Feet, On a Flat Wide Surface

I’m feeling an awful lot and I don’t necessarily have the vocabulary or focus of mind to get it all across in a smooth and dynamic way.

My heart is aching. I’m complexly filled with rectangular hearts and oval thoughts, which don’t fit into any of their holes, all twisted and miss-shaped, some distorted and others fractured, floating in space, in random alignments to their homes, from where they came, out of me.

I’m lost in all this confusion and loss of succinct stable placement of things. The randomness shatters my thoughts into little tiny bits that slip through the fingers of my mind and pass over the ceiling of my brain and into my clouds, the clouds that I create with a haze, with a potion of love that I take, while numbing myself to all pain.

Where can I plant my feet, solid in compact tight mud that will house me, my foundations, firmly in the ground, out of which I could grow, so tall and confident, moving in one, the only one direction possibly good for me: towards the sun, towards the sky, whereto my fingers reach…up…and up, until I die.

But I am not this tree; I am not on as simple a journey. I’ve been given the freedom of feet and one of four directions which within to move, divided and multiplied by my mind into a million possible possibilities possible.

I’m divided, into a million different humans with a million different minds all thinking differently than the other.

And I see them all, though not a single one clearly.

Remember when we didn't have any grudges to hold, nor did we know how to hold them.

Just playful, free spirits with two individual energies, tingling, entangling us and them.

Remember when it was easy to be together, and when any other option was a strain.

Remember the time like in a sand box, faded now, like the feeling of the plastic spoon against your palm. 

Remember how real, how it felt like forever. Who'd have known that today you'd never read this. Never hear this heart.

Who'd have known that one day you'd choose to leave the playground for a grown up pain, a grown up way. 

Who'd have known that one day the safer of the options would be to feel less and flatten the castles we would make,

To smooth out the bumps and lay down your heart, to solemnly beat, alone, slowly, not engaged or tangled in mine. 

It's a decision no child would make, a life no child would dream. Only age could bring this

And take that away.

The Atheist

To: my darling Soul Searcher

If I can’t love you for your talents,

And can’t love you for your face,

Or certainly not your body,

What of you am I to love?

Some secret part hidden deep inside,

That I’m supposed to seek out and appreciate ignorantly?

Or is that piece your personality?

Is it, dare I say, your soul?

The spirit your god gave you?

Am I to find it, see it naturally, or intuit it into my life?

Or can I take you and your actions and your accomplishments at face value

And admire you for what you do

And love you for the attraction you provoke in me?

Would that be a shallow decision? Superficial?

Would I be wrong to love you for only what I see?

… and how that makes me feel…

Often, it's when I'm busy that I can find within me that which I would like to do with my time, if I only had more of it. Though when time is free, the temptation to sit back and allow it to pass emerges. Active, busy hands can often connect with the feeling that they may not be being used in a heart-connected fashion. And busy minds search for happiness and can sometimes see where it may lie, outside of today's obligating duties. When idel, on the other hand, stillness can often catch.

Don't go to the grave with your baggage and secrets. For all you know they follow you.

The Rusty Workings of My Front Door

Everyone can’t always mean everything to me, be as much as I want them to be at all moments. I value those who are close to me, who have whittled a way into the centre of my life and heart. I’m in it with you when you’ve made it that close to the bone, and I’ll stay there with you for a very long time (even after the break up). But if you don’t want the time of day to be filled with some of me, enough of me to validate the existence of an ongoing friendship/connection, than I have to let you go. I have to move on, for my heart will be saddened, saddened, not broken, when you move on from me to play in the dailies of your life.

And what happens if you get in by fluke, unexpectedly; what happens when you come in through the doors outside my vision? And then I realize you, laying there in my center cave, nude and ripe to my touch?

I will fear you. I will not trust you quite as soon as your entrance here, and I will protect you from me and me from you. Until one day the welling is too full, too potent in the arrow head at my heart. And then I will bust in quite an unordinary gushing of all the things I haven’t said over these past days, these past years. I’ll tell you just how deep your vein has run; I’ll tell you plainly of my love and truly not expect you to repay me in return. I might want a particular imagined response, but I will not ask for it, and I will not obligate either of us to such a harmonious outcome. 

