A Mother’s Son

“Sleep my son. Rest, my boy, it’s all over now.”

And with that she kissed him one final time, and though she bathed his little cheeks in a mother’s tears, others said a prayer about a man who had lived and who had died in the only way he knew how.

The world saw a man adorned in an ornate, flag-draped box. She saw her sleeping boy. The world threw around words like “hero” and “brave”, she could only muster the words “my baby”. There were those who hated him for the color of his skin and the nature of his birth, but she could only love him. He had given her the greatest pain of her life in his birth, and they had stolen him without knowing him, without even giving him the courtesy of knowing his name.

They had beaten him for his innocence, and stolen everything from him for the vile fear that festered in their own mind. They detested how different they thought he was, so much so that they could not see just how much he was like them. He bravely walked as he was, and bent his knee to no one. He simply wanted to be free, to do his part, to be equals in the eyes of all people.

For that, they killed him. For that, they stole his liberty. For that, they became the killers of man’s great hope, the murderers of unlimited possibility.

Perhaps he had crossed some invisible line they had created. Perhaps he had climbed some magical fence they had built from sand. Perhaps he had assailed that wall they had built against themselves. Whatever it was, it scared them so that they became beasts of prey and the thoughtless, heartless, fearful murders of the wonderful endowment of their own Creator.

They saw something beneath their caste. She saw her greatest joy. They saw something to be thrown aside. She saw a boy to be held through his nightmares in the dark. They saw some scourge of their holy book. She saw the word of God as he grew into a masterpiece of his own.

They killed him. She gave him life. The laughed as they left him to die. She will cry her tears forever. They are animals. She is her son’s mother.

Soon, they will lower him into the Earth, an Earth that doesn’t see the color of his skin, or the place of his birth, or his creed, or his faith. The Earth will embrace him, turn him into a seed of life watered by the sweet tears of his mother’s broken heart. The Earth does not know to which flag it should honor, or to what god it should worship, and it will love this man’s flesh as the ether will love that man’s soul. Each day, a mother will bide her time, hoping and wanting to join him.

Life will go on for the rest of us. We’ll create our silly separations, and succumb to our silly fears. We’ll laugh, and we’ll play, and we’ll sing our songs of peace and love and hate and fear. We’ll create our dark rooms of worship and belief, and we’ll point our fingers at small rays of light and hope that enter as if there is something wrong with them.

We are all a mother’s son, or a mother’s daughter. We are all so much alike, beings bequeathed a great potential at the moment of our conception. One day we can hope the mother’s tears end, replaced by the laughs of love and the smiles of true liberty. One day may we love our similarities while allowing our differences to blossom.

Until then, a mother cries herself to sleep, and a son prepares to die. No walls we build will save us, no laws we pass will end our horrid suffering.

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Please do…

Don’t. Please don’t.

I don’t want your hollow words. I don’t want your seemingly endless promises. I don’t want those fancy words describing your fanciful thoughts about endless gestures of love. I don’t want your frothy surface, or your endless need to grasp at some illusion of security.

I want your boldness. I want your strength. I want your power and I want your depth. I want to touch that rock-bottom with you, and rise through the surface of things having experienced a great depth.

There are times in our life when we are faced with mountains whose peaks seem to high to reach, and whose faces seem to sheer to climb. We hear those voices in our heads demanding we find a safe route, and we hear the echoes of a past we feel so beholden to. We may take a step or two, but as those voices grow louder and those echoes more stark, we surrender to the valley, somehow thinking we’ve done enough in our quest for living.

Don’t. Please don’t.

Don’t forget that you want that view the heights promise to deliver. Don’t forget the way your feet became weighed down by the muddy trail below. Don’t forget the fantasies of truth and love that you’ve created while drowning in the muck. Remember, please, how you used to talk about the view above the trees, of gazing at the Moon without the branches in the way?

