Life

“Life’s what it is

And it’s what it needs be”

 

Precious this time

Taking what’s given

 

Beautiful love

Clad in hot passion

 

Joyful learning

Gifts so surprising

 

Wonder creating

Soul’s true expression

 

Magically life

Granting wants needed

 

Every minute

For this instant

In the moment

 

Cherish it

Embrace it

Revel in it

Nurture it

Accept it

 

Just don’t waste it

No, Not Ever Before

I’ve been tainted

And I’ve been a whore

I’m no idiot

But I could know more

I’ve done some shit

Even settled some scores

Still, nothing like this

No, not ever before

 

I made my wish

The universe I implored

Once I found him

He was all I asked for

Chemical attraction

That cannot be ignored

Like this with no other

No, not ever before

 

My heart locked up

Yet he opened the door

He reached into me

Touched my innermost core

No judgments made

Only myself he adores

As no other has done

No, not ever before

 

Wrapped in our light

Complete our rapport

Thoughts of others

Don’t exist anymore

Our essences joined

Sweet loving no chore

Like this hearts united

No, not ever before

 

My only desire

To be paramour

I’m fully open

My soul to explore

Held in his arms

My spirit’s restored 

Such love never gifted

No, not ever before

Nine Months

Nine months . . . how appropriate, the gestation period for my rebirth . . . the reconstruction of my verve and restoration of my passion.  Well, I must say this has been a bit of an adventure.  A very long time ago, I isolated myself from the world and most everyone in it.  I made my universe extraordinarily small.  It was stable and safe, but it did not nurture the best parts of me.  The more time passed, the more I realized I was losing touch with the last of that which truly made me distinctively myself. 

 

I had to make a choice.  Would I let the flickering flame go out and simply mourn the loss reconciled to live out the boring and unsatisfying, albeit secure and prudent, existence I had created?  Or would I fan the flame back to the roaring fire it had once been?  I didn’t know what might be lost to me forever and what I could bring back to life.  I had given up or locked away all the things that made me feel alive.  This did, however, effectively eliminated the “problems” that had plagued me as a direct consequence of being myself in the past.  Still, I missed me so much and was compelled to try to make a comeback.

 

Once the decision was made, I wasn’t sure what to do.  I knew I needed to reconnect with people in order to reconcile with myself.  I had to find a way to meet people outside of my tiny sphere of reality.  I have always been a very physical and sensual person.  That type of expression is natural, straightforward for me.  It being the first casualty in my battle to conform to normalcy, I figured, it was as good a place as any to begin the reclamation efforts.  Consequently, I started dating.

 

Maybe I just got lucky or maybe it was time for me to come back to life and any vehicle would have delivered me to my destination, but it didn’t take long to open myself back up to the world.  It was rather like a snowball racing down a hill growing as it flew along.  The recovery of my vivacity grew exponentially once the process was set in motion.  I didn’t do it alone though.  I engaged many people that impacted me and contributed to my reanimation in varying degrees.  Of course, there were a few that will remain always now a part of me.

 

One man awoke my sensual being.  His was the first man’s touch I had felt in many years.  He is an amazingly, sexual creature.  Nobody could have done it better or more appropriately than he.  I was unprepared for the intensity of the experience, but his enthusiasm and veracity allowed me to get back in touch with my body and an essential joy offered by this corporeal existence.

 

The next not only reached me in a physical way, but he enthused my mind, stirred my artistic spirit.  A dark man that I’m never sure I know what to think of, there’s no denying his gifts or intellect.  He was catalyst to regaining my creativity.  He teaches me much more than he knows.  A self-confessed know-it-all, he might even know more than he thinks.

 

Now I have met yet another man.  This one is all the best of those before him and at the same time unique in every way from anyone I have ever known.  He touches my body and stimulates my mind.  He makes me laugh and he inspires me.  He has enraptured my soul and his light warms me.  He seems to be one with whom I may learn to love again.  I hope so.  Regardless the outcome, he has gifted me with the knowledge that I am capable of loving another.  I wasn’t sure after all this time.

 

This life will be what I make of it.  The manifestations of this realm are simply the reflection of my soul’s health.  I see so clearly now the truth in reaping what you sow.  Like begets like and that which I choose to put out into the universe is that which takes up residence in the house of my life.  Always there must be a balance and I expect I have many hard lessons to learn yet, but I’ve made the choice not to hide or run away anymore.  Rather I wish to embrace my karmic fate, while still enjoying the pleasures and accepting the ecstasies this existence opportunes. 

 

Nine months . . . as with any birth, this is only the beginning.  I am once again myself and for that I am grateful.  Still, I have so much to learn, so much to see, so much to experience now that my reintegration has progressed such that I am truly connecting once more . . . body, mind and heart.  I seem to have reached a state where I’m not struggling within myself, but accepting the beauty of the moment.  With what little wisdom age has bestowed upon me, I wholly appreciate this wondrous grace of being.  I can hardly wait to see what growth of spirit awaits me through the good and ill yet to come.  Crazy?  Perhaps . . . but, alive!