Making Dreams

It's not easy and sometimes it fills me with doubt. Sometimes the shaky ground beneath me completely falls away and leaves me with nothing but myself upon which to dwell. I may not always know what I'm doing or the value of the work that I do, but I'm going for it, I'm doing it, slowly, shaky, step by stap, not always confident, not always happy with my results, but nonetheless, living the dream that it is to pursue that which I believe I'm worth... happiness. I'm my own man, living for myself and not for "another man," "a machine;" I have no king to resent, I have no system upon which to hate. I am my own man. Come with me? Love me? poor or wealthily? Take what you will from my insecurities. Judge how you will my placement, my position in the hierarchy. Put upon me whatever label you see fit, though labels to me do often not stick. I'm nothing other than a deeply complicated vat of fluids spinnig and stirring and mixing me up sometimes. I'm nothing more than a man. I'm nothing more than a very small morsel being chewed in the mouth of life upon a very vary large planet. I make mistakes, I doubt, I succeed, I love and I play in the valley of all that is unsure.

Pema Chodron: from her book "When Things Fall Apart."

"Hope and fear come from feeling that we lack something; they come from a sense of poverty. We can't simply relax with ourselves. We hold on to hope, and hope robs us of the present moment. We feel that someone else knows what's going on, but that there's something missing in us, and therefore something is lacking in our world.

"Rather than letting our negativity get the better of us, we could acknowledge that right now we feel like a piece of shit and not be squeamish about taking a good look. That's the compassionate thing to do. That's the brave thing to do. We could smell that piece of shit. We could feel it; what is it's texture, color, and shape?

"We can explore the nature of that piece of shit. We can know the nature of dislike, shame, and embarrassment and not believe there's something wrong with that. We can drop the fundamental hope that there is a better "me" who one day will emerge. We can't just jump over ourselves as if we were not there. It's better to take a straight look at all our hopes and fears. Then some kind of confidence in our basic sanity arises."

Pema Chodron: from her book "When Things Fall Apart."

Skyward

Yesterday was a stressful day; it didn't go quite as well as I had hoped.

And today I walk out into the pouring rain,

in my best shoes, in my favourite jeans… and I stand there

my arms out wide to the raining sky

my eyes closed, face lifted

and as the rain comes down and beats pure life against my face

I realize

again

that yesterday doesn't matter, today not even important

but right now, the thing that lives in my veins

that pours out from me

when i love and when i receive,

when i give and when i breath.

My heart is the confounds of all that is important

and I have good fortune outside of my actions

outside of my results, outside of that which I produce.

I am here, somehow, somehow.

And massive bulbs of rain splash down on my face;

I can feel them hard now deep within my body.

My happiness isn't reliant on these thing upon which I focus,

but upon my returning to this,

my soul, that which resides deep within me,

the thing that nobody sees.

the thing that nobody receives.

until I remember that it's there 

and share it with whomever…

cares, 

loves, 

appreciates enough to stop with me,

and place all of their life into their hands 

and face them to the sky.

My Breath In A Single Night/Against The Cage

I hold my breath and tighten around the stress that enters into me. I resist and bicker inwardly; I complain. And then I remember that before now I wasn’t feeling much of anything, and that it is my human duty to feel; it’s a blessing.

The realization doesn’t take the heaviness in my head, but I’m comforted in knowing that I am receiving.

I try to open myself and my breath and to raise my eyes from this haze of constriction, which is the true disease. I’m not afflicted with these feelings, I’m restricted by my desire to resist them.

Open your heart to whatever it is you feel: good, hard, heavy, negative, light. It is a gift; you are feeling.

