Tag: Universe (Page 2 of 3)

A Warrior’s (Writer’s) Prayer

May 28, 2013 / Tom

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.

Lessons Learned in Letting Go

May 25, 2013 / Tom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace.

“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…

How Beautiful You Are

March 31, 2013 / Tom

I wonder if you realize how beautiful you are.

How the gray, mundane world bursts alive with color at the dawn of your smile. How the bored silence of the routine jumps to life with the sound of your voice. Can you see the cracking dawn within your soul? Do you know what your very existence does to a man only half of who he is without you? I sit, and I stare, and I remember.

I wonder if you realize how beautiful you are.

Naturally, without the fine tuning of an artist’s pen upon your skin, you are beautiful. Found in the subtle power of your touch, of the simple yet overwhelming grip of your gaze, is the defined knowledge of beauty born in the chills that run down my spine. Seen in the calm pools of your eyes and known in the sure intelligence of your voice, it is there. It begs me forward to a better part of me. It asks nothing more than the best of who I am, and I in return, often fail in the quest to get there.

I wonder if you realize how beautiful you are.

As the morning light gently caresses your form the breath is drawn out of me. My heart beats to that spot where your hand touches my face and your mouth reaches for mine. The hardest parts of me dance in the soft, moist pools of promise as the sanity in which I once believed vanishes as if it were some gifted hallucination of gods who could have only hoped to have been here, now. I smell you as your hair tickles my face as you climb on top of me. I look “up” although I’ve lost all sense of direction as gravity loses its grip upon my soul. And…

I wonder if you know how beautiful you are.

How the moment I enter you all things cease, how our bodies disappear and how time and space cease to exist. I wonder if you feel the waves of pleasure as I do, if you are hearing the same song as I reach for you, never getting deep enough in this endless pool but always trying. I gasp for air I do not need, and I search for things found the moment of this union. Then I feel the puddle we have created, and like a vast river on which I ride I know I will one day find the ocean. We will find the ocean.

I wonder if you know how beautiful you are.

I seek to show you the gift you are to me. I stretch my arms out wide as if some sacrifice upon an altar, grasping at the fabric on which I lay but not wanting to feel any part of it. I’m not holding on, I’m letting go despite what my hands would cling to. I give all of me to you in this moment. Every bead of sweat, every sound, every breath, every beat of my heart is yours. Take it, my love, and hold in gently in that space where your deepest treasure can be found. Take it, my love, and forget the moment before and do not seek the moment after. Be with me here, now, and never let me go.

In the orange flicker of Heaven’s great candle we lay. Out beyond the veiled glass doors of our space resides a place where our minds will go even as our souls remain. You turn to me, and in the glow of love and of the morning light you say,

“Do you realize how beautiful you are?”

I kiss you gently as the angel’s wings surround us both. In the mirror it is I see, and it is in the silent surface of our river that I know. Sing to me, my heart, and bless this moment in eternal memory! We close our eyes, embraced to sleep awakened in love’s sweet harmony.

Give to Live (Lent Post #1)

February 14, 2013 / Tom

So I’ve made this commitment to write something every day of lent as part of my “Give Something, Don’t Sacrifice, for Lent” thought. Rather than sacrifice, say, ketchup for lent, I decided to share my ketchup with you as a way that I’ve decided to celebrate lent. Yet, I used to be Catholic, so perhaps this is one way to assuage my conditioned guilt complex while, at the same time, not give in to it completely. Actually, it truly seems to me to be just something that lets me honor the tradition of lent while doing so in my unique (but not completely different) relationship with the Universe (what some of us call “God”). Maybe the parts of me that want to attract the positive have decided that sacrifice and rejection only breeds suffering and more rejection whereas the embracing attracts the very things we are searching for. In the immortal words of Sammy Hagar in the song “Give to Live”:

If you want love you’ve got to give a little

If you want faith you just believe a little

If you want peace turn your cheek a little

Oh, you’ve got to give, you’ve got to give, you’ve got to give to live

And let’s not forget that you will always get what you ask for. So, if I want you to laugh at me, I have to be first willing to laugh at myself. If I want you to love me, I first need to love myself. The beautiful art of giving is not about rejection or sacrifice, it is first about being willing to accept it all. You can’t give what you don’t have, so you first must gain the very thing you want to give and that only happens when you are willing to ask for it, accept it and, yes, expect it. I can’t feed the hungry if I have no food, and I can’t love you deeply and passionately if I have no love within me.

