Blue Moon, You Saw Me Standing There...

"This is it! It's gonna be gone soon."

"I know."

"What do we do?"

"Enjoy it!"

I used to talk to him in his sleep; sometimes waiting patiently as dark hands counted out the night for his response. I would fall in love over and over again as the pallid light of the moon illuminated his skin. It is so easy to love someone in their sleep--to see a man transform into the boy he used to be. The rising and falling of his breath like a lullaby you cannot sleep without. Quiet my heart and mind, baby, calm and comfort me.

In catacombs of wishes, I am still whispering desires. Leading my lost love to secure chambers where he can be my confidence, where I can talk to him as he were still here, shelter him from the threat of time and reality.

It is only in the realm of dreams where I can make love to your memory.

Personal Oracles of Life Experience

I've been taking a lot of notice lately as to how the life circumstances of all those we encounter can be as impacting as walking blindly into a brick wall. For most of my life, I've been one to see reality and circumstance as something that intermingles readily with destiny. Quick disclaimer, destiny to me seems more like the universe at work behind the scenes rather than some ultimate plan in the end. I find that as I radiate out my frequencies of wants/desires and needs, the universe sets to work to find compliments to those frequencies. As I'm open to seeing them, then I find those compliments in all corners of life. I may hear the story of a coworker, and although their situation has nothing to do with my situation, maybe… just maybe their telling of that story and my hearing it may be a correlation that the universe provides for me to observe and learn from. I may find that as I meet people, they themselves are not telling me anything, but their lives and life circumstances are telling me something. I may connect with 3 totally random strangers, and all of those people have something obscurely in common, and that, to me, is the universe telling me something.

Ok, so what if it's not some big old universe telling me something? What else could it be?

Just as easily, I can see it as an opportunity for me to observe, and learn: to connect with something in myself that is deep in my own psyche, and then to help me work it to the surface, allow it to dissipate completely, or whatever it is that I feel connected to do about it.

The bottom line is that I feel a connection of some capacity to just about everything, not just things of substance, but things of circumstance, situation and theory as well. You have impacted my life, and helped me to find some connection deeper within my self, and for that I am very thankful.

Radiating Gratitude as abundantly as I can manifest it.

Party of ONE: the Loners' Manifesto.

On Friends

Of course loners have friends. Loners, with our extra capacity for concentration, focus, our fewer distractions, make excellent friends. To a few. One, maybe, but a real one. Time shared, even with true friends, often requires loners to put in extra time alone, overtime, to recharge. It is a master of energy: as a rule, loners have so much for the social machinery, the talk, and sympathy. But our fuel runs out. This is what a nonloners don't understand about us, what they cannot see.

Friends do not come easily to us. Being friends with a loner requires patience and the wisdom that "distance" does not mean dislike. Friends are all the more essential to loners, because in many cases, they are our sole conduits to the outside world. When we find good ones, we pour ourselves into them.

On Sex

The public would conclude that sexually satisfied loners are an oxymoron, or we're compulsive masturbators. It's so obvious. What else could we possibly be doing? This, of course, is because it is a solitary practice. Things done alone are mysterious, dangerous, wrong, shameful, incomplete. In the eyes of the world, they do not count. On the sexual-options coolness scale, it ranks pretty much at the bottom, barely above bestiality. (Woody Allen, to his credit, has called it sex with someone you love.)

On Love and Relationships

Well, since they think we're eunuchs or compulsive masturbators, either way, we're fucked.

Meeting anyone at all is not a loners long suit. Meeting an assembly line of maybes has as much appeal as severe sunburn. Opening lines, small talk, seem repulsive and we haven't even mentioned pursuit. We fear, loathe and are bored with small talk. Spending time even with those we know, even with old friends, can grate. For loners, spending time with strangers, again and again, a stream of strangers, not merely to get it over with but to discern whether someday you will put your tounge inside this person's mouth, is the definition of surreal.

It has been said before, let's say it again: loner is not a synonym for misanthrope. Nor it is one for hermit, celibate, or outcast. It's just that we are very selective. VERRRRRRY SELECTIVE.

Secretly, we are romantics, romantics of the highest order. We want a miracle. Out of millions, we have to find the one who will understand. We would prefer to be alone with our own thoughts than with a less than perfect fit. We are almost constitutionally incapable of casual relationships.