Michael Luckett

A park: on a late hot summer afternoon. It's filled with families and passerbys. Though I'm alone…

A couple of years ago I would have resisted the urge to walk over here and sit on this swing. I would have acknowledged all these people around me, implanted peering eyes in their heads and moved on… but when you're dying, and you know it, the only thing that really matters is what you want. There are no other restrictions, but for yourself and the disease that within your body will some day soon kill you.
How sad it is that people do that, move on from what they want, from this place today in exchange for some kind of self preservation, tied only to pride and fear of judgement. So many of us; only products of the bullies we faced in school and the parents we had whom scarred us, neglected us, left us here, alone in the yard, unsure, insecure… Some are more blessed than others.
I'm unsure too, but not of my desire to sit here on this tall swing in a park made for children, and to swing high, as high as I can, for all of my youth, for the glory that it is to be alive today, for the strength that resides over my fear, which compels me to run and to swim, to breath and to swing from branch to branch of each day, never looking back, appreciating every inch of what it is that I've got: a body…

...though failing.

It's a good thing it can't kill my soul too, my spirit, or the words and love that I leave behind me here.
"You get the urge to swing? And to play in the children's place? Than you play! And you run and swing! Don't let that go, not for anything, not because you're old, or mature, or afraid, or anything but young."
There's no place for regret in these days of dying (admit it, it's on all of our minds); there's only life the way I see it, all around me. And if "the adults" look at me and shake a head or two, while I sit here, pulling hard back on these rusty chains and kicking my boots high into the sky, than it will be them who miss out. I may not gain their respect or understanding, but my heart will thump louder, and be stronger, and continue to thrive in each and every beat that it has left.

The more I free myself, the more I see how repressed many of us around here are.  

There's major electricity in the sky and people are covering their heads. I open my heart and hope to God I don't get struck, but feel the bolts in my body anyway. I'm preying for fire or it's revealing at least. 

What do you call it

There's a new aching in my heart, it's fresh and raw and hot,
Burrows a hole deep into my chest.
She left it there! Though I know it's not
Just her, but what she brought me instead,
That injected into my blood, drew me alive in her bed.
Loved me so tender, with the gentlest touch,
So soft, forbidden, divine!
How it catches my breath when I breathe in at times,
And ripples it's heat out through to my ribs,
Rubs up so harsh against tender bone,
Then into my neck: red gushing woes,
Stiffening there and tightening around,
Passing my air ways, and up, brain-bound.
It is a blushing that my face receives
And it smiles in the presence of her memory.

We either admit to the pain in our hearts,
Or we grow old and numb.

I love her now more than ever

"I remember how much you used to love having sex. I mean really love it. Like I did.  God I'm not like that anymore. I wonder if you are, if you always were or if only with me. Or at least, lastly with me, but I doubt it, I mean, I know that most likely isn't true. 

Not to exaggerate her promiscuity or anything, but, even if she did begin to deny it at one point, she's a red blooded creature, I remember. I remember that much at least. 

I miss her. And I missed the opportunity to love her... truly. Without the sex. Without what we hated, at the time, but loved, and deemed to be evil, the evil in us. 

Only once. Only once did I experience those feelings with another. I'm alone in it a lot. So was she? No. She found people with which to share it. She found me once, or at least my body. And used me, like I used her, unintentionally, intentionally. Not maliciously. Just naive."

"I’m being a little selfish right now. - I just need to tell you about what really happened on my end and in my emotional, illogical, scheming mind. And it really has nothing to do with you – now – with your response that is. :) I just need to tell you, because there’s so much I haven’t told you. I was a little messed up and played a little games. Didn’t know I was doing it. Thought it was you who played them. But now I can see it clearly and I see my faults. And I no longer blame myself for them. Not anymore. So I’ll tell you, if you’re willing to listen. If you would do me that favor and just listen so I could get it out."

I can see her on the beach, golden, in her bikini, dancing, beads of the ocean sweat hovering in the air around her, glinting in the sunlight, matching her eyes. A perfect frozen moment in my eyes. She was smiling at me; I was the one taking the picture. I was the one she wanted taking the picture.