So the idea of sacrificing something as a method of honoring Love, God, Universe, Being (whatever you want to call It) seems silly in my unique (but not completely different) relationship with It. I need to EMBRACE and ACCEPT things even if my non-attachment to those things means I can easily give them away. The idea is to not focus on the “sacrifice” but on the acceptance. Don’t “sacrifice” chocolate for lent, instead readily accept it but then give it away.

Therefore, I decided to not “sacrifice” writing for lent but to readily accept each and every moment of inspiration and then give it away. I know, that is not something unusual for me, but it is evidence of the beautiful dynamic between the acceptance and the sharing, of the getting and the giving, that makes the gift and the giver One. In order for the Universe to bestow Her wonderful gifts on us all we must not only be expectant of such gifts but must also be completely willing to accept them all. I must be willing to expect these moments of inspiration. I must then be willing to accept them. Then I must be willing to not have them flow to me, but through me. I can take what I need and then let the rest go to those who can use it.

Maybe that is what the season of lent should be about. Maybe it should be about not sacrificing anything but rather about practicing the letting go of attachments we have to things we don’t need. Maybe it should be about the flowing through, not to. Abundance should not stop with me, it should come to me with whatever I don’t need making its way to others who do have a need. Well, I am wondering what would happen if 4 billion people all did this type of practice. Stop sacrificing things as if having them is some kind of negative to begin with. Instead, accept those things and then give away what you don’t need. Hhhhhhmmmmmm, that sounds like an idea Jesus himself could certainly get behind. At least the Jesus I know.

Peace.

I Am Home

December 25, 2012 / Tom

What, I wonder, could I have seen to have been left so blind.

We know that we cannot look directly into a solar eclipse as it will render us blind. That’s how I feel now looking back at my period of blindness and insanity. I was staring at something so completely unusual that I was blinded by it. Fear blocked my Sun and, as a result, only allowed me to see Her edges, Her corona, and it blinded me.

The Sun should be left to freely roam across Her lover’s sky. She should be freely left to follow the laws of a Universe shared by those who love Her. The mindless fears of man do not change who she is, it changes who man is. It was me who thought this world was flat and feared to sail to Her in the horizon. She did nothing. It was I who believed She would sink beyond my sight into the darkness when it was me, so stuck in the spot of my own creation, who choose not to follow her to keep the mornings close. She was just being Her, it was me who saw that as something other than what it was.

It has been said that a man is but a sum of all of his experiences. That is a choice and while it may be hard to make other choices in the throes of conditioning, it is not impossible. It’s overcoming fear to set sail toward that horizon not just to test your world’s flatness, but to reach a place you want to reach beyond the grip of fear and doubt. There will be fear in getting there. There will be doubt. Yet, when you land on the New World and press your lips to virgin sand you will know the reason you set sail to begin with. You love Her, you need Her, and you will risk great peril to get to Her.

If you’re lucky She will be shining brightly when you arrive. She will grasp your face and caress your lips with Her own. She will not leave you. She will create winds to press your sails toward your destination. She will crack through the mightiest of storm clouds to remind you that She is there and exactly what it is you are fighting for. She will burn your skin and crack your lips and then create the rains that will wash it all away. She will remind you that you are a man, a fierce and unbeatable man, and you will rise to every occasion just knowing that She is there. You will growl in Her presence and somehow, in some way, She will bring you to the height of your soul and show you a view that proves you that you are alive.

