Tag: relationship

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.

One Changing Paradigm (A Lover’s Thirst)

May 10, 2019 / Tom

There I sat, way back then, detached and unassuming with a broad smile upon my face. I could walk in and out of many lives, walk along the path in a crowd or alone, counting footsteps in my mind while talking about the raptures of my mind with those whose motivations I could not begin to fathom. I could engage or disengage, wait patiently or run along, mumble things to myself and, sometimes, get an answer from those who knew little about what truly rested in my heart.

I could be satiated or I could starve with an equal amount of desire. I would thirst and settle for the most mundane of drinks, some in ornate chalices and others found in the simpleness of my cupped hand. I had no need for the cup but wanted the thirst vanquished. I often found myself thirstier in the process. The hunger would make me appreciate the meal but the meal, however, would always seem to lead me back to hunger.

There are few things in life like knowing a purpose in the aloneness where I have found both sanctuary and life. One thing that has surpassed that beauty is when I discovered purpose in the eyes of a woman who was not the cup or the chalice, but the very drink itself. That’s not to say my aloneness is no longer beautiful (though it has lost some of its luster), it is to say that togetherness has taken on a new meaning. It’s not to say that I no longer find life and security in my solicitude, it is to say that I’ve found that life seems better in the uncertainty of love. I don’t wish to rid myself (or her) from our moments of empty space filled with the wisdom we have discovered on our own, but I do wish to use that wisdom to enhance our shared space and create a meal that neither of us wish to deny ourselves for long. I want my thirst, but I want it to end in a way where all I need do is open a door to have it quenched.

My paradigm has been changing for some time. I entered into a stage about a year ago where I could invite someone into my space who I never wanted to leave. Even in my aloneness she is there, and in my stillness I can feel her vibrating in my soul. In her I’ve found an acceptance from outside of me that matches the acceptance I have within me, and I’ve discovered a love that embraces me with an equal firmness and compassion as I offer. Imagine feeling the wisdom that you’ve known your entire life in the embrace of another who you are sure has inspired your very survival. I have looked back on the trail of my life and discovered that every tumble, every drop of blood, every moment of resurrection and every lesson of fortitude and love have lead me to that moment when the elevator doors opened and destiny announced herself in eyes that weakened my knees.

It’s been almost a year since those doors opened and everything (I mean everything) changed. That day, however, was years and millions of words in the making. There seemed to be an impossible number of things that had to happen before that day was even a thought. So much growth, so many agreements changes, so many things about life needed to occur before destiny arrived, and has quenched a man’s thirst in a way that once seemed only a dream.

What has been wonderful has been that I haven’t lost myself in this process. In many ways, I found parts of me long dormant. I’ve discovered patience I never thought I had. I’ve stumbled across a wonderful relationship with parts of me that often spoke but remained completely ignored. I also have no desire to have my partner lose herself because I happen to love her, all of her. (I often say I wouldn’t change a thing about her except her location, hence the patience I’ve discovered.) I have found nothing that I would change about her. I adore her quirks, her idiosyncrasies. What she may see as flaws I absolutely treasure. Her vision, her passions, her likes, her fears are all part of a package that I love beyond measure. As for me? I’ve never had to put on a show or change a thing about who I am to please her. That is, to this man who has always had change demanded of him by people he loved, the breath of life.

There is a “but” though. The thing I’ve come to realize is that none of this wonderful story would have been true had it not been for the journey. I’ve come to see in my dreams and meditations something. I feel like a great sculpture who was once trapped in the granite that encased him. Life…like the wind, the rain, the chisel and the rasp… tore at the granite tomb until that moment of my heart’s resurrection. When all of the minutia and layers were finally shed, I could stand fully naked and accepted at the altar of the great love I was to find, write about, treasure and honor. There was always a great purpose to the process of being reborn into the man I was truly meant to be. That process is continuing, and I am certain that this love we’ve discovered is an expansion of the great purpose our lives were meant to fulfill.

I tried to sum up this feeling in a poem I wrote last night.

I sat for eternity
Locked in my granite tomb,
Waiting.
Pulsing.
Begging to be known.
Then you.
The wind, the rain, the chisel, the rasp,
Released me.
Gave me breath in life renewed,
Showed me light born from the tiny spark within,
A statue now kneeling at the altar of this love.

Perhaps this journey proves that we can find purpose in every trial and tribulation, every moment of joy and happiness? I sure hope so.

A Balance in Love

February 19, 2019 / Tom

I have felt,
Swayed so in my fears,
Lost in my happenstance,
Creating illusions from the shadows on my wall.

Who is she,
This fragrance unforgettable,
The one raising my conscience soul,
From the slumber of 2000 days?

Who am I,
Or rather who do I wish to be?
The one who was carved from stone,
Or the shards left strewn about at the mercy of the breeze?

What is love,
If not the breath of mountain air,
A salvation from all exhaustion,
The miracle that pulls us from the tomb?

What is love,
If not the hand that steadies me when shaking?
The idea that comes to me in the absence of my mind,
It is what I’ve been born to know.

Steady me when my ground is shaking.
Breathe life into me when the end seems near.
Be there when that final bell,
Of that final round,
Rings and all I can do is shout your name.

I can steady myself for sure,
I have done it a million times before,
But what is love,
If not my acceptance of the hand that holds it?
If not the breath of life renewed?
If not the face that guides me beyond that final bell?

Know, that in your moments of unsteadiness,
I hope my hand is the one you reach for,
In the moment you feel you can walk no more,
My name brings you to your feet.
In the second that you face the demons in your mind,
You know that my sword is unsheathed to protect you.
Should you call,
I will answer.

For what is love,
If not who I am?
And who am I,
If not the gentle pools you bathe?

Unconditional (A Poem)

February 18, 2019 / Tom

I remember when there was this dream I had,
She’d be sleeping in the dark,
And all I could do is hear her breathing.
Something would make her stir,
Perhaps it was desire awakening in her dreams,
Or the way the spring breeze bathed her through the window.
Whatever it was,
I remember I could hear her say my name,
And I replied, “Yes, my love,”
She said then, “I just wanted to make sure you were there,
That I wasn’t dreaming,
So that if I was,
I would not awaken,
Tonight, tomorrow, or any other day.”

I remember the tear that spilled from my heart that night,
With her still sleeping in the dark.
And in my soul prose was written that would endure eternity.
I would not leave her,
and she would awaken,
Just because she could,
Me doing nothing but watching her sleep,
Honoring the solemn sound of her breath,
Protecting her sacred space.
With the chrysalis broken wide open,
In the morning I knew that she would fly,
And I’d be witness yet again to what was always amazing.
I could only hope to keep up,
To the one who was surely born to fly.

I uttered a prayer as her breath returned to sleeping,
Nothing but the simple want of a man born to watch her soar.
A prayer that someday she would grow to realize her authority,
And see how the willows stand tall to meet her gaze,
And the grasses bend softly to hold her resting form.
Perhaps then she’d still love me,
Tickle my senses with the flowers blooming in her field,
Kiss me tenderly as the Moon undressed us in its light,
Know love as I held her tightly to keep the dew from forming on her skin,
Listening to her breathe,
Always answering her call when she stirred awake
Before the morning light,
Waiting for the morning Sun to announce its sweet arrival,
And I watch her fly again another day.

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…