Afterwards:
The world is turning,
The fires burning,
And there was God!
Not standing by,
Though by your side,
The Creator waits for you.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Friday, October 22, 2004
Falling back in time
I am not the mountain, though the mountain is me:
You will never therefore know me;
Until you reached my peak
Stood upon my ridgeline
Traveled the unmarked path of my crags
Waded the depths of my rivers
Crossed my phantom bridges
Seen what I have witnessed
Endured the storms that batter me still
Love how I have loved
Give as I have taken
Endured the depths of my passions
I am the mountain, though the mountain is not me:
You will not know who I am;
By my written words
But by my unspoken whispers
The language of my rocky embrace
Without the tenderness of my indomitable summit
For just like all mountains before me;
I have dreams, and my dreams contain wishes
My wishes have ambition, and my ambitions have desires
Within my desires, there are often emotions
Contained in my emotions are fury, yet I am not furious.
I am therefore the hidden lava below the snow cap,
Do you know where to find me?
Do you dare to meet me?
Do you care to complete me?
Yes, I have made mistakes in my life,
As have some others mountains
But I am not in competition with them.
I am not the mountain of your fears,
All of what I have done, where I have been
And the choices I have made
Make me who I am today,
The Mountain, who became a Man!
Do you still care to hear me?
Do you know where to be near me?
Are you ready to find out?
You will never therefore know me;
Until you reached my peak
Stood upon my ridgeline
Traveled the unmarked path of my crags
Waded the depths of my rivers
Crossed my phantom bridges
Seen what I have witnessed
Endured the storms that batter me still
Love how I have loved
Give as I have taken
Endured the depths of my passions
I am the mountain, though the mountain is not me:
You will not know who I am;
By my written words
But by my unspoken whispers
The language of my rocky embrace
Without the tenderness of my indomitable summit
For just like all mountains before me;
I have dreams, and my dreams contain wishes
My wishes have ambition, and my ambitions have desires
Within my desires, there are often emotions
Contained in my emotions are fury, yet I am not furious.
I am therefore the hidden lava below the snow cap,
Do you know where to find me?
Do you dare to meet me?
Do you care to complete me?
Yes, I have made mistakes in my life,
As have some others mountains
But I am not in competition with them.
I am not the mountain of your fears,
All of what I have done, where I have been
And the choices I have made
Make me who I am today,
The Mountain, who became a Man!
Do you still care to hear me?
Do you know where to be near me?
Are you ready to find out?
Friday, October 15, 2004
Losing anothers Love
One of the fundamental aspects of loving is the willingness to unite deeply with another person. It is natural that we should desire to be a deep and integral part of those we love. We believe that we can only bring them happiness if we can know them mind, body and soul.
There is an inherent danger in this when we become so thoroughly involved with another that we lose ourselves. In so doing, we become less to everyone who loves us. For us to totally merge our identity with another is to deny our past and all that makes us who we are. A loving relationship works better as a voluntary coming together of two separate individuals. Through their dedication and respect for each other, they create a new entity, which is neither one of them, but part of both- their relationship.
New relationships are always fragile; for those that survive seem either to age gracefully or end up simply aging. The difference it seems is in the two people, who have maintained their personal integrity and who have also been willing to merge their efforts and uniqueness into shaping their love, towards another independent being.
We will find it necessary to relinquish something of ourselves with each new relationship, but it is wise to be forever cautious not to totally lose ourselves in the process. For those who love us, learned to love us as individuals, not as part their greater whole, but separate unto ourselves, and whole from within.
There is an inherent danger in this when we become so thoroughly involved with another that we lose ourselves. In so doing, we become less to everyone who loves us. For us to totally merge our identity with another is to deny our past and all that makes us who we are. A loving relationship works better as a voluntary coming together of two separate individuals. Through their dedication and respect for each other, they create a new entity, which is neither one of them, but part of both- their relationship.
New relationships are always fragile; for those that survive seem either to age gracefully or end up simply aging. The difference it seems is in the two people, who have maintained their personal integrity and who have also been willing to merge their efforts and uniqueness into shaping their love, towards another independent being.
We will find it necessary to relinquish something of ourselves with each new relationship, but it is wise to be forever cautious not to totally lose ourselves in the process. For those who love us, learned to love us as individuals, not as part their greater whole, but separate unto ourselves, and whole from within.
Thursday, October 14, 2004
A new Season of Love
If love were a season,
It would begin in the Spring; warm and tender.
As the gentle rains fell, love like a flower
Would grow, reaching ever higher
For the warming Sun.
Just as if love were any season,
Before we knew it
The bright hot sun of the summer
Would scorch our love.
Forcing us to seek the shelter
Of each others protective embrace.
If love were any other season,
The chill of our words
Would become the ice
on the ponds that dot our hearts.
Waiting,
Waiting still,
For the season to change
Us back into the succulent splendor
That was our spring time beginning!
It would begin in the Spring; warm and tender.
As the gentle rains fell, love like a flower
Would grow, reaching ever higher
For the warming Sun.
Just as if love were any season,
Before we knew it
The bright hot sun of the summer
Would scorch our love.
Forcing us to seek the shelter
Of each others protective embrace.
If love were any other season,
The chill of our words
Would become the ice
on the ponds that dot our hearts.
Waiting,
Waiting still,
For the season to change
Us back into the succulent splendor
That was our spring time beginning!
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
Asia: Part 3
You see, Asia never left me that day, nor for the great many seemingly wonderful days that followed; each in its own way filled with endlessly amazing, exasperating and enriching moments!
