a tale in your mind, each footfall a word spoken to those deafened by their own imprisonment. I see a bit of you in a lot of me, and I don’t even know your name.

Yet through what I can see, I can also feel. I can feel the heartbreak, the loss, the misery and the chaos. I can see your joy but I can feel your sorrow. I can see you arguing with invisible antagonists and hear your voice holding firm against their tide. I feel them teasing you, poking at your wounds, reminding you of why you ran away to take your place among the anonymous. I can feel them breaking your heart over and over again, and I can feel you wanting them to leave you alone even as you grasp tightly hoping to never let them go. You are not anonymous, my brother, not to some of us who can dream, who can feel, and can sense the currents of life under the hull of own ship. Those of us who know we are but seconds away from being just like you honor your kingship, while those of us who fear being like you turn our heads in ignorance, ignoring that part of you that is so much a part of us.

I’ve seen you walking, pushing your overflowing cart for miles to that island where you spend your days. I once wondered how you magically appeared until one day my question was answered and I saw your old body pushing that cart at least a mile and half from your destination. I came back that way an hour later and there you were, sitting in your own world, drawing on your poster board while waiting for the stars to shine. I’ve watched you walk up and down the roadway, art in hand. Once in a while someone would provide you a gift, yet very few of them would seem to appreciate the gift you were in return. If only they would exist in the experience, they would have seen the glory of the moment.  They would have seen your smile and felt their own. They would have known something unique,  maybe for the very first time.

Yes, I see you, old man. Not that you’ve asked me to, but because I can’t help myself. You’d likely wish to stay anonymous, just a crazy artist most would believe lazy and inept. Yet I know you. You work harder than most, trudging up lonely highways with nothing but the voices to keep you company. You live for a smile and a few shekels, and the liberation your flight has given. You talk to yourself in the open unlike me who is too afraid to let those voices roam in that ether. You have built your ship, raised its masts, and found one port nestled on the island where you tell your stories.  I know there is a part of me who is jealous of you while there is another part of me who fears being just like you. The two may never reconcile themselves, but I know I am more like you than you are like me.

Tonight, I will hop in my car and head to a comfortable place with comfortable people. You will pack up your cart and walk miles just relish in your anonymity. I will find some distraction to keep my voices subdued while you engage in a lively debate with your own. I will seek refuge tomorrow among the beasts and hills and the open trails, while you will seek to engage others who fear you, who ignore you, or who give you a tiny bit of their refuse as a gift.  I will bask in the beauty of nature while you deal with the insanity of people who see you as insane yourself. Yet both our ships will sail in their own way, and the seaworthiness of our souls will be challenged in the journey ahead. We’ll both beg for winds to fill our masts while cursing them as they seek to drown us in our misery. One of us will dress the part of the Captain while the other works naked in the rain. Just know I see you, and that part of us that exists in reflection, and that the part of me that is speaking to you is that part of me that is you.

Take care, my brother. In truth, Namaskar.