Loners, if you catch them, are well worth the trouble. Not dulled by excess human contact, not blase' or focused on your crotch while jabbering about themselves, loners are curious, vigilant, full of surprises. They do not cling. Separate wherever they go, awake or asleep, they shimmer with the iridescence of hidden things seldom seen. You don't need to be told this. You know.

Enlightenment

Yesterday, you had me the focal point of your search for security. In your private thoughts, you are still trying to order your world so that it is predictable and feels safe. Not only is this an impossible goal, but it is also counterproductive to spiritual growth. When your private world feels unsteady and you grip my hand for support, you are living in conscious dependence on me.

Instead of yearning for a problem-free life, rejoice that trouble can highlight your awareness of my presence. In the darkness of adversity, you are able to see more clearly the radiance of my face. Accept the value of problems in this life, considering them pure joy. Remember that you have an eternity of trouble-free living awaiting you in the end.

Today, I let you go and found an enlightenment. I stopped to look at the fiery sky with admiration, then I started crying. But unlike any other tears, I cried because I know the sun is rising and I finally see the light at the end of that tunnel.

Today, something big and great is coming for me, and I cannot wait.

Master of My Domain

The toughest thing about starting something new is saying goodbye to something old. A real master knows the only way to walk off that plank is to leave nothing behind unfinished, unread, or with anyone idly standing by. The master knows because she's done it so many times before. She learns to love what everyone else avoids: the crevasse of the unknown and the fear of never finding anything better than what's been left behind. 

The master spent her last days reflecting, preparing, recharging, and restarting. She did it all alone. "Absolve you to yourself, and you shall have the suffrage of the world." - some dead guy said. Imagine what he would think of all this clutter. In our world, the pinnacle of independent thought is posted on pages with fancy banners and flashing advertisements alongside. He'd probably laugh at a world where dialogue has been reduced from argument and compromise to attack and defend.

Each day, I'm told that the more connected we all are, the better off we will be. Maybe they're right. But the more lines we string between each other, the more we are going to lose one another when bad connections occur. I like the butterflies in my stomach when someone I don't know looks at me in the eyes, smiles and says "Hello". The toughest thing about starting something new is not getting tangled and lost in those lines. I'm making a few clean cuts and leaving a few things behind. But I won't fret. After all, I am a master.

"The Princess Is Not In This Castle".

Whatever happened to those princesses, happily ever after? Oh, those princesses...

We thought the magic was in the castle walls. We thought we could contain and save it away, as if it was something to own and conjure at whim. Now, we find it a "living creature" of its own device that breathes life into the mundane and inanimate. Possess it? No, this fancy, fickle creature possesses us. It is alive.

And now, you princess, take another look at this castle. Bereft of magic and forsaken of love, with not even a handsome prince to warm your bed, or a vicious dragon to keep the loneliness at bay. Solitude permeates the air without even the dim life of a ghostly specter -- even those dark corners don't hold mystery.

This castle was always a fortress of a dungeon but for awhile inhabited and transformed by magic. Was this ever a kingdom?

Vacate the premises and run to the courts; surely there, magic still lingers in the rosebushes and only exists through the cast of spells. But, even they fled the neglected gardens once abundant with fertility; weeds have choked the colors out of petals and bled the earth of nourishment. We created this garden of love, but have just as surely killed it out of indifference and carelessness. There exists no magic in corpses.

What is that throne worth now? Are we to wilt and fade prettily like a dying star in gown and crown upon our sepulcher? 

Princess, darling, precious, all those endearments in the stead of your name. Did you really believe you were so delicate and fragile? Did you believe them when they said your place was to be kept by castle, man, and love? Is that all you desire? 

Take off your gaudy crown; it keeps you from looking up at the sky. Dispose of your heavy attire; it keeps you from being nimble and quick. Remove yourself of those gloves; it disables you from wrangling and mastering the beasts of your nightmares. 

Our valiant prince and fearsome dragon are gone. We see our castle of what it is: sand to be crumbled and clouds to be blown away. We've shed our skin and have exposed ourselves to the sun and air to be weathered and toughened. More than anything we want to find that magic again, not to own or possess, but to learn how to wield -- a miracle so frighteningly unpredictable and wonderfully illuminating. There is magic in this new world. 

A.W.A.K.E.