Even now I can recall the look in her eyes when we went about the peninsula and surrounding islands together. The honestly beautiful way she took in every sight and sound was and still is the barometer that I now use to gauge the interest of every woman who has come into my life since asking her to leave. Admittedly, even I learned something about this place I had called home since as long as I have memories, such was the wonder of this woman and her unique way of seeing everything as it truly is and not as it may appear to others. Spending all that time with Asia was indeed a wonderful, yet completely aggravating experience.
For with each new way that her smile warmed my heart, there was still no way to get around her combustible temper, nor the one true barrier that kept us physically separated during that summer and for the many years that passed after. No, it’s not that the longing wasn’t there between us, for often when she would steal into my room at night, feigning some imaged noise or fear, after she would drift back asleep beside me, I would be painfully awake wondering about my long ago made pledge.
It would seem that Asia had never been with a man before. Never had she known the fevered embrace of unbridled passion and its constant companion, lustful intentions. Sure, I bet there were those awkward stolen kisses by the school yard fence, maybe even a long slow dance against a grinding hip on the dance floor of her High School prom, but for the most part, the ham fisted fear her dad had placed into the neighborhood boys was sufficient to keep her untouched by any mans undoing. Until me(?). Wanting her, sometimes even seeing the need within her, always propelled me to complete the triangle of our love, yet no matter how hard she tried, I always stood by the hardest promise I ever kept. There she would be, curled up on the coach when I got home from the day, asking with those green eyes if tonight would be the night?
Trying on every bit of clothing left in my home by previous lovers, or some nights, wearing no clothing at all, and yet never did I fall into that temptation. For even if you peeled away all the swashbuckling exploits of my life, unearthed and reassembled the burned up letters, poems and napkin sized love notes of my youth, one thing would still stand glaringly abstract in all of my conquests, never had I, nor would I, touch caress, or even gently fondle the daughter of a man without his permission. Odd you may say, for what father does give his permission? None to my knowledge, but just as each crime has its own code of punishment, so then does each criminal have his or her own area of vulnerbility. For me then, no matter the promised booty, nor how loud or ever more succulently the sirens call, anything still unspoiled by the hand of another man, passes by me as if it were the daughter of a man I liked.
As to Asia and those Sunday gatherings, well that particular summer eventually ended and she had to return home for a time. Seems her visa was indeed tied to the employment contract she never actually fulfilled. Consequently, between us passed many more long hot and lonely summers until she was able to return to the man who taught her how to be a woman without ever forgetting the he was indeed, a man. These days, Asia runs a shop up the beach from where I found her, not really making a living, but living beyond just enough to get by. As to us and this dance we still do, well some things never actually change. For within me, there has been many a moment and embrace with another, yet between us, the depth of our intimacy will continue to grow, but the longing, well, it still lingers.
Even now I can recall the look in her eyes when we went about the peninsula and surrounding islands together. The honestly beautiful way she took in every sight and sound was and still is the barometer that I now use to gauge the interest of every woman who has come into my life since asking her to leave. Admittedly, even I learned something about this place I had called home since as long as I have memories, such was the wonder of this woman and her unique way of seeing everything as it truly is and not as it may appear to others. Spending all that time with Asia was indeed a wonderful, yet completely aggravating experience.
For with each new way that her smile warmed my heart, there was still no way to get around her combustible temper, nor the one true barrier that kept us physically separated during that summer and for the many years that passed after. No, it’s not that the longing wasn’t there between us, for often when she would steal into my room at night, feigning some imaged noise or fear, after she would drift back asleep beside me, I would be painfully awake wondering about my long ago made pledge.
It would seem that Asia had never been with a man before. Never had she known the fevered embrace of unbridled passion and its constant companion, lustful intentions. Sure, I bet there were those awkward stolen kisses by the school yard fence, maybe even a long slow dance against a grinding hip on the dance floor of her High School prom, but for the most part, the ham fisted fear her dad had placed into the neighborhood boys was sufficient to keep her untouched by any mans undoing. Until me(?). Wanting her, sometimes even seeing the need within her, always propelled me to complete the triangle of our love, yet no matter how hard she tried, I always stood by the hardest promise I ever kept. There she would be, curled up on the coach when I got home from the day, asking with those green eyes if tonight would be the night?
Trying on every bit of clothing left in my home by previous lovers, or some nights, wearing no clothing at all, and yet never did I fall into that temptation. For even if you peeled away all the swashbuckling exploits of my life, unearthed and reassembled the burned up letters, poems and napkin sized love notes of my youth, one thing would still stand glaringly abstract in all of my conquests, never had I, nor would I, touch caress, or even gently fondle the daughter of a man without his permission. Odd you may say, for what father does give his permission? None to my knowledge, but just as each crime has its own code of punishment, so then does each criminal have his or her own area of vulnerbility. For me then, no matter the promised booty, nor how loud or ever more succulently the sirens call, anything still unspoiled by the hand of another man, passes by me as if it were the daughter of a man I liked.
As to Asia and those Sunday gatherings, well that particular summer eventually ended and she had to return home for a time. Seems her visa was indeed tied to the employment contract she never actually fulfilled. Consequently, between us passed many more long hot and lonely summers until she was able to return to the man who taught her how to be a woman without ever forgetting the he was indeed, a man. These days, Asia runs a shop up the beach from where I found her, not really making a living, but living beyond just enough to get by. As to us and this dance we still do, well some things never actually change. For within me, there has been many a moment and embrace with another, yet between us, the depth of our intimacy will continue to grow, but the longing, well, it still lingers.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