Remember how you used to walk along the beach, kicking at the incoming waves, dreaming of the moment you’d be free? Tell me that story again, remind me of the you, you wanted to see. Then stop, hold that thought for a moment, and breath in the possibility.

Then stop. Stop the words of doubt you mutter to yourself in your silence. Stop the reliving of things that hold you down, that chain your heart down to a stone that only wishes to see you free. Stop telling yourself the lies of others that keep you there, in that box of yours, never to see the earth from heights you find in your wildest dreams.

And start. Start living the words of truth you hear pouring out from your soul. Start singing the song you hear in your happy moments. Start skipping in the rain, and doing all those things that bring a smile to that beautiful face of yours. Set your Charkha to spinning toward the direction that brings joy to your step, strength to your hands, and power in your intention. Soon, you will be climbing without thought, and you will find happiness in the fatigue of a body designed to get you nowhere but the summit.

Just get out of your way and climb.

I will love you up there, as I have loved you down here. I will soothe your achy hands to rest as you wish, and I will stand by you as you rise above the treeline. We will brave the icy storms, the winter winds, the spring floods, and the summer Sun with equal joy, and never relinquish our hold on the place that will take us to our sacred space…

…where the stars can be seen without obstruction.

…where the air is pure and each breath is divine.

…where we sit realizing even the stillness is found in every movement.

…where the shaky rocks fall away as the strong ground holds us firm

…to freedom

…to love

…to the truth that connects us all.

Now, do. Please do.

So, Together We…

I sit in stillness, allowing what comes to come. Finally, a phrase sets in like a mantra I’ve been longing to hear.

What do I see before me,
In those calming seas of blue?
Some angel came to sign a song,
A song that we both knew.

So together we…

Wait, this is such a foreign concept to the soul confined to solitude. Awash in a sea of people, bathed in the unique bonds of friendships and the sordid details of a single man, I’ve stood confined to my own brand of solitude. I’ve put my toes in many wonderful ponds, and basked brilliantly in many beautiful sunrises, yet alone I lay dreaming of a day when the whisper is real, and the feint breathing I hear is something other than my cat daring me not to move.

So, together we what?

Do we  hold hands and skip down the weathered path, singing that song only the two of us know? Do we kiss passionately as the evening falls, awaking early to repeat the messages of the night before while ushering in a brand new day? What is it we do, or should I never ask the question?

I struggle to make no assumptions, though the timely visions come rushing in my head. I’ve made that agreement, the one that bears no expectations nor grants any assumptions, so where do those visions come from? Spliced together like a long-lost movie, I see the very things I’ve sought take form from the very moment I saw her face splashed wonderfully across the ether.

I sit with this vision, passing no judgment except the smile broadcast brightly on my face. This is no assumption, and I am creating no expectation. I simply see what is there, and what is there is the answer to the questions I’ve been asking, told to me in the manner that I’ve seen most things of beauty. I don’t create as others do, or so I’ve been told. I simply see, and hear, and translate things that others may not see. What I see here is all that’s I’ve ever seen, save the mist now taking form in a manner of truth I can only sit back and observe.

I feel a wave lap lovingly on my beating heart, its spray gently washing my skin and its chill reminding me of how beautiful this contrast is. I can feel the goose bumps rise all over my naked form, touching me in places I’m rarely touched, in a certain way absent from the journey I’ve been walking. My spine straightens on cue, and my crown reaches for the spaces where I’ve always felt her touch, where I’ve always heard her voice.

Beneath me, rises an objection. Fear, that snake whose head I’ve often tried to crush, speaks.

“Are you sure? What tales of truth can your spirit tell to prove such insanity?”

“Please,” speaks my heart, “let this cup pass. Yet, let thy will be done.”

The Master simply sits, and the feeling I have learned to trust remains.

“So sure am I,” said the Master to his heart, “that I have swam across an ocean and moved a million stars just to find a space to meet her.”

“So sure am I,” said the Master to his fear, “that I have borne a thousand scars and carried a heavy cross just to hear her sing one word.”

