"Well, are you ready for this?" he asked gently, then he leaned in and pressed his warm soft lips against hers. There was that smell again from the first time she saw him at Al's, of moist earth and caked sweat, of something both safe and dangerous.
When he pulled away, she sucked in the sea air.
She nodded, "Yes."
Blueberries do not exist here.
Rubies are extinct.
The purples and yellows
do not shine orange.
They vary in shade and shape
appearing depressed and lifeless.
One can only guess the gray away,
shame it until it forgives the truth.
My goal is, though, to eventually love my distinctive self, my unique thoughts and feelings, and to believe that they do have a purpose for both me and you, and that I will not feel ashamed any more to be completely and boldly myself.
The hypermasculine mind
asks me to prove how badly I need him.
But I know he needs me,
the goddess that he views objectively,
to demonstrate his depths
that lie within his want
and capacity to conquer.
"Have you ever thought of getting divorced?" He sounded tinged with something green.
"Of course." Dawn was cautious. "It's just..." She paused. "Easier said than done." She looked at Mica. "Despite our own 'monochromatic' relationship, we are truly wonderful friends."
She was a weak yellow tone.
"But is just being friends, enough? From all that we've talked about, don't you want to find true happiness? That passion you have always yearned for?"
"Well, generally I am happy..."
Mica stopped abruptly and looked at Dawn with a strange look. He then sort of rolled his eyes and continued painting -- he was wrought with many colors.
"He's a fool." Mica said, after a bit. "Taking you for granted."
"Foolish, maybe, but I know he loves me."
"Oh yeah?" He laughed. "I wish you could hear yourself." Mica said quietly but with dark tones in his voice. "I think you're just scared."
Some search high and low,
some search for centuries.
The search does not stop
through time and space.
Desperately looking for the one,
the one who makes them whole
the one who embraces them,
who tells them that all is okay.
They don't see the image in the mirror,
the untold stories in their own eyes
the depth of their ageless souls,
the love that is waiting
to be found and embraced.
I approach the edges of what has become the Kingdom of Misery and I am haunted by an image super-imposed over all I see; a forgotten dream of such power and beauty that it brings tears to eyes long gone dry.
"He said I was like this. That he had to peel open my hard shell, and it took him a long time, but he was patient. And that nothing has ever been more worth it." "That's romantic." "And then look what he found." Danny produced a tiny pearl. "Me," she said. "Deep past my shell and through all the gore. He said I was a beautiful mystery, that every day he felt himself walking deeper into -- getting closer to -- my heart."
"What about you?" asked Dawn. "You've got a girlfriend." Her voice had a tone.
"Yeah." Mica answered flatly, and his eyes went dark. "That's interesting too. We're not working out so well. I live with her, but we seem like nothing more than roommates."
"Then -- why do you stay with her?"
"Convenience, I guess."
At this point Dawn had walked over next to Mica, carefully watching him work.
"I guess you're ready to be done when you're ready?"
I have come a long way from being that scared, young girl. I've quieted my worried fears with a practice of compassion, meditation, and Yoga. I have healed my past hurts with music made of gold and with stolen nights of dancing in the sky.
You know what I wish for you? One of those moments where you go, I don’t care anymore what anyone else does or thinks, I’m just gonna be myself. That’s the moment it all comes together. After it all falls apart. It’s the sunrise. The clarity. It’s the Holy shit, this is my one life and I’ve gotta fucking live it moment. It’s the Billy Joel, “My Life,” moment. It’s the Sinatra “My Way,” moment.
Think of others, more than you think of yourself. And don't just think about them, take action to show them you're thinking of them. Call them up and say 'I love you' and then tell them why. Send people cards on their birthdays and when the big things happen. Death, weddings, births. Show up when they are sick. Bring soup. Be humble. Always. Be grateful. Always. Stay curious about everyday and everyone. Believe in people, they really are genuinely good. Believe in miracles. Give to the poor. Let the world break your heart. And then do something about it. Remember, you'll be a speck of dust sooner than you can blink. Be of service. Be a sensible person. Use your words, and don't be nervous.
My hero is Chris DeRose, founder of Last Chance for Animals, who in a true stealth rescue operation, broke into a university laboratory and saved the dogs, cats who had been cut open, loosely stitched back together, keeping their organs from slipping out of their bodies while the grateful creatures -- in one case, a beagle -- licked his face.
The gift of painting a world with words is one I never take for granted. It creates a beautiful place for me to abide, to comprehend circumstances, to grow in wisdom. It powers my spine to speak the Truth as I see it without distraction. If you read my words, you have to hear my voice, and you have to see (at least a little bit) my heart.
"Oh, you kids. You think you have your whole lives to live. That's a lie. What does the Buddha say? He says, 'your problem is you think you have time.' Here's what you need to be terrified of. Not living. Not falling in love. Not speaking up. Not taking chances. Not going for something that makes your heart feel like a Christmas bonfire. You need to spend your whole life, the time you got left, following that fire. None of the other crap, none of the fear, none of the past, none of the distractions. Just the fire. Just the desire. What you truly desire, that's your destiny. That's your destiny, and that's your true destination."
I continue on, forging a path that no one has taken, nor would have thought possible considering my obstacles. Yet I am indebted to the hardship, which has challenged me to see the possibilities rather than the walls.
"Look, kid, you can't give up so easy. That's the sure sign of a loser. Every winner needs something to aspire to. And desire... well, desire created just about everything in this world. Stay with it. Looks like you've got yourself a reason to put two feet on the floor and brush your hair. And that, my friend, is just what the doctor ordered. Make no mistake. That's a cause for celebration." She put down the hedge trimmers and peeled off her Crocs by the front stoop. "Come inside, I'll make you some tea."
If we try to exile life to a private island,
we will drown in the wine of angels.
There's a reason we have yet to reach heaven.
We don't know how to handle permanent loveliness.
We clench our bodies for fear
they will be stolen in the night.
We don't know how to harness
our own power and just might
kill ourselves if left in charge
of our own brains,
or if our brains were left in charge of us.
What is a rebel? Someone who refuses to conform to established standards of conduct. Someone who resists authority, control or tradition. Someone who rejects status quo sometimes to the point of being thought of as weird or an outcast. Someone who exhibits great independence in thought and action. Someone who says, "This (insert word: job, relationship, societal beliefs/constructs, etc) isn't working anymore and has got to go." A person who is innovative, insightful, and not afraid of ridding the dead in life. Sounds like a raven to me.
And now here I am by the table, writing, and feeling exactly like a hero, because I woke up just to write. A hero who will never leave her journey or go back to that struggle of feeling or trying to fill the morning emptiness because the mornings are hers to write and the sky is listening with great pleasure.
"Thanks," she said. If Amy was still in magazines, she would have put Danny on the cover. But Amy had a feeling this woman's beauty was the last thing she thought about. There was such little vanity about her, but somehow she was more beautiful, makeup-less in paint-splattered overalls, than any model Amy had ever seen. "You're... you're beautiful," Amy blurted out. "Bah..." Danny said, shooing the words away. "That ain't gonna last." She pointed to her heart. "But this is. So that's what I focus on."