My Eulogy

There comes a time when we must take stock of one’s life.

We look back when the road ahead is shorter than the road in the rear-view mirror.

We wave goodbye to the hopes and dreams that stayed on the side of the road

and celebrate the ones that we were able to carry to fruition.

And so I look in the mirror embracing the image that stares back in wonderment.

The image of this middle-aged woman looking back at me…

Bright eyes that have seen too much life to allow being as carefree as she hopes to be

Soulful eyes smiling at the irony that no matter how much she’s hoped to extinguish it

they still hold a spark for life and a hunger for joy

Graying hair stands as a testament of determination to not buck under pressure

To be inflexible when it comes to defining beauty

A middle-aged woman… no lies in a box is going to change that

Just like the crows’ feet slowly creeping around my eyes

And the stretch marks in unmentionable places

Or the skin tags around my neck

And the age spots on the thinning skin of my hands where the lines are getting deeper

and more pronounced with each passing day

They are all true. They are me

And if nothing else I am true

I am true to the pain that inspires me

The depth of my sensibilities

The tears which shed so much more easily now

This desperate need to be understood and loved

So, I stare back at this woman whom I know so well and keep hidden

Who loves deeply and refuses to give up hope

Afraid, lonely, and determined

Determined to not be defeated

Full of pride - like a doubled-edge sword to help pay dues for refusing to cave in

Head held high no matter what or how deeply the pain has cut

Refusing victimhood

embracing rage and compassion in its stead

Because I have learned that both can be held simultaneously

to inspire and keep me focused on moving forward

even when the weight of this melancholy has made it hard to breathe

and leads to that old familiar condition

Bringing forth my true nature

A comforting place (really), somewhere between pain and pleasure

Stubbornly determined to be present while

Trapped in the midst of joy and misery

Where neither tears or mirth dwell

Where I’m restless

Uncomfortable without respite

This place which fits me best as I take stock of a life well lived

A life full of amazing experiences that have shaped me

Into the flawed and hopelessly optimistic woman I have become

A woman who has loved deeply, incredulous of deserving the love bestowed upon me

A woman who each and every day strived to be a good person

knowing full well that I’ve always fallen short

…but I tried.

Coming Home

Un espejo aquí frente al pasado

It is so very sweet

Aquí frente a los mismos ojos

Fríos ausentes de ardor humano - tan necesitado

¿Deseado?

The scent of your hair as it comes through the air

Ah! I remember this place…

La negrura

Mi futuro de hoy

Tu pasado aun no vivido

I know what this scent is!

How I’ve missed the warmth of it on my face

How could I have forgotten the savor of coming home?

In the dark (To JC)

In the dark, two decades have not passed

-and there is no sin

…there is no yesterday or today and no tomorrow

-just this moment

…there is no God and there is no purpose

Only yearning and soft caresses

In the dark, there is love with no regrets

-and pleasure is not rejected

…there is no doubt and there’s no pain

-just two souls on a journey

Seeking refuge

…from the fear of uncertainty.

I Am God

There are times when you learn about someone whose life was just as fucked up as your own (or worse) and there is this strange sense of normalcy that comes over your whole sense of self.  Most of the time, I feel as if I’m living in a different plain from most people, kind of like living with a Star Trek translator widget.  Sometimes it’s like I speak not only a language different from those around me, but like even the sounds that create the voice which makes communication audible is foreign or alien.  There is a desperation that comes over one’s entire being when one senses the chasm between oneself and the rest of the world.  It is not necessarily a bad thing, a little lonely perhaps, not entirely bad.  Mostly, I just figure that the majority of people I encounter are fucked up and haven’t evolved to my level.  Because, of course, there is absolutely nothing wrong with me.  I’m perfectly normal.  It’s those around me that are fucked in the head.  I finally figured out that life is about living and that is all.  There is no grand scheme.  No grandiose sense of responsibility to those around you.  It is just about living.  In the Picture of Dorian Grey, Oscar Wilde, wrote that we are meant to be selfish. He stated that our purpose is to be self indulgent and concentrate on experiencing pleasure.  There is a sense of truism in his theory.  I believe that we are meant to enjoy our lives.  I do not; however, believe that this (or any) enjoyment is meant to be derived at the expense of others.   I believe our goal as human beings is firstly and foremost to be genuinely human.  Genuinely human is an ideology which can only be achieved if one first defines what being genuinely human means.  The first question is what it means to be human.  Man is first an animal, second a mammal, thirdly man is spirit.  Spirit is the collective knowledge which is passed down through genetic memory or social, cultural or familiar integration.