A tear rolls down my face, the light is born within me. Uncertain of nothing but the moment, expecting nothing but the present, and assuming nothing but the wave that bathes my soul, I stand in peace before my altar.

So together we will walk, in the way that we shall walk. Together we will see, in the way our souls will see. Together we will feel, in the way that open hearts will feel. There is nothing else we ever need do.

photo by: Dino ahmad ali

I am ready…

I look in her eyes, and I feel…

…a wave, gentle and soft with the power to knock me off my feet. A temperate cloud burst softly soothing my weathered skin, cool to the touch yet setting my soul on fire. A cool drink satiating my deepest thirst while leaving me desperately wanting for me.

All because I can feel, and I am ready, when I look into your eyes.

Through the eternal journey, amid the countless footsteps, we’ve arrived. Here, two paths seemingly distant and removed were always meant to intersect, in their moment, in their time. Here, a dreamy mist forms into reality, and a once distant voice softly whispers in my ear.

I beg you, my love, do not give up your power. Do not relinquish your rightful place on the throne you’ve hewn from a million memories. Do not change a thing, except filling those arms left empty in the shadows of the night. I shall fill them at your beckoning, and I shall turn the evening shade into a glorious light where we see  all the things that brought us to this altar. I want to bask in the heat of your strength, and swim in the sweet waters of your desire. Allow me to pull my own chair up to yours, look you directly in the eyes…

…and feel.

I am ready for you. Though it wasn’t always the case, I stand a man now carved by experience from the roughest marble, ready for your soft caress. Though I once was the illiterate one, I now read your words so wanting to touch the hand the wrote them. Though I once could not speak your language, I want to hear the stories of your own creation, and hear the songs you sing in the hallowed moments of the night.

Oh that sweet sweat! born of labor so intense that survival was not assured, now bearing the fruits of work many would choose to avoid. I offer gratitude for each drop and each puddle I’ve left behind, each moment that has prepared me for this moment. I honor each step, each stumble, each holy rise for the place I now stand…

…ready…

…for you.

 

 

 

 

That Love

To swoon over the Moon,
To find countenance in the Sun,
To bathe in a mountain's early morning dew,
To be comforted by her warmth on a cold, winter's day,

Is to know that love.

To fall into a warm, natural spring,
To speak without ever saying a word,
To know, absent even the slightest thought,
To find desire in the eternal teasing of her soul,

Is to find that love.

To see beauty even in the roughest, uncut stone,
To stand tall even in the weakness of your knees,
To walk straight even when the mind fails in vertigo,
To find life when standing at death's door,

Is to discover that love.

To grasp a beauty that is silence in the chaos,
To find a smile through the veiled tears of suffering,
To know peace in the violent rages of a war,
To touch the face of heaven and God herself,

Is to finally meet that love.

It is that love for which our purpose lies,
It is that love for which our moments meet,
It is that love for which our dreams were broken,
It is that love for which our hearts do beat.

It is that love for which we seek.
photo by:

Let’s Sit Here Awhile

The cold winds blow around us as the Moon shares her light. We are lost souls not really lost; we are broken hearts not truly in pieces. The words we share are not those offered by the broken lost, but by the wholly found, the holy discovered in the truth of a moment born.

I look into your eyes and I surrender. I feel you inhale my breath as our lips meet and I fall. I know you, somehow, a faceless voice from the abyss, a silent visage from some distant horizon. I feel you, somehow, a magical mix of desire, of healing, and of forgiveness. In the heat of my body I surrender to the chill of the winter’s night, and in the warmth of your hands I find comfort in the darkness.

You are…

Present.

A gift of a thousand scars and a million steps suddenly made right by a single kiss. I honor you, I seek you out, and I forgive those who have led me to you.

You are…

Promise.

A solemn oath once uttered by a lost man in the wilderness. I live by  impeccable words etched deep within my heart, words you’ve spoken in the light touch of your fingers. Allow me to return the favor.

