the f word

Today I was asked about the notion of forgiveness.

Having read about it yesterday, I figure writing about it might give me some perspective today.

And my advice… The notion of forgiveness is a lofty one.

I often see people talk about their ability to move on, and yet see them struggle emotionally when they think about/or deal with their past…

And that makes me question.... Have they really moved on….? Have I….? Have we?

I don’t know what is possible. As for me, I know that I am capable of acceptance. And I have done my share of forgiving, but over the last four years I know that something has changed…. Which in turn has inevitably made me change… maybe irrevocably.

And that is, the slights that I have incurred by others has reached its breaking point.

I have always prided myself on letting go of the hurts of my past, and salvaging a relationship because of the good in each person.

I now know that this is fallacy on my part.

I now know that I can accept each person, but understand that when someone selfishly damages a relationship, I in return must choose to put myself first.

Sometimes that means leaving the relationship for some time. Sometimes it means removing yourself all together.

I have been told that this is viewed as compassion. To not ask for forgiveness, but to remove yourself and the other party from suffering or the cause of suffering.

At the end of the day it’s what enables my mind and my spirit to remain intact.

For others, I think acceptance should be good enough for the forgiver, for it is the first step in a progression to move through pain and loss.

Because anyone can say they are sorry, but very little do what it takes to demonstrate it.

souvenir

your images conjure thoughts yet to be created
articulated into form
molded into impressions
that i long to give
back to you.
in words.
in kisses.
in looks and sighs and tears.
i present this precedent.
my first born.
flowing from my womb
through my mouth.
my gift
i tie in an umbilical bow
of balloons
flown by birds
dancing in clouds of confetti.
along a trail of your scent
flowing south for the winter.

The Converted.

I’ve been thinking about the increments lately.
Not necessarily the large leaps, but the small steps.

How each experience, no matter now inconsequential, lead us to where we are today.
And in that I can honestly say….
That this is the first time that it all makes sense (for me)….
Not necessarily in what I want to do with my life, but with whom I choose to share it with.

I think about the last four years in particular, and it wasn’t until recently that I was really able to map out how I got here.
How the process, no matter how heartbreaking, lead to the most meaningful breakthroughs.

What I once thought was a trial that I had to wade through, now feels like life slowing tying it’s noose around my hips, around my heart, tugging at me slowly… Guiding me to what I now consider home. To whom I now consider to be the love of my life.
I’ve never felt that way before.
Which is something extraordinary to admit to others.
Particularly myself.

So grounded in contentment that this investment is one, not of highs and lows, but of true balance.
So centered in happiness that its almost heartbreaking…
So fleeting because of its difficulties… because of its ease…. Because of its depth.

Which in many ways makes the substance of it that much heavier.

And though I have yet to fully digest it’s comprehension, I am humbled by this blessing.

In this time, I have learned valuable lessons about my worth, and the understanding that I can always put love in the forefront of my existence, but that it won’t always be easiest path.

That such an investment is a tireless pursuit that one must strive for.
Relentlessly.

And though I might not be one to give such advice (one way or the other), all I can say is that it does exist.
It is out there.
Just maybe not the way you anticipated.

part 1: 9:30 am

Sitting here, over a week late.

Still sitting here, thinking.

Disposed, but not out. Two feet finally in.

Pensive playing, no thoughts ever leaning into seriousness.
Then again, maybe the seriousness of what is right in front of me is too great to
stop.
Or start, because
taking a step back only leads me into silence.
The immensity goes beyond all feeling.

Only being.

Which is great and all
but I still don’t have a letter,
still don’t have a coherent set of thoughts
he can read back to hear what he might understand,
What I know deep down he already intuitively knows.

If only I could say it. If only I could say how.

thought of the day.

"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth." -Oscar Wilde

What do you think?

fragmentary thoughts

drifting in and out work,

i can't help but think

of you.

you are always in my thoughts.

thinking: i love you. dearly. more than words can express.

ever more and more each day.

and if by chance you ever desire to call and say hello or climb back

into that old treehouse. my window.

into our covers to keep me warm.

i'll be there.
waiting with a book to read
and song to sing you to sleep.

knowing

is knowing a good thing? is ignorance bliss?

i guess it all depends on the way its presented.

knowing that you are not as happy as before, is not an easy feeling. being unable to make you smile the way i use to isn't comforting.

knowing that i'm enough, but the possibility that you might desire more is unsettling.

then again, i can only work within the confines of what makes me me.

and though i might appear shortsighted and rigid, please believe me when i say that it stretches.

and that extension of me is limitless. growing and traversing beyond the boarders that might try to contain it.

