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If I knew then, what I know now . . . What would I have done differently? 

 

The answer might surprise you . . . Nothing. 

 

If I hadn’t done then . . . What I did,

I wouldn’t know now . . . What I know. 

 

What I have experienced in my life . . . Is what has made me. 

 

I am at peace with who I am

And seek now only to be myself . . .

              To feel and express what is inside me . . .

              To cherish the joys and pains fate has bestowed upon me . . .

              To share my heart, my soul, and my body . . .

              With another in unconditional love and acceptance.

 

If I had not done then what I did . . . I would not know this now.

 

 

There’s something about a road dawg I just can’t resist.  You know, those men who spend their lives on the road, never to tarry long in one place . . . the ones that have no problem packing their possessions in a single bag and going.  I’m instinctually attracted to them.  Put five men in a room, only one a vagabond . . . don’t tell me a thing about any of them . . . stack the deck against me anyway you want . . . I will inevitably be drawn like a shot to the road dawg.

 

These men fascinate me.  Their journeys and adventures so vastly different from those I have had in this life.  Still somehow, I relate to them on a mystical level.  I feel their souls . . . their wanderlust not unknown to me.  I can’t explain it.  I understand it spiritually.  It could be I was a gypsy . . . a traveling minstrel . . . a nomad in past incarnations.  I too feel the allure, the hunger, the urge, the call of the road. 

 

Though each of them wildly different from one another, still there is a sameness about them.  Perhaps its those very traits which permit the survival of a transient existence that so entice me.  Each so charismatic he can captivate your heart and soul without thought or effort.  Always resourceful and self-reliant so as when they do choose you as companion it is genuinely from desire, not neediness.

 

Their auras shine with such a power, a force, a strength . . . it is overwhelming at times, but always rousing and energizing.  What is it about the road that makes a man so spiritual, so insightful?  Is it they have reflected more deeply on life than those of a more sedimentary nature?  Or has the diversity of experience their travels afford taught them sooner that which we all seek in one way or another?

 

You can’t change them, these wanderers.  I wouldn’t want to try.  To change them . . . to chain them would be like breaking a wild stallion . . . the hobbling of a free spirit, the destruction of an elemental majesty.  It is never long before you see that far away look in their eyes.  The siren song of the road becomes almost audible in their presence.  No matter what charms you may possess or magic you might cast over them, they will always have another mistress before you . . . their beloved road.

 

 

  
  
Its okay really that my life appears to others to be crazy.  That the things I do, associations I make and directions I choose are not what some would deem prudent.  I thoroughly enjoy the events and emotions I embrace.  I revel in the chaos and diversity.  The insanity is what makes me thrive.

 

There have been times in the past I have attempted to conform, to do the “right” things, to chase down the heavily traveled highway with the masses.  Try as I might, it simply does not satisfy me, does not fulfill me.  Sooner or later there’s a signpost that captures my imagination and I’m off at the next exit.

 

Intensity . . . Yes, I have the volume permanently set on “11.”  When I do a thing, I do it en masse.  I dive in without reserve, never checking first to see how deep the water is.  I am passionate.  It is the fuel for my journey . . . my life.  Without my passion, what would I be?  Just like the rest, I dare say.

 

A man once told me the opposite of love is not hate, but indifference.  He was a wise man in many ways though I doubt few besides me would appreciate his particular brand of wisdom.  He taught me the opposite of life is not death, but stagnation . . . that mindless repetition murders the soul.

 

I would that when I am done, I be able to look back and laugh.  Even the tragedies, I want measured with humor and acceptance.  Life should be an adventure, not a chore to be endured.  I want to know it all, see it all, feel it all.  I want to drink in all there is available and be intoxicated by it.  Crazy?  No . . . alive!

 

 

 

I opened my eyes on this dank, dreary morning not unlike each before it.  There had been a winter in my soul, a barren place in my spirit, an emptiness deep within.  Now perchance to again be touched by the essence of another.  One whose connection transcends lust to find the path within me to truly know me like no other.
 