Such a long lost thought that there would be someone to see my way out here, all of me and not one of the simplified faces I slap on
Such a long lost thought that standing there amongst the many who would touch a part of me deeply, each fills a whole, each reminds me of where we all originated from, each of whom I miss
There would be one to connect with this energy I've acquired the soul 
Strength to take in

Whoever the fuck you are I would love you so hard I'd turn inside out coating the hard marble ground with layers of respect securely embracing intellect tightly slightly lightly tickling that which longs for admiration
looking in your eyes carving shapes turns and enticing burns into the ice creating hallow caves - that shit would echo and bounce weaving love of massive amounts - pounce on the unaware, reach to teach, share care everywhere and which way I'll be your infinite play I'd let you in on this rhythm I'm constantly receiving from the stars
I'd shiver as you intercepted
to penetrate my numb scars

Wound up sparks
ready to fly
released they take hold of
the seconds of this tie
I'd put my baby eyes on, so old yet so young they smile, they are soft for you
They would hold you up always right where you are where you belong, where I see your perfection - I'd tremble as I let it all go for you knowing you would hold me steady in your realm
in ours
as we're in each-other - I'd always be safe

I need release.
I need you.
wherever you are.
If
there
is
a
You.
If there is a Him.

Blank

There are somethings I just can't write about anymore. Because when you write it down, it will never be a mere passing thought. It makes the fleeting permanent and the auric tangible. It's there; it's real, and you can't take it back.

If I refuse to write it down then maybe it could still pass. That feeling, that thought, it can be ignored in your mind and crowded out by other tasks. But write it down in an old brown journal, or type it in a little blog window, and you can never deny its existence, no matter how much you change, or no matter how much you want to.

It's cleaner if you just never write it down.

He, on the other hand, could only wish to make everything that much more real. He grabbed as many pieces of everyday as he could and threw them into the shapes he wished to remember for the years to come. And he cemented it right here, making sure nobody would ever forget it. This time last year, I wondered if he would ever commit me in ink to the book of his own history. Now, I am spending my remaining days on the opening pages of a new chapter. And that, of course, makes me real.

Rhyme the Time

Molecular structures sweat beauty beyond boundless boundaries and barriers while bright bridges connecting land provides security and strength amongst the shallow slippery rocked filled waters flow in a spiral circling down to a hole ejected out and scattered and brisk H2O melted dusty ice pieces fly while they can cut your fucking eye they can also be manipulated into shapes and patterns for one’s own personal use.

::inhale:: Hair flies I’m riding on air like flash of light up there like stars all bright flickering the time is tickering and tock I think goes with that splat 12:00 oclock blink black out white outside then ride snow high as the inside my body tried to escape but I’m standing here in landing gear so fear me I’m tough - Nah I’ve just had enough from the get go early so curly spins I calm myself in the atmosphere of sins flick the light switch the night kick the fight I feel my way around Slick and slight sound brings goose bumps but I’m not afraid of the dark - Jump ::exhale::

STRUNG OUT!

Like most of us, I can’t sing. But I don’t let that stop me. Whenever I’m driving, I’m singing. My car is my studio. That’s where I let loose and hope someone somewhere can hear. Something somewhere is listening.

I think that we’re all hoping sometimes that someone is listening, that someone hears us, even if we aren't speaking out loud, even if we aren't writing it all down. We’re hoping that someday, at the end of our life, we’ll be able to sit down with them and they can say, “Well, most of this was good, and most of this was bad.” And it’s not going to matter which one there was more of, because it was you and you were living it, breathing it, and saying it. Maybe at the end, we won’t look back at ourselves, then wonder how far up the ladder of life we climbed. We won’t wonder if we made it to the top or got as far as we could have. You’ll just see a long line strung out behind you, stretching as far as you can see. Hopefully you’ll look back at that line, turn to me, and say, “You see that? You see how far I traveled to get here? To get to NOW. That’s me back there.” Then I’ll look back there and see where my line crosses yours. I’ll say, “Yep, there’s where you saw me singing in the car.”

Then I’ll roll up my sleeves and pull in that line. I’ll get it tangled and I’ll wad it up and stick it in my pocket. I’d like to tell you that I would send you a smile, tip my hat, and walk off into the sunset. But I’ll probably just shrug. “That’s it I guess?”, my expression might say.

Because the point of it isn’t to go out with a pretend smile on your face. It’s just to go out knowing you have something worthwhile in your pocket, even if it is just a ball of string.