I think our “quest” or purpose is to be truly human.

There is great comfort in the knowing that there is no predestined future.  There is; however, consequences.  A future may be predicted simply by close observation of behavior.  There is within each human the “knowledge” of cause and effect.  There is an enormous amount of information hidden within our genetic make up which already knows everything there is to know.  There is thousands of years (if not millions) ingrained inside each and every one of us at the cellular lever.  That “intuition” we get when confronted with a decision or a situation which makes things “feel” right or give us a “gut” feeling is our collective cellular memory giving us a nudge. 

To be continued...

Lazy Friday Afternoon

Feeling the crunch of the snow
under the weight of my steps
I can smell the promise of Spring
in the clean crispy air of a lazy Friday afternoon. 

A short walk… that is all

with the warmth of her hand in mine
filling my heart with the peace this love brings. 

A pause to look at the Drakes

they mate for life, you know? 
Maybe if I close my eyes
I can let myself hope to dream  
… one more time.

Another pause

this time to try to breathe and soak in this feeling inside. 
Maybe a picture will capture this pleasure
 - a selfish gesture, I know
A few more steps
crossing the bridge over the creek
I get a hug from my dog. 
 
My lover’s eye looking at me through the lens
I look up
I wonder if she can see the hope
maybe today the door will open
to take some of this love from me.

Or maybe next lifetime we’ll be Drakes.

Afterglow

- laying on your side
Gray cigarette smoke gently caressing
a crowning halo around the silhouette of your body
which just minutes before was creating a shadow on my world
deeper, firmer right into the very inside of me. 

I hold my breath while I look at you

Controlling my apprehension,
I slowly reach out and touch your skin on the middle of your back
The warmth of it surprises me as you half turn and smile
Making my heart leap and open with anticipation.

You look at me now, again…
And there goes my heart once more
I know you can hear it
It is in the way your eyes touch me
that I can finally feel this much sought after comfort. -

¡Ah! Sweet pain of hope how it chokes the past right out of my head.

Essence

At my very core, I am a philosopher, a dreamer. I have been trying to make sense of the world around me since my first expedition to mass with my catechism class at the magical age of five. This was the day I learned that god is a man-made creation that evolved out humanity's need to understand the world around in which it lives.

Mother had dressed me in my best little suit, with my black, Patten-leather, shoes, and my whitest knee-high socks. I sat quietly in the pew, listening to Don Jose's sermon about who gets into heaven. He told us about the slim chances a rich man had getting into heaven (which apparently are less than a camel's ability to squeeze through the eye of a needle). As I soaked in all the golden splendor of my little town's gold laden church, and I patiently awaited for "the angel" to come down the aisle asking for my tithing. It was shortly after being humiliated when I learned that "the angel" was not real, that I experienced my first break-down. I was walking out of the chapel, after praying three Hail Mary's for not giving the money to the attendant, when my knees gave out, my vision became blurred, and I felt as if I'd just walked into a vacuum. At that moment, the brunt of awareness overpowered me. "None of this is real," I thought. "This god story doesn't make sense. It lacks logic." The illogical theory of a creator sucked the air out of my lungs. For a few seconds, nothing felt real. I had the strangest sensation that I was made out of air and my body was becoming part of all what touched it. I remember reaching out to touch a wall, convinced that my hand would go through it. I heard my undecipherable whisper echo in the empty church, "there is no god. There is no god." I walked home in a stupor. I don't even remember if my brothers were with me. When I reached our little chalet-home, I walked right into my Father's study, stood in front of him with my hands at my hips, and pronounced, "There is no god!."  He held out his arms. I crawled into his embraced and cried. After he dried my eyes and cheeks, my Father told me that life would be difficult for me, and that I would have to find my own answers. After that Sunday, my "church" became staying home with Father, playing chess and trying to find answers to a question I'd thought of during the week in our family encyclopedia.

I thought about Father and the day I awakened from the theist faery tale quite a bit during the last two years. I wish he were alive to help me answer some of the big questions which have plagued me. I have spent the better part of two years trying to design a definition of essence, so that I can begin to understand my part in the world. I would love to sit across from him, with that old marble chess board and tell him, "I have the early stages of it Father. What do you think?

Essence:  The exponential and cumulative collection of subjective feelings and memories generated by life events experienced by an individual, which make up the moral compass to give a person purpose and meaning, in order to facilitate survival, and defined by the moment in time when the individual reflects upon it; therefore, fluid.