and though i might appear ill at ease. listless. needy and frustrated.
please understand that this is not a fixed state.
and for as taxing as it may be, i'm not the only one who has lead us here.

then again, i can't say that i don't have baggage. the kind of proverbial weight that breaks bones on the backs of strong men. i can't say that i'm not bruised beyond all recognition.

and for this i am sorry.

sorry more than you will ever know.

sorry that i don't see things the way that you do. that i am unable to hold my thoughts or tongue at bay. sorry that i push more than i really need to.

but it's who i am. who i might always be.
and regardless of how it causes us both pain, there is some good in this. in who i am.

in who you are.
in knowing this.

i just hope you know that.

dear dr.

i know it's been a long time, but i just wanted you to know that i thought of that conversation.... that promise you made me a couple years back... and was curious as to whether or not you were really up to holding your end of the bargain?

just so you know.... i've resigned myself to the realization i never even came close to my 5 year plan.

i was thinking that maybe i should extend that 5 year plan to a 10 year term and retire by base jumping off the empire state building without a bungee cord?

mmmm.... the possibilities.....

what do you think?
it's been too long.
i await your reply.

sincerely,
e

this type love.

I never thought I’d be one.
Always waiting in inhalations... exhalations being something of a dream.
A lofty notion, conjuring up images of multidimensional mirrors dancing in a space of multicolored dimensions.
But it is there. And you are here.
And so it is.

500 Days: Momentary Thoughts

.... that the pain experienced in Spring and the loss of the Summer were worth finding the Fall.

that i can live in progression of autumn. content, warm...

in the vast colors abiding. abating winter. for all of my days.

thoughts before work.

The drive went much faster than I would have hoped.
Or maybe the daydreaming went a little longer than I expected.
I cried a little today.
Hit with the realization that this was real and that I should be content for myself. Maybe.
I cried because I realized where I’ve been, where I am now…. and I could not help but feel an immense sense of happiness and loss.
Happiness for what I have, for what I could lose.
Then again....
It’s all a blur. Words and thoughts scrambled together to make incoherent patterns.
Nascent melodies that will one day form a song.
A song in a space that I share with him.
Beyond the fantasies of warm beds, whispers, and cool breezes.
Closer to what we used to call pretend.
My space. His House. Our home.
One day. Maybe today.
Maybe.

tom's diner

I saw your book today.
Recalling the crisp the days of winter.
of eating notes in a diner, and reading sighs off of our
runny eggs and coffee.
I remember what it felt like to drink your pages one by one.
As if each sip was made just for me.

Then again, I always knew I was never
special enough to be admired your world.
No dedication, introduction, or prologue in prose.
Never meant to be more than a
segue or stepping stone into a
greater unknown.

Then again, maybe it wasn’t
me,
maybe it was you.

free association.

"what do you think about when you recall last year?"

regression.

what it would be like to drown instantaneously.
metaphorically not literally.
restricted to the point where i could feel my endorphins rush and my heart flutter.
to feel the tightness of breath illicit a seizure....
powerful enough to create a proverbial collapse
lungs empty. body full.
loud enough recall a distant ache.
subtle.
and yet, something i still miss from time to time.

freedom.

choices.

sensations
remembering what that felt like?
what i feel like?

the dark.
the motion.
the reaction of force across my face. firm and yet not to the point of stinging.
but painful enough to wake me from my neurosis.

headaches
hands carrying boxes. springs dancing still. heels caressing the heart.
his head.
hangovers.

the ocean.
the smells and sounds resonating across a cylindrical space.
confined to dark corners and squares.

pressed up against tables. chairs. car windows.
knees sliding, skating along wooden floors.
keys.
rug burns on bed sheets.

sunbaths
pink and black stripes.
tendrils being pulled taut.

sangria kisses.
sunburn.
driving down the coast on a cloud.

connection.
subtraction: how loss always seems to fall into addition
silence
sound.

true love.
forgiveness.
hope.

Rummaging: Finding the New Value in Old Things.

so i've been rummaging. sneaking.

sorting through other peoples pasts: garage sales, vintage stores... manicured lawns, dirt roads, vacant alley ways.

lives that were never meant to belong to me... now shared by the desperate and indifferent.

here i am at my most voyeuristic... vicariously living... gaining through the loss of others.
there is something that (for as long as i can remember) has excited me about gaining insight into things that were never my business to know.

like collecting pieces to a hidden puzzle.

places like this enable a healthy outlet for what can sometimes be considered a somewhat perverse predilection.

but lately i've been thinking.... and thinking has always opened up doors that lead to more answers, which ultimately lead to more unanswered questions... and i can't help but feel melancholy at the thought of this.

it makes me wonder about all the things i don't know... all the things i'll never know...