When you truly love a woman you will face your demons and even yourself. You will find those parts of you that darken the skies and cause you to shut your eyes and you will defeat them. You will beat back the winds and the rain. You will stand taller even in the throes of weakness. You will fall, pick yourself up, wipe the blood from your brow and sweat from your eyes. You will growl again and keep on coming for more. The fire in your heart will drive you forward, toward that horizon where your Lover sits and begs you onward.

Now, I will close my eyes and sit in stillness and know the truth. I will feel the heat rise up into my crown and be ready to share it with Her. Feel it baby, and know it where you sit. Do not let go of it, and hold it tightly to your breast and let it consume you. Your man is here. Your man is back, and he has found the world that you have shown him to be as you said it was. He will be that man you can’t take your eyes of off. He will be that man that makes you sweat at the slightest touch. He will be that man who so captures your gaze and steals your imagination. Yeah, I am home.

The Black Wall

November 7, 2012 / Tom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is the end of it.”

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

Love.

♥

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

October 25, 2012 / Tom

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

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

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

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

Wait for it…

It’s coming (sometimes too soon)…

And…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace.

The Final Breath

September 28, 2012 / Tom

♥

He laid there, the immense pain in his chest beginning to numb under the realization that he was dying. Just moments before he was alive, enjoying the morning with his beloved, laughing about the memories they had created the night before. Now, he was sprawled out on the living room floor fighting for air, and wanting so desperately to talk.

She was there, above him, her hands holding his face as they had a thousand times before. The worry in her eyes was clear as she begged him not to leave her. “I love you baby, please stay with me. We never have to be apart again, I promise. Stay with me, I love you so much. Please…please.”

He wanted to talk, but the words just would not come out. He wanted to remind her that he loved her too. He wanted to bring her back to the many moments they shared. As her blue eyes cried the rains of hell onto him, he wanted to bring her back to Heaven, the place that they shared when their bodies meshed and their minds fell into each other. He wanted so badly to comfort her as she tried to comfort him by touching him, kissing him, and reminding him that yes, he was all she ever needed. All he could do, however, was lay there. As the tears streamed down from the corner of his eyes he could only stare at her and beg whatever gods there were that this would not be the end.

His desperate struggle for air began to settle as his mind drifted back to the first time he saw her. It was a picture, and her eyes had enveloped his senses and drew his attention. He couldn’t explain the feeling, he only could utter something to himself that he would say to her a short time later: “beautiful”. She stole his attention to the point that despite loving the mountains he did not notice them behind her. All he could do was look at her face, those eyes and that smile. He felt he knew her once, although he couldn’t say when. He also felt he needed to know her again, although he couldn’t say why. So, he sent a simple message, and then came her reply.

He could remember the reply, the poetic way she stated her emotions of the moment. He could feel her presence despite never meeting her. In a brave and courageous moment this man had sent that woman a message and she had replied. He knew then that something was happening within him.

A sudden shift brought him back to his reality. “I’m going to get the phone to call 9-1-1. Baby, please hold on!”

“NO!” he wanted to scream. “Please stay here with me. I need you baby, hold my hand. Kiss me. I don’t have much time left. I have so much I need to say to you.”

She was gone, and although only a few feet it seemed like a million miles had separated them. They had begun their relationship hundreds of miles apart, and although they had settled into a routine he could remember the pain of being separated from her. So many days had to be spent missing her and wishing she was there with him. In the early days he had often doubted that this woman could love him. He had often doubted that she could stay true to him. He often caved to the frantic fear of his mind created long before he ever met her. Even at its worst when they ended for a short time, she came back to him proving that he mattered, and that he had value to someone. She loved him, he could see it in her eyes and feel it in her touch, and now as he heard it in her voice as she frantically begged the dispatcher to get there as fast as he could. As she screamed at the phone, he only wanted her voice to become sweet again like it was when she said “I love you” or “come to bed baby”.

“Please sweetheart, let me hear you sing” his mind whispered as his mouth remained silent. “Don’t cry, just whisper in my ear and laugh. God, let me here that laugh please. I have a joke here somewhere, please just laugh.”