And how so drastically things change, relationships evolve and disintegrate, slip through our fingers like grains of sand, coming apart, dried from the heavy beating of sunlight. All the binding moisture of our muds sucked up and away, until we are no longer together…lost, tumbling down into the millions upon millions of identical specs, where we will never again find ourselves together in the same way. We will meander and intermingle, collect and collide, but here will we never again meet, when I held your towel, while you celebrated life… the one we intended to share.

ALONE:

Who am I
what are you
inside of me
two different people
many people
but I’m not crazy
just a hurt little boy
shattered into pieces
across a life or two
only a few
many too few
let in
defending pretending
losing ground
around
Who I am.

I would want someone who loves me for the things in me I hate.

Criminals

Criminals aren't smarter than you; their just more likely to take advantage of you when you let your guard down.

RSA Animate - Drive: The surprising truth about what motivates us

Only one more day

"Here's to a new day," he says to himself in the mirror. "Here's to a new life. Without those drugs. It's not yesterday. It's not that horrible stagnant day in my bed. It's not the pits or the bottom of the barrel. It's not the towering success that I wish I had reached by now either." He spikes his hair today with the new gel of his liking. "Well, it's actually more of a paste."

"I'm just a man, unfortunately. I'm not famous. I'm not the exemplary model of success or of fortune. I have my winnings and I have my woes. I'm am so cracked around my edges, and the corners of my mouth come together chapped and dried. Sometimes I apply makeup to cover such imperfections. And though maybe hiding a little from onlooking eyes is a requirement for my fragile ego today, I cannot, I choose not to allow me to hide from myself. I musen't if I intend to continue on with this life, living in some kind of bearable way.

"You're not on the top of the world, man. You're a working class citizen, like all the rest. Regular. Having been defeated and humiliated, having been shamed and lost. You have your successes and talents too. But today you are in the pursuit of happiness; not yet within it's grasp.

"But how some day I hope for it to sweep me up and take me away."

So Small: I miss her

I spend so much time worrying and stressing, and what about: career and my life's material purposes. When on that very same day I sit down and cry over the loss of someone's life and health. I miss her and she's gone. And I know in those last few months, those last years, she moved forward in life regardless, but valued her loved ones above all else. In those last months, she and the people around her got a strong hard dose of what's really important in life, what we really value when our very livelihood is threatened and, in fact, snuffed out from in front of our eyes.

In such a horrifying and humbling crisis, one is brought down to the baseness of living and dying, life and death. We are here only by surviving and not by creating. Only here to give and be remembered, and not to imprint our products upon the world. In such a state we are only here for a finite amount of time and reminded daily that such time is short...shortened.

We come to expect so much, when so little is required to be happy.

Michael Luckett

The me in you

All of my hate comes from within me. All of my resentment and vanity. I take it out of me and project it, sling it into the world, and onto the people I meet on the streets and see on the roads. I’m so very aware of their selfishness, and continually see their self-involvement, because I am self-involved. I am selfish… and I’ve lost some of my kindness in these years, some of my good will to my fellow man, brother, sister, neighbor.

I’m not an innocent youth anymore, but too am I not an old man. Given up have I not on the world, and therefore neither on myself. I am a reflection of whatever you want me to be; so is everybody else of me, and lately I haven’t much been liking what I see.

I want to find the good will in men again. I want to rediscover kind natures and favors and good deeds. So often to our action is attached a desire, a self central motive; I do it myself. We want so much now. And we want so constantly and passionately, that seeing people for what and who they really are has become rare.

I permitted this darkness to be in me. I allowed my innocence to leave. I took on the attributes of momentary indecency and neglect of others. I took in the ability to be that which I’ve become, to do that which I have done. And I take on the responsibility of claiming my actions as my own, solely mine, and to be responsible for whatever damage I’ve done, and to repair wherever possible.

It only takes a few minutes a day to feel good about myself. If I'd only take that time.

“When you stop thinking about the money, things happen, and you get busy, because you’re wanted. Because your work is good. And you know why? Because you weren’t doing it for the money. You found something else, some other reason to do it. And you did your best. And you wouldn’t have if you were doing it for the money. Know why? You wont ever do your best for money.

“I got rich when I stopped trying.”

Rich Guy

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