and potentially how maybe no one ever really shares it all.

all of their belongings... all of themselves.

though the objects once belonging to someone else are now mine.... i am still just as perplexed as i was before i acquired my new found things.

i wonder... are these things less valuable if it didn't belong to me first. or second. or third?

then again, maybe it was supposed to pass hands. maybe it was meant for me. or maybe i'm meant to pass it on to someone else.

maybe i'm never really meant to own anything.

maybe moments, like relationships, experiences or objects... are like seasons. never static.... transitory. always changing.

and if that's true... for as much as we value the things around us. the notion of how things are inherently fleeting makes it all feel a bit lonely....
a bit bleak.
as if there will always be a gradual end...
or progression into something else.
maybe something better.
better than good.

maybe.

one can only hope.

thinking. about today

is it bad to say that i love days like this.
the overcast gloom that pervades the sullen air.
watching a small wind dancing with the fabric on his window sill.
is it bad to say that i love waking up everyday, no matter how dark or light the day gets, so long as it's next to him?
that i can't remember the last time i've ever felt so at ease.
it's been years... so many years that the distance makes me wonder if it ever existed?
once, maybe..... but only once.

in many ways there was always a forced communion, connection. a shoe dangling,
waiting along,
aside a trail of disappointment....
a path of knowings.

and yet, today.... here... i hear no afterthoughts.
i hear no voice in the back of my head playing with the delaying of the inevitable.
no notion of borrowed time.
the unraveling of pain, baggage, and unsettled emotions.

those pieces have faded.
been laid to rest at our proverbial door.

and in this house. colorful... and cold i lay listening.
to sounds of the water singing songs into the gutter.
thinking of the past. enjoying the present, hopeful of the future.

here it is warm.
here i have never felt as safe
at peace
in love.

traversing: back

its been over a year. or at least it feels like it has.

and i realize that once in awhile you become a passing thought. or notion.. if only for a brief second. maybe to say hello in my mind... maybe because it's the only form of acknowledgment i want to return. something only to myself. something that can never be shared with you.

not that i'm not inclined to share right now.... or anytime for that matter. i've never been one to hide much. but i've come to realization that i like not talking to you. hearing you voice calmly resonating before the dial-tone. i don't feel at a loss that i don't have your presence to lean on. and it's not because i built new bridges. or solidified old ones.

i just can't recall why i'd want rebuild any bridge someone maliciously burned, regardless of intentions.

there are many forms of forgiveness that i have given in my time. and relinquishing my disappointment with where we now are is more than forgiveness enough.

i don't need any semblance of what we had. i don't know if i ever will.
though my door is always open if you so choose.
know that i don't miss you.

word of the day: obscurantism

obscurantism
1. Opposition to the spread of knowledge.
2. Being deliberately vague or obscure;

ETYMOLOGY:
From Latin obscurare (to make dark)
wsmith@wordsmith.org

My thoughts: interesting word at the moment. at least for me.

It makes me think of intimacy. The notion of giving oneself without exception, and if that is truly possible...? It also makes me wonder if it is possible to truly term things in absolutes. To say one is all light, all giving, all of something... then withholding, dark, and the like within another context... makes me question the notion of giving, of initmacy.... of my own level of understanding.

Can one truly acquiesce and give of themselves wholeheartedly while still denying other parts of themselves to others? Or is both possible?

food for thought.....

name (:to my everything)

this
thought.
a shadow that connects the primordial orders of my working memory.

made me perceive
past
connections.
made me
believe
I under-
stood.
where i moving
where i was standing.
where i was.
till there was
this.

still
there was
un-knowing.
which transformed into seeing
seeing into
believing.
believing into actualizations of epiphanies colored in song.
visionary dances in deafening delights.
sounds blinded in silence.
in darkness.
in
this.

this.
the representation of definition is where it resides.
this.
is deification conjured by the current of creation
by the chaos of calm
by the mere thought of it.
of
this.

words
give passion, desire, and love no real meaning.
hold no measure or weight to what this feeling encapsulates.
in it.
in
this.

this.
is the reason sounds ascended into words
words evolved into
meaning
meaning formed into the
defined.
the reason Webster’s needed a book of reference to capture our collective frame of mind.

this.
each letter,
sy-lla-bles
formed by the need for articulation
for the need beyond all
need
formed my dreams into a wish list and conjured
this
into
Existence.

into being
into my thoughts.
my limbs.
my loins.
my heart.

this.

my dictionary.
my reason for rewriting all notions.
previous perceptions of emotions.
all feelings shaded by thoughts of under
standing.

this.

at the end of all reason
lies this.
in this.
of this.
in this.
and this
is.

you.