There in my bed I felt the stirrings of the promise of spring.  You had reached to me and I did know your touch.  The radiance of your light shone into me, soft white illumination warming me.  Was it real?  If I close my eyes, I can feel it still.  Is that real?  More real to the truth of me than the mere physical touch of any other.
 
I sit and gaze into the overcast sky my thoughts that of laying in your arms, looking up into your eyes, and feeling you deep inside me merging body and spirit.  Perhaps I’ll write poetry to you today.  My golden light I cast out to you too. Sending my verve across the space between us hoping to bind you to me.
 
You did feel that tawny hue, my light returned to you.  Your promise to write for me too . . . your desire to have me inside you . . . your plea that I not leave, but stay.  I’ve sought you far too long to withdraw now.  Beware though I burn with so many passions.  Can you feed such a flame and not be consumed?
 
Infused with the light of your being, my aura should become as a shining prism.  The refraction of our union surely brightens all creation, our radiance more brilliant than that of any star.  I have long yearned to hold you to me.  My search not an easy one filled with much disappointment.  Now you, are you real?
 
So long I have waited . . . I’m done waiting.  I’m here calling to you in that place beyond the barriers.  I know you hear me because I sense your response within me.  Can it be, that you are he, the man with which I may become one?  Could we be joined in more than our bodies, our hearts, our souls?  Could you be he?

 

How dare you judge me?  Don’t even try to deny it.  I can sense it across the distance between us.  You reject me so you don’t have to embrace your own feelings, the feelings that anguish you.  You find fault with where I venture, not because I go there, but precisely because you have travelled the same roads before or at least thought about it.  You project your guilt onto me.  You punish me and you punish yourself.  The truth is you adore what I am.  Aren’t you really the same? 

What is it makes the attraction to me so damning?  It could be I know you; feel you; see what’s in you.   I may understand you better than you do yourself.  I can do this, because I don’t judge you.  I’m not afraid.  Look at what is written here.  Its a chronicle of the things in your heart too. Those things even the ones closest to you will never completely comprehend.  There will never be anyone else so instinctually in sync with you as I.  Is there any other that endorses you so absolutely?   

Can you condemn me without censuring your own nature?  You’ve not evolved past me.  That thought merely refuge to hide your inability to accept what you struggle to obscure, to conceal.  As you retreat, I charge in mindless of your conviction of my choices. I’ve been that place you seek and cast it off to partake of all you think you can exorcize from your existence. Your view of my life as simply self-fulfilling is nothing but your own self-denial.  Am I not just a guileless version of you? 

Are you so weary of your journey?  There is a way that requires much less exertion.  It also offers none of the elation, the ecstasy, or the euphoria to be discovered down the path less traveled.  It leads to a distant end via the deterioration of your soul through the atrophy of your verve.  Everything has a price and the coin for this toll is the wage of indifference.  Yes, it may be less taxing to shuffle along with the herd, but is that who you want to be . . . the life you want to lead? 

Do I scare you so much?  The very thought of me seems to threaten you.  Inevitably you will realize what is being lost . . . the freedom not known, the wonders not seen, the joy not felt, the passion not shared, the time not lived.  This reality has a shelf life.  Each moment that passes irretrievable.  There are no “do overs” here.  The thousand little fears that paralyze create the true monster to be reviled.  Will the pressure of the mindless masses mandate the direction your course will take? 

Why deny the obvious offerings of this realm?  I refuse to be limited by the standards and restrictions of people that have chosen to be hollow inside.  Let them ostracize me for residing outside their capacity to experience the miracles available to those that seek out and live life.  You can’t in earnest refute the things I do or the things I am when at your innermost core shines a mirror reflecting me within you.  Can you permit me to confirm your spirit, endorse your essence, validate your soul? 

Should you be brave enough, strong enough, wise enough to perceive it, there is a beauty and wonder in life beyond the barrier fashioned by the illusion. Embrace it. Revel in it. Liberate yourself though it.  Become one with it.  Stop judging me . . . stop judging them . . . stop judging you.  Forgive everyone and everything.  Then, give yourself permission to take my hand and make this passage with me.   

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