You are…

Truth.

In the honesty of a moment we fall into each other, our bodies pressed firmly against each other, our hearts pressed firmly against the winds of time. To speak of this place is to speak of the truth, implicit in its belief that possibility resides in the action, that potential resides in the heart, and that peace resides in two breaths made one, in the subtle fragrance of a morning glory.

It is there we are. Let’s sit here for a while, and bask in the rising Sun. Let’s hold hands and make love as a testament to the dawn we now share. Let’s not gloat, or run, or seek out certain glory. Let’s just set here, for a while, and enjoy the moment for what it is.

Peace.

photo by: ( (( marS )) )

The Sea of Love

Like a crazy summer storm, she came to me. There were no signs. There was no warning. Yet, in a sudden flash the flood had come and I was left a beautiful mess laid strewn upon the sands. I was struck dumbfounded by an invisible bolt of light, as indescribable wave after indescribable wave washed upon the shore. Here I was on the shoreline, clearly bathing in a wonderful Sea of Love.

Life happens for me like that. I’ll be walking along in a mixture of minding-my-own-business and exploring-the-flowers-all-around-me when it comes; a rare and very special moment. The dream seems real and the air seems fresh, and every word I feel becomes written in the tiny bumps that form along my skin. Then, I become a new mixture of contrasts; a man completely aware of the pure consciousness within him suddenly becoming an excited soul jumping about like a schoolboy on Christmas morning.

Ordinarily, I enjoy the fragrance of life, and the magical mixture of color that I see surrounding my space. I prefer never to pick the flowers around me, choosing to let them be to explore their own destiny, in their own way. No flower can grow if I’ve plucked it from its rooted place, and the world is a bit less beautiful when we discard flowers left dead from our embrace.

When that rarest of moments comes, the colors around me change, and the fragrances raise my senses. Light breezes are replaced by not-so-subtle winds as a light mist forms. In this moment, in this time, everything that has happened until now makes sense, and every sound around me becomes a song hummed in paradise. I stand there in stillness, toes playing in the soft sand, waiting for her to catch up to me. Wait I will, lest I kill this beautiful flower and destroy this wonderful gift.

That it is. Sometimes we are reminded of the beauty around us by adding to it. I’ve made my life beautiful by cutting down the rotted trees and weeding out the despot weeds that choke off my existence. In the process, a vast sea of love has been exposed. It is there I wait, patiently looking for her.

She arrives. She’s tricky that way. Nonchalantly she’ll saunter up to greet me, calmly making herself known to the raging wilds within. She can’t possibly see those things that result from her arrival;  the flowers exploding open, the mist steadily drenching my soul, my heart racing within me, my dreams all condensing into one, beautiful form. I take her hand calmly, even as the rush of fire within me sets my world ablaze. I kiss her gently as I struggle to catch my breath. I can feel each wave from the Sea of Love smashing against the jagged rocks I’ve formed with me. This must be heaven.

I know she’s there with me. I can feel it in her touch, taste it in her kiss, and sense it in her every word now filling my needy cup. I whisper not so quietly, Let’s go for a swim, my love. Let’s jump in and see where the current takes us. Let’s surrender to the Sea, for though it is deep and wide, we shall not drown in Her embrace.

A glance. A smirk. Yeah, she knows exactly what I’m saying.

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What if…

What if I love you?

Not in that possessive way men do, but truly, honestly, loved you? What if I wanted to see you prosper in whatever form prosperity took for you? What if I wanted to see your smile, to wipe your tears, to answer your call?

What if you loved me?

Not in that crazy way that women do, but sincerely, truthfully, completely? What if you held my hand for the hell of it? What if you snuggled next to me just because? What if you needed to kiss me as much as I needed to kiss you?