He could almost hear her laugh. It made him tingle to hear it. Her eyes would light up and her mouth would curve “just so”. It was no wonder everyone loved her so much. It used to drive him crazy, and he often felt in the beginning like she liked them more than she liked him. She paid more attention to them, and he felt relegated to a dark corner of the room. He believed she gave them more of her than she gave him, but once he began to listen and to see the truth he realized what a fool he was. She gave him so much more of herself than she had given anyone else. She loved him, and offered to him parts of her he was sure no one else had ever seen. She even gave him what he asked for, and in the process showed him the truth. “What a fucking idiot I was” he said to himself. “I want my fucking life back, I want to love her like she deserved to be loved from the first time we met. Please God, give it back to me, I won’t waste a second…”

God’s answer was a gasp for air and an intense pain in his chest. He shook his head angrily at the reply, and then focused as he had learned on the beauty around him. He could feel his children in his arms again as they had been as babies. He could hear them say “I love you dada” and feel their little hands take his index finger as they struggled to walk. He could feel them cuddled next to him when they got older as he read their favorite book. He could remember the lectures to his son about sports, the diatribes to his daughters about boys, the millions of laughs and the relatively small numbers of tears. He loved to make them laugh, and he would often make himself the butt of his own jokes to get them laughing hysterically. As he looked into his woman’s eyes something must have told her, “please tell my babies I love them. Please don’t ever let them forget.”

“I won’t. But you’re not going anywhere. You will tell them yourself.”

“God I wish” was his heart’s reply. His children were the first people he ever felt pure love for. They taught him what it was to love and be loved, and the woman who now cradled him softly taught him how right he was. His children gave him value as a father, she taught him value as a lover, together they taught him value as a man. Even now as he spent his last moments in this existence she was here, showing him his value and the true meaning of love. It wasn’t in the nifty words he could string together. It wasn’t in the sex. It wasn’t in the outward show of affection. It was in the truth that made all of those things possible, but not necessary. They were necessary to the ego, the truth was necessary only to itself and it owed something only to itself. He had understood that early on, but it took him time to get over himself to actually use it. His past had once so cluttered his mind that it stole precious moments away from him and from them. Moments made even more precious by their imminent end.

He could feel the end coming. Within him became a mixture of peace and pain, of darkness and light. He realized this interesting parallel in the life we all lead. It seemed what we call death is just like what we call life, a mixture of suffering and joy. Even now, as he suffered intensely amid the final pathway to peace he couldn’t go there. Not yet. He wanted to spend one more moment with this woman who had changed his life and brought the sunshine where none existed. For that he would bear whatever pain that had to be borne. He suddenly became calm, and the pain seemed to subside. This, as it had been his entire life, was the power of Love.

He looked at her and felt healthy. His breathing seemed to return to normal, and the pain in his chest subsided. He shook his head slowly, although he was not sure at what. It felt like the first time they met, with a mixture of excitement and anticipation followed by realization and love. Then she laughed, oh God she laughed. Through the tears and sniffles she laughed. His head, now on her thighs as she stroked his head and wiped the tears from his cheeks, shook a bit with each burst of laughter. He was able to lift his arms long enough to wipe her hair from her face and stroke the contour of her jaw line one final time. Suddenly, he found his voice for one last poetic verse to his lover.

“Baby, I love you. Since the dawn of time I have loved you. It may be here, or it may be there, but somewhere I will be loving you. Please, know that it is you, and it always has been you. I am grateful for last night, and for every night I have had with you. I am also very grateful for this moment and that it was with you. I love you…I swear.”

As she bent to kiss him, he closed his eyes, grateful that the last vision he would have in this lifetime was of her, his lover, his friend, his guiding star. They kissed sweetly with a passion that had never left. With that, he inhaled deeply and headed toward peace.