Letter to My Perfect Lover

 

 

It would appear you have arrived in my heart, my soul, my mind, my life.  You are everything I ever found desirable in those I’ve known prior, still you are unlike any that has passed through my existence this time.  From the very first moment, it was easy and the fear was not there, not like in the past, not like with other man I have been with.  There is never any awkwardness with you, no shyness, no pretense, no apprehension.

 

I knew you before I met you.  Our spirits wrapped in each other so as to never be separate only separated.  I feel you inside me.  I think I always have.  I’ve been searching for you, sometimes discouraged, sometimes disheartened, sometimes desperate.  In spite of everything I believed I would find you . . . somehow . . . someway . . . someday and I did.  Now I have fallen into to your dragon green eyes and I am forever both lost and saved.

 

We flow together without any thought, spontaneous and sensuous.  There is no refusing the attraction to you.  We just happen.  I wonder if we have any control over it.  Destined, passion for us is instinctive, unflagging, unquenchable, and unstoppable.  Our bodies merging is just this reality’s manifestation of our entwined souls, the corporeal metaphor for our spiritual essence.

 

There is a danger though . . . the threat of being consumed by the fire of that very same passion.  When we immerse into each other, there is nothing shines so bright or so hot and, Baby, we burn!  The imperative of our magnetism defies resistance.  If we share a physical space, we will find vent for the inevitable eruption of lust and furor.  Yet despite all warnings, I crave the heat.  I bask in the warmth of your aura.  It nurtures me and sustains me.  In the radiance of our light I feel myself blossoming.

 

I enter into this relationship with full knowledge it may well be transient, but as with others for good or ill, there will be another moment, another reality as there have been countless occasions before between us.  I will embrace you and let you embrace me for however long we have together.  I will not harm this beautiful wonder that is our love with greed or expectation or manipulation.  I will treasure the sensation we share.  Wherever it takes us, I will hold to the perfection of our union for days . . . weeks . . . months . . . years . . . lifetimes.

 

 

Emerald City

Today I looked like a native, no tailored wool trench, three-inch stilettos, pencil skirt and low-cut sweater.  No . . . I am transformed to fit into the landscape of this place in a tan leather jacket several sizes too large . . . heavy, beat and worn.  It was given to me by a friend, nothing I would ever buy.  My big brown boots, always comfortable to walk in, are the perfect compliment to my khaki pants and beige t-shirt.  The only concession to fashion is a fitted vest, rust with a bit of the ideal shade of green to flatter my eyes.  Ahhh yes, let’s not forget the most important accessory of all in this town, the stylish cup from the expensive latte stand at the train station.  Don’t tell anyone, its cocoa.  I still can’t stand coffee, but it makes a great hand warmer and a steal on a bitter, cold morning for only three bucks.

 

Exiting the train tunnel, I escaped from the herd of commuters by racing across the street against the traffic light right in front of a Metro bus.  I lengthen my stride to reach that same bus before it leaves the next stop.  The smiling driver scolds me for playing chicken with him down the road.  We chuckle and chat for the few blocks to my stop.  It’s a short ride and an easy walk, but it cuts through the park where the homeless sleep . . . the “bad” part of the city.  Was it that long ago I laughed at those fearful to travel on foot through the little makeshift camp?  Faded from my memories, are the days of my youth when I would crawl over drunks and vagrants to open the office each morning in another metropolis I loved and called home.  There the bums were part of the scenery, either nothing to take note of or someone you greeted by name.

 

This particular bus drops me at Madison.  It is a steeper climb up to Ninth than either Spring or Seneca (the next two stops), but it’s a cold morning, the exertion feels good and warms me up.  I note the progress of the many construction sites I traverse.  If you look out across the city at this time of year, you can’t count the cranes piercing the sky with their phallic, steel frames.  Crews work long hours, at a frantic pace to take advantage of the limited production season.  I start to come alive as my blood pumps faster and the chill air fills my lungs.  I pick up the pace enjoying the awakening of my body to the day.

 

The skyline is a compilation of structures I have somehow come to know by name . . . Columbia Center, Two Union Square, Washington Mutual Tower, Wells Fargo Center and the Westin Towers, staid old-timers to the newest architectural wonders like the WaMu Center, IDX and Madison Towers.  I’ve become acquainted with the urban trails that shortcut through and between these monoliths.  I make my way past cookie-cutter, drones lining the streets waiting for the next bus or sitting in their cars stuck in grid locked traffic.  I’ve learned which streets run one-way and their direction.  I can make my way in this human habitrail without thought or notice.  I have been doing it that long now, almost a decade.

 

My smile reflects the haughty attitude of my indigenous fellows, scoffing at those suburbanites and tourists still totally dependent on motorized transit to make their way through this conurbation with much the same scorn bestowed on useless umbrellas with their inane holders peppering these wind-blown, rainy streets.  More each day I become one with this city that I never believed held a place for me.  Today, I felt just a little like I might feel at home here . . . someday.