I wonder…what if each and every scar we’ve collected along the way were nothing more than guideposts? What if we looked within our souls and found that your arrows point me, and mine at you? What if, together, our arrows pointed toward a destiny that had always been forsaken until now? What if we have finally found our home?

I am but a dreamer, a solitary force in an overcrowded world. Yet through the clouds and the mist and the multitudes I see but one smile, hear but one voice, and taste but one kiss. What if I gave up each and every desire save the one that speaks your name? What if I knelt upon the ground we shared, looked up at you, and swore an oath only spoken as my lips meet your flesh?

Tell me, sweet dream, what would you do? Tell me, would you crumble to the ground as I tasted your sweet nectar? Would you fall upon me as I entered your paradise? Would you give your all to me in honor of the all I give to you?

Such beauty in these thoughts, in this vision, in this reality. I hear the songbirds differently today. The air, sweetly perfumed with my own clarity, refreshes me. The broken clouds above are giving way to a new moment in time, a new sunlight, and wonderful bead of rain. All I’m left to wonder is, if this dream becomes reality, am I ready?

So many what ifs. So many hopes and dreams race across my mind that I could count the stars with them. Upon that appointed time and place I will settle in, close my eyes, await your arrival and hope that when I awaken, you will still be there.

Until then, I will cast this shadow across the heavens, and wait for you.

I’m Here…

I close my eyes, your image planted firmly in my mind. I see your smile, the glow in your eyes, and the way beautiful lines form on your face telling stories of the countless smiles before.

Like a soft feather you’ve arrived, and like a light whisper I hear the voices of hope tell stories of their own. I’ve learned to not try control them when they come, and though rare they are, I’ve also learned to appreciate their chorus.

It’s like a million lifetimes come back to me in a flash. Through the stilled silence I sit, remembering your hand in mine, your head nestled firmly on my shoulder. I hear your voice echo subtle cries of passion I can only surmise are from moments past, or moments passed, or moments to be relived.

There is peace as the smell of burning sandalwood wafts around me. Tales of wonder balance tales of mischief here. Through the stillness the ripples of something carry me forward, as the light winds of indescribable truth delightfully fill my sails. I can hear and feel the words spoken all around me, and though I grasp at none I can feel the smile cross my lips. I can feel the power of the green fire burning brightly in my chest, as my heart issues a solemn vow to the ether now tickling all my senses.

“I’m here. I hear you. I am waiting.”

No truth can be more clear than this moment’s sacred oath. In that, it promises me nothing, but gives me all I need; a golden chalice never empty – always full – providing me nectar when I thirst, and air when I need to breathe. To be true to you means to first be true to me, and to be true to me I must always honor how I feel.

I feel nothing more needs be done, yet I cannot stop the preparation. A heart made pure through Hell’s own fire, a mind sharpened by the stones of discontent, I rise to meet you; a warrior equal to my task, a sweet soul whose fruit I am to cherish. Here are my shoulders for you to lean, my hand for you to hold, and my heart for you to cradle in your own.

 

The Blue Skies Lie (A Poem)

I relish in my destiny,
For the blue skies always lie,
The truth remains a mystery,
Underneath the sunny skies.

Reality often resides,
Just beyond my sight,
For the truth is often revealed to me,
In the darkness of the night.

So please don’t fear the Sunless sky,
Or the blindness you can’t see,
In the power of a sightless world,
It’s the moon glow that sets you free.

Just beyond the lies that we’ve been told,
Just outside our baseless dreams,
Echoes a truth alive within our hearts,
And the love that it redeems.

In the flag that burns, on hope we’ve tread,
Through mystic, mindless seas,
I’ve forgotten you, my brother still,
A piano’s absent keys.

Tonight on stone my head shall lie,
And pray the Moon does rise above,
On fragile earth I’ll turn to speak,
To the woman that I love.

Give honor to the moments when,
You fell, broken and forlorn,
For in the bloodied, hardened sand,
The best of you was born.

~Gyandeva

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What you feel is life, what you live is another story.

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