♥

A Trail to Destiny (Creative Writing Exercise #2)

September 19, 2012 / Tom

Setting: at a meeting in a conference room on a dark, rainy day

Subject: the raindrops on the windows

I stared out the window as the rain pounded against the glass, making a tapping sound that reminded me of a thousand boots marching out of time during a parade. My head felt like it had been hit by an avalanche, and the weather certainly wasn’t helping. That damned numbness-mixed-with-a-dull-ache just wouldn’t go away as I sat my ass down on one of the plump leather chairs surrounding the large oak conference table. The meeting I had just attended was over, and after the cordialities had been dispensed with I just had to get away from the bullshit being thrown around the office. Everyone was acting so nice, so fucking nice, and I needed to get away from the act long enough to gather my senses. The often strong exterior I donned before leaving my apartment was beginning to crack, and I had reached my limit of fake smiles, jokes and laughter for one day.

It’s tough when a person just doesn’t feel like enough. He can’t imagine being good enough for his partner, strong enough for his family, smart enough for his bosses, or there enough for his friends. He feels pathetically weak in even the most benign of situations. In many ways he was just like the raindrops now finding their way to the window in his gaze. He was helpless, and even though he would give life to whatever he could he went largely ignored unless he was seen as a nuisance. He would never be noticed unless he was stealing away the sunshine or ruining her hair or creating havoc whether intentionally or not. No, he…I…we, would never been seen for the beauty we gave to the world and instead would spend this lifetime in certain role in a certain way.

I followed one raindrop as it hit the glass near the top of the window. It hung on for dear life there, reminding me of my need to hang on. I chuckled at the irony as I stared at that tiny drop of water just stuck there, unable to let go and unable to follow its natural destiny. It would fall, eventually, but for now it just stayed in that one holy spot fighting for its own survival. Or was I? I was in a job I didn’t like. I was constantly trying to be “the one” to my woman I wasn’t good enough to be with. I wanted so desperately to be accepted by my peers, to be noticed among them even as I wondered anonymously between them. Here I was scratching and clawing to remain stuck to the glass, desperately fighting my destiny.

Much like this raindrop I had no idea what the truth was. I had no idea who I was or what I was doing here. I just knew that I had been thrown on this piece of glass and now hung on without ever truly knowing why. I could not look down for fear of seeing where I was heading. I could not look up because, well, “up” had rejected me. All I knew was at this moment I was married to this piece of glass, and if that glass wouldn’t accept me all I could do was try to accept it while hanging on for fear of falling into the abyss.

I could see the raindrop slowly losing its battle. I realized that the battle it was having was not with the glass, but with some unseen force that was dragging it downward toward its great unknown. Some may call that force “God” or “fate”, but I like to call it “destiny”. We are all slaves to destiny it seems, for whatever war we wage to hold on to our piece of glass the truth is that we were never going to outwit or out fight our destiny. As the raindrop slowly began its way toward destiny, I could only wonder what would happen if I just let go and let the chips, or raindrops, fall where they may. In truth I had no idea what would happen because I had never done it. I’d always took the path more traveled and then suffered the consequences.

The raindrop was heading downward now, and I followed it to the known end of its journey. It was gone, save the little piece of itself it left as a trail down the window. Like a tear-left stain marking the spot where sadness had reigned, I followed the trail from its beginning to end, and that was it, a metaphor of my life, which had begun inconsequential and would end meaningless and forgotten.

I wanted so desperately to join that raindrop in its end; to dive out of the window and meet my destiny anonymously and without fanfare. I could feel me falling. Free. Done. Forgotten. I would hit the ground with a splash and soon would become lost in the enormity of it all. Yes, destiny certainly could be a cruel Master but at least it never played games or fucked with the minds of its victims. It just was, unintentionally cruel and unforgiving as it doled out truth to each and every one of us.

Just then the door to the conference room opened. I snapped back to attention, donned my fake smile and forced laugh, and began the role renewed. The fall and freedom would have to wait for another time and in some other place. I would happen, though. After all